#gale tickling is peak

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Scenarios in which you find out just how ... ticklish some of your companions are.

Featuring: Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion and Lae'zel.

Genres: Humour, fluff, crack.

Slight Tav/Shadowheart and Tav/Astarion. Tav is a menace.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(Readers, have some mindless fluff. Work has broken my mind and this is all I can write.)

Wyll: The Crab

The moment he'd emerged from his tent that morning, Gale had surveyed the clear skies, the promise of truly spectacular weather, and declared that today would be the day for cooking up a batch of fresh catch.

So it was that you had found yourself at the docks, strolling past hawkers displaying rows and rows of tempting sea harvest. From beneath the canvas awnings, scales and fins of fish gleamed, empty eyes turned skyward, bellies sliced open to display the pure white flesh underneath.

At your side, Wyll paced along, arms swinging slightly, a faint smile on his face as he took in the familiar sights and scents. He had volunteered to accompany you, to help carry the load of produce that you would inevitably purchase.

Rounding the corner, your fingers closed on his arm, tugging excitedly.

"Oh, it's been a while since I've seen deep sea emerald crab! And just look at how perfect they are!"

Piled high in a basin, the shells of the crabs shone with jewel-like lustre. In no time, taking advantage of this rare opportunity, you had paid off the fishmonger and your precious cargo of crab had been safely enclosed and tied up in netting.

"Here."

You handed over the bag to Wyll.

"Hold that. I'll look around for some mussels and sea bream. Can't have a feast without those."

Wyll took the bag, but you noticed his slight reluctance. Cocking an eyebrow, you received his hasty acknowledgement.

"Oh, no problem. You go on ahead."

Strutting further down the walkway, you shot a brief glance back at Wyll. He was holding the bad of crabs at arms length, obviously trying to be subtle.

What was that all about?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sight of some large scallops, of stunning quality, and you promptly forgot about Wyll's strange aversion to crabs.

A half hour later, you were happily making your way back to camp, pack laden with more goods, when you heard a strange noise from Wyll. Turning, you saw that he'd been forced to carry the crabs tucked under an arm, his shoulders occupied with the other baskets.

"Everything all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything's fine."

"Then what - "

Before you managed to complete your sentence, Wyll let out an explosive wheeze. He doubled over abruptly and you dropped your pack in concern as you hurried over to him.

"Wyll!"

He raised a hand, palm out, stopping your advance.

"N - Nothing to wo - worry 'bout, I - I assure- "

Another sudden explosive breath, his hands tugging the crabs away from him. It was then that you noticed that the legs of the crustaceans were still moving, in slightly jerky fashion. They weren't alive, some remnant of muscle memory causing their strange dance.

And it seemed that Wyll could not handle the sensation of it along his stomach.

You paused, a slow grin forming.

"Wait, are you - "

"N - Not what you think - "

Your hand came to rest on your chin.

"Oh, but Wyll, I rather think it is."

"C - Can you not - "

"Tell the others that a crab tickled your fancy? If you compensate me enough, I might be tempted."

He gazed up at you, something like defeat in his expression as your smile grew wider.

"H - Horns don't make a devil, it seems."

Shadowheart: Cliffhangers

There was a specific kind of enemy that grated on your nerves more than any other; the flying kind.

Butterflies and brightly feathered birds were all well and good, but summoned mud mephits and their greasy counterparts were deserving of a special place in Avernus as far as you were concerned.

Such were the thoughts cluttering your mind as you clung to the side of a cliff, the path that had wound along its edge now narrowing to little more than a foot-span.

You'd managed to use your arrows as makeshift climbing spikes, the muscles of your shoulders screaming in protest each time you stabbed a steel head into the rock, clinging on for dear life. The flapping and constant harassment of the mephits just made things exponentially worse.

Edging your way forward, you managed to turn your head slightly to see how Shadowheart was faring. She had slipped and lost a shoe a few yards back, the unfortunate item tumbling all the way down to the foam-clad rocks that jutted from the sea below. A terrifying sight indeed.

Just when you thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, the terrain of the narrow ledge beneath your feet took on a different texture. Glancing down, you paused and let out a groan.

"What? What is it?" came Shadowheart's tight query. It sounded as if her teeth had been ground to dust from all the tension.

"Just watch your footing here. There's some kind of sentient moss. It's... wavy. Looks a bit slippery."

Shadowheart muttered something that was carried away by the wind and the flapping of the mud mephits. You knew your warning had been heard, so you continued edging your way forward. The moss was soft beneath the soles of your boots, giving way and then springing back up as you passed. Fortunately, it wasn't excessively damp.

As you edged forward, lips moving in a chant designed to keep your concentration, you heard a low noise come from Shadowheart, something like a soft squeal of protest. Whipping your head around, you saw that her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth puckered and trembling.

"What's wrong? Shadowheart?"

She didn't reply, but remained stationary, panic now evident on her face. Her whole body gave a spasmodic twitch.

"Hey!"

You grabbed her arm before she slipped, dragging her toward you. As her bare foot passed over the wavy moss she let out a decidedly high pitched shriek, the kind you'd never heard from her before.

"Wait, wait, not the moss!"

"What?"

"It's ... under my feet! It's squiggly and moving!"

There, on the side of the cliff, with the unappealing prospect of tumbling to your death on the rocks below, you were faced with the sudden, disjointed reality that Shadowheart's ticklish feet might kill you both.

Your blank expression jarred something in her. She stared defiantly back, cheeks now steaming scarlet, eyes flashing in embarrassment. It was ... terribly cute.

Her voice emerged in a hiss.

"Don't you dare judge me."

"I'm not - "

"Look, if I don't get off this moss, I'm going to fall. There's no two ways about it."

"Uh, all right. So ... what can we - "

You paused to swat away a mephit, and you could tell that she was bracing herself for what she had to say next.

"Carry me."

"What?"

"On your back. If we maneuver, we can do it. I'll keep the mephits away. You focus on moving."

"Easier said than done!"

"Not when the alternative is dying. Now hurry up, I - I can't stand here much longer."

Somehow, you both managed to move into the required position. It was precarious going. Shadowheart managed to grip the ridges of the cliff, briefly lifting herself while you stooped slightly. Muscles quivering with exertion, you raised her and her knees sunk tightly into your sides. You immediately clutched at the cliff again, breathing ragged.

Slow as your progress was, you finally made it to the end, where the narrow shelf widened and rejoined the top of the cliff path.

Here, you collapsed, Shadowheart springing nimbly from your shoulders. You were both drenched in sweat and she was avoiding your gaze.

"Some climb, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. She paused, tone softening considerably.

"And thanks."

"You won't be thanking me when I tell the tale tonight around a roaring campfire."

She groaned and covered her face with her palms.

"What do you want?"

"A massage for my very sore shoulders. And new arrows. These have been blunted beyond recognition."

"Ugh. Done."

Gale: Laughter most hideous

The battle had been short, but vicious. While you'd managed to overpower the cultists rather quickly, their rapid movements and knack for disappearing and reappearing in strategic places had run your team ragged.

One particular cultist seemed to have an entire library of scrolls shoved down his trousers, because the barrage of irritating cantrips had been near constant. Apparently, wearing your opponent down with utter triviality was an accepted strategy.

Gale, of course, had dealt with the majority of your magical defenses, his shields as powerful and reliable as ever. Even he, however, hadn't been able to prevent every attack from striking true. A few negligible energy missiles had made their way through, and he'd been hit by a spell of Hideous Laughter.

While he'd waved away the spell's effects with an almost lazy brush of the hand, you were now noticing odd motions from him as you climbed your way out of the sewers. He twitched every so often, and moved his shoulders up and down with an odd stiffness.

You weren't the only one who noticed. In her usual brusque manner, Lae'zel brought the matter up.

"Has a slime crawled into your robes, wizard?"

"Ah, no. No. Nothing like that. Just a little ... "

He shrugged again, face contorting.

Lae'zel brandished her sword.

"I can beat it out of your clothes if you like."

"That won't be necessary, I assure you."

"Maybe he's picked up an infection," came Astarion's drawl from the rear. "The kind that leaves crusts in your underwear. Hang around in sewers long enough and it's bound to happen."

"No, Astarion, it isn't that either. It's - "

You frowned as Gale cut off, a chagrined set to his mouth.

"Look, it was that scroll. The one of Hideous Laughter. It ... can't affect me in quite the same way as others. I have a natural resistance. But it has ... residual effects. In hard to reach places. Like my back."

You spread your hands.

"Oh, well that's ... something we can deal with right?"

"Well ... if someone would be so kind as to lend me some kind of implement with which to scratch that itch, I - "

Lae'zel waved her sword again.

"No, Lae'zel, not that - "

Astarion came forward and slapped something into your palm, his smile made devilish by the dim lighting of the cistern.

"What say we take care of our wizard?"

You glanced down and saw that he'd handed you one of his gloves, the fingers narrowed to fine points to assist with the precision of his lockpicking. Unanimously, you both turned to Gale and advanced on him.

Now looking rather nervous, your resident wizard raised his hands.

"Now hold on, you two, what are you - "

"Relax, Gale. We're here to help."

Lae'zel snorted.

"This should be interesting."

Astarion grasped Gale's shoulders and spun him around, facing away from you. You fitted Astarion's glove onto your hand and you both turned Gale's robe up, exposing the bare skin of his back above his trousers.

"Uh, I'll have you both know that my skin is rather sensitive there - Oh Gods!"

The last part emerged as a yelp as two hands clad in the designated back scratchers dragged down either side of his spine. Astarion's grin was now positively toothsome, canines glinting in the gloom.

"Why, what delightful sounds you make, Gale. I'd never have known - "

"Stop, stop, hold on - "

You punctuated Gale's protest with a downward motion of your own hand and he jumped slightly.

"As satisfying as this is - "

"I thought your back was unbearably itchy?"

"It is! I'm just ... it's ticklish, you imbeciles!"

Astarion raised a hand to his mouth in mock surprise.

"Ticklish? You? The mighty wizard?"

"Well, being in possession of a normal, functioning body makes me ticklish in certain ... areas, so yes!"

You frowned and considered this key piece of information.

"He has a normal human body, Astarion."

"Oh, that's very clear, from his ... precious little reactions."

"I say we continue with his treatment then."

"I concur, my sweet sewer conquerer."

"Now just a minute - "

Gale was soon rendered helpless beneath the co-ordinated motion of your fingers, laughter escaping him in short bursts, his form squirming and writhing in your grasp. In spite of his struggles, you managed to firmly take on the itch that had lodged itself there, soon dissipating under the rigorous scratching you gave him.

When you'd emerged from the sewers, both you and Astarion looked particularly smug, Gale's disshevelled clothes and hair, along with his embarrassed expression, attracting a few stares from passers-by.

You were fully aware, through all of this, that he could have worked the Weave to push you away at any time.

A thought to store away, it seemed.

Astarion: All pointy ears

"Well, isn't this comfortable."

The sensual purr of Astarion's voice in no way countered the situation you were both currently in. You let out a low growl and he tutted.

"Now, now. No need to be grumpy, sweetheart. After all, wouldn't you rather be tied up with me than any of our other companions?"

And tied up you were. Being the stealthier members of your group, you'd taken it upon yourselves to raid the vault of a local weapons dealer, happening upon a beautifully loaded safe that Astarion had managed to crack.

Right before you'd been caught, that is.

You were not sure how they'd managed to get the jump on you. Astarion's sensitive sense of smell had detected a whiff of sulphur, a mark of demonic infestation. It was entirely possible that the dealer had managed to wrangle some kind of security contract with a contact in Avernus that alerted him whenever the safe was tampered with.

Either way, you'd both been restrained with some expert knots, tied together back to back on a pair of chairs and left to rot until the dealer returned with his 'information specialists'. A coy term for torture and interrogation personnel, no doubt.

With the number of crossbows trained on you, there had been no question of a flashy escape. The room was too brightly lit for Astarion's shadow-based techniques to be of much use.

So, here you both were; languishing in the lower levels of the enemy base, wrists and ankles growing increasingly numb due to the tight knots. Well, at least your circulation was an issue. You weren't sure if vampires suffered from the same setbacks.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you leaned back.

"Any brilliant ideas on how we can get out of this mess?"

"Hmm."

You felt his body shift behind you, the rope creaking as he tested the knots. There was a moment of silence before Astarion spoke again, his tone a touch more plaintive this time.

"Well. They've certainly gone to town with these damnable knots."

"You don't think we can loosen them?"

More silence. Unusual.

"Astarion?"

He let out a put-upon sigh.

"There is a way ... not that I prefer it. But I've done it before when I've been in a ... sticky situation."

"And what's that?"

"I ... gnaw through the ropes."

Despite the situation, your snort of laughter was explosively loud in the small room.

"Gnaw? Like a rabbit?"

"I'd prefer not to be referred to as such, thank you," came his acidic reply.

"Fair enough."

You hastily stifled your amusement before Astarion decided to nibble through his own restraints and leave you behind. Instead, you addressed the more pertinent issue; your backs were tied to the chairs and maneuvering would be very difficult.

"So, how are you going to get your head on level with the rope?"

"I've thought of something. You still have the scabbard of your sword at your belt, correct?"

"Yes?"

"If you manage to hook it into my ropes, and I move from side to side, I can get the ropes to lift upwards and over my head. Then I bite through the ones on my wrist."

"Hmm. That ... might just work. Hold on, let me ... "

Pressing down with your elbow, you angled the empty scabbard still strapped to your waist. The edges were hard steel, not sharp, but using your body weight for leverage, it would be firm enough to enact the scenario that Astarion had envisioned.

"All right, I'm moving the scabbard towards you now."

He shifted again, pressing closer to you on one side. Using your thigh and elbow, muscles twisting awkwardly, you pushed the scabbard slowly towards him. You felt the resistance as it prodded between the ropes that bound him to the chair.

"Almost ... got it ... almost ... ha!"

You gave a soft triumphant shout as it slid home. Astarion murmured in encouragement before beginning his slow movement from side to side, careful not to unbalance either of your chairs.

Bit by bit, the ropes slid down, time passing inexorably as he inched his way through the bindings. You could feel his body slide downwards, his head descending as he lossened the ropes steadily against the firm anchor of the scabbard.

It pulled free a few times and Astarion groaned theatrically and made a jest about the 'tip slipping out', much to your annoyance.

All things considered, your escape attempt was going swimmingly, until it was time for his head to slide through the rope. The cloth upper of the scabbard, now fraying at the edges, caught on his ear.

Astarion let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a giggle.

"Ah! Oh my."

"What? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No. I mean, yes, there's some rope burn, but nothing I haven't experienced before."

"So ... what was that?"

"Nothing."

It certainly wasn't nothing. As you helped him shimmy through the ropes, a series of hiccuping breaths, stifled shrieks and sounds of barely contained hilarity reached your ears.

"Astarion. Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on back there?"

"My apologies, d - darling, it's just ... the threads on y - your scabbard are in my ear and - ah!"

Another bout of hissing and snorts.

"Oh, why, that's ... p - positively ... positively ... ticklish - eeeh!"

Gods, you were going to absolutely murder this unhinged man.

Gritting your teeth, you held firm as he finally made his way out, fangs immediately going to work on the ropes that bound his wrists. Once you were both free, you slowly made your way from the bowels of the enemy hideout, Astarion's lockpicking skills once again proving useful.

He was skilled, you'd give him that, even with all of his ... unique foibles.

With his pick in the final lock, he shot you a sly glance.

"Well? I don't see you mentioning my little weakness."

The delicate point of one of his ears twitched mockingly. You raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to mention it?"

"Oh, you're no fun."

He leaned towards you, a slow, seductive smile curling his lips, hands still busy with the lock even though his eyes weren't.

Show off.

"Go on, tweak my ear. I know you want to."

"Astarion, now isn't the time for - "

"Just do it. For luck."

"Oh, for the love of - "

Reaching up, you pinched his lobe delicately. He let out a noise that wouldn't have sounded out of place in an erotic theatre production. From nearby, you heard the shift of boots on a wooden floor. One of the dealer's gang called out.

"Oi, did you hear that?"

You shook Astarion wildly.

"Get us the fuck out of here you - "

The final tumbler of the lock clicked into place and you both fled into the streets, the sound of Astarion's low cackle ghosting through the evening air.

Lae'zel: Gith psionics

Lae'zel's eyes shone in the gloom, one hand raised: a signal. In the forest clearing before you, your quarry had slowed, pausing to scent the air.

A large deer, enough to feed the camp for a week.

There was a bounty of smaller game within these woods, but Lae'zel had insisted on finding the best possible prey.

Raising your bow at her signal, you let fly an arrow. It struck true, taking the animal in the neck. The deer went down and Lae'zel smirked.

"Good strike."

"Indeed, if I may say so myself."

You straightened and pulled your pack from your shoulders, ready to prepare for carrying the deer back to camp. Voices from further within the trees interrupted you, Lae'zel instantly on high alert.

Three individuals appeared in the clearing, each carrying a rather lethal-looking bow and hunting knives. They stopped in a ring around the dead deer, their posture arrogant and territorial. The leader, a half elf with dark hair cut short, raised her chin in challenge.

"What's this? You trying to make off with our kill?"

Lae'zel growled and you paused, assessing the situation rapidly.

Oh, you knew full well what this was. Closer to larger settlements, hunting rackets such as this one were bound to spring up. They appeared as if by magic whenever someone else got lucky, intimidating other hunters into leaving their choice kills behind.

Adopting a subservient smile, you stepped forward, hands raised and empty as a show of non-aggression. They did not lower their guard, but you did notice that their eyes were fixed on Lae'zel more than you. She obviously registered as the larger threat. You cleared your throat.

"Now, there's no need for unpleasantness. That's a big deer. We can always share - "

"The kill goes to us. We took it down. That's my arrow."

The half-elf's tone was snappish, brooking no argument. You shrunk inward at her rebuke.

"But, please, if we could just - "

In the moment she took her eyes from you, no longer considering you any danger, you moved. Your arrow was nocked and released faster than any of them had a chance to react, lodging deep in her neck.

There was a brief moment where the other two remained frozen, even as their leader sank to her knees, crimson bubbling from her torn throat. In that instant, Lae'zel was among them, sword flashing once, twice.

They dropped like flies.

Lowering your bow, you blew out a breath.

"Well. Looks like their temporary reign in these woods is over."

Lae'zel snorted.

"And good riddance. How pathetic."

"Indeed - oh! Look!"

Scrambling forward, you examined the leather armour the half-elf leader was wearing.

"Gods, they don't make hunting gear like this anymore. Probably stolen. I'm taking this. This is amazing quality."

Your companion shrugged, cleaning her blade.

"The spoils of war go to the victor. You've won it fair and square."

Now, however, you were faced with a different dilemma. The weight of the deer would be difficult to bear along with the dead bandit's armour. You asked Lae'zel if she could wear the armour over her own, temporarily, while you both carried the deer back to camp. She agreed, if rather tersely.

The deer strung up on a sturdy branch you'd whittled for the purpose, carried between your shoulders, you made the trek back through the trees.

It was then that you noticed Lae'zel's odd movements. The leather armour she wore over hers was comprised of a number of interconnected strips, some of which formed a wavy collar. This seemed to bring her some kind of discomfort, because she kept shifting and tugging at the armour, cursing softly under her breath.

"Lae'zel? Is everything all right?"

"Of course."

She brushed off your queries with her customary shortness, but you could see how uncomfortable she was. An idea, half-formed, sprung into your mind.

Surely ... surely she wasn't-

Time to test a hypothesis, so to speak.

You 'accidentally' stumbled, brushing your hand over the collar. Lae'zel gave a start of surprise, before glaring over her shoulder at you.

"Watch it."

Well now. Wasn't this interesting.

It seemed that the back of Lae'zel's neck was particularly sensitive. You couldn't help but wonder just how much sensitivity was contained in that area. Perhaps more testing was required.

It would certainly be useful to know for your in-camp sparring sessions which inevitably ended with you bent over Lae'zel's knee, or with your face in the dirt.

Teasing some of the feathered fletching from one of your arrows, you raised it delicately, touch as light as an evening breeze. You brought it slowly towards the targeted zone, right beneath where her braids shifted and parted, holding your breath.

As soon as the feather made contact, the world seemed to shift around you. The deer on your shoulder was suddenly a dead weight, dragging you to the ground, you feet slipping and sliding for purchase before you went down. Raising yourself on your elbows, you looked around, bewildered.

Lae'zel had ... disappeared.

"Lae'zel?" you shouted.

What on earth?

Standing, you brushed mud from your knees. She was simply ... gone. There was no sign of her anywhere.

Turning frantically on the spot, a noise in the foliage above caught your attention. Head snapping up, you beheld quite the sight.

In the highest branches of the tree beside you, Lae'zel crouched, furiously swatting at her neck. It seemed that your experiment had worked beyond your wildest dreams. The ticklish sensation against her neck had caused her gith psionics to kick in.

Clearing your throat, you adopted a confused stance.

"What on earth are you doing up there?"

She stopped her movements abruptly, the realisation of what she'd done reflected in the widening of her eyes. Her gaze flicked between her hand and you, obviously choosing her words carefully.

"Hmm. I was just ... I heard something up ahead. Possibly more ... bandits. Yes. I came up here to ... check the area."

You waved exasperatedly at the deer.

"Well, fine, but maybe give me a warning next time?"

She slid down and dropped back to the ground, not entirely meeting your querying gaze. Her mouth pulled into a sour line.

"Hmph. Well, maybe get stronger and you won't buckle under the weight of one animal."

Needless to say, you refrained from any further 'experimentation' on the way back to camp. Lae'zel insisted that you wore the armour for the latter part of the journey.

Still in the rear, you allowed your devious grin to re-appear. Sparring sessions would be much more satisfying from here on out.

[senualothbrok]

Carried Away

Summary: A response to @dekariosclan 's request for some good old fashioned boring bed sex with Gale. (Read the ask as it's a masterpiece of smut in itself). I hope this is boring enough for you, my dear 🫶 (it became more tender than hot, I hope this is ok😅)

Word count: 817

Disclaimers: NSFW. Smut. Vaginal sex / penetration.

AO3 link

When a rustle of cool air tickles your shoulder, you clutch at the blanket. Cocooned in the darkness of sleep, you are vaguely aware of the warmth of his body, his tired heave as he slides into bed beside you. You roll towards him, the scent of his teaching robes still clinging to his pores.

“What time is it?” you croak.

“Four o’ clock,” he breathes. “Go back to sleep.”

You grizzle. As his arm drapes over you, you bury your nose in the silk of his hair.

“So late,” you mumble.

Memory flickers in your slumber. The untouched dinner left on his desk in the study. His brisk peck on your cheek when you wished him goodnight. Your fleeting resignation as you glanced at the Gale-shaped hole beside you before you blew the candle out.

“Forgive me, my love.” His soft lips graze your forehead. “I got carried away with the modifications I was making to--"

A gaping yawn swallows his words. You nuzzle into him, your fingers seeking his. His legs tangle into yours, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your bodies. He lets out a small sound, half-moan, half-breath, as his nose settles into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

It could be minutes or hours. You drift through the veil between dreams and wakefulness, Gale’s breathing a soothing rhythm against your skin. From a distance, you feel the firm brush of his toes against your calf, a hard heat whispering against your thigh.

You ignore it at first. But a gentle pressure is circling your nipple, trailing down to your navel. A faint wetness tingles on your earlobe, his rasp trembling through you like a siren. Your lips search the roughness of his beard as you press against him. 

His mouth is open when you find it. His length nestles into your core, firm and insistent. Your tongues are lazy and slow as you savour his taste, thick with sleep and stupor and need. In the blind haze of exhaustion and desire, you do not need speech. Nor do you need light to find the points of each other’s pleasure, imprinted on your senses like an ancient map. 

He does not need to ask when he hooks his knee around your waist, pulling you closer. You do not need to check before your hand dips into his briefs to free the thrust of his cock. It surges against your touch as you skim his leaking tip, tracing the veins that twitch on his girth. You know them as well as the lines on your own palm, the heady fragrance of his musk. You relish each other’s groans as you lift your leg over his, guiding him into your waiting folds. And when, with one long stroke, he fills you to the brim, the ache that flares is like a spell. 

Your fingers fist into his tousled hair, the peaks of your nipples rubbing raw against his chest as he rocks. He clasps the cheeks of your ass in a silent demand, and you whimper as you angle your leg wider, inviting him deeper, into the deepest parts of you, reserved for him alone. You arch your back as he pumps into you with growing urgency. A throbbing hunger pulses with his every pant and plunge. You are fully awake now, and so is he.

“I missed you.” He laps and sucks at your mouth, your earlobe, your chin. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I'm here.” You grind against him, desperate for more. For all of him. “I’m yours.”

You clutch at his muscles, hard and taut as he rolls into you with gathering speed, a raging flood against your banks. There is no reserve, no restraint in him, nothing but love and unbridled need. Your walls clench around his stretching stiffness. 

“I love you."

He spasms, a shaking hand cupping your cheek, his forehead pushing against yours in a mist of sweat and sandalwood and desire.

“I love you.”

Your tongues are a ravenous frenzy, his beard a dizzying rasp against your chin. His hips snap furiously as he bottoms out again and again.

“I love you.”

You can no longer tell if it is his voice or yours, or where his touch meets your own in the darkness. You are one body, one soul, and when you cry out and shatter into each other, you cannot tell where his ecstasy ends and yours begins.

He remains inside you as your chests rise and fall, your breaths slackening. Sated, complete, your kisses become languid and halting. When he pulls out, he plants a feather light kiss on the tip of your nose, and you let out a silent laugh. Your fingers remain intertwined as his arm returns to drape over you, where it belongs.

“I forgive you,” you murmur, and you feel him smile into your skin as you sink back into sleep.

***

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[galeorderbride]

Good lord! That Gale fic?! I made a GRAVE error and read it at work and now I have to concentrate while doing business things?! 10000/10 no notes! Thank you so much!!

What if Gale used Invisibility with a consenting Tav?

Ohhh you’re a gem for saying that thank you <3 and I hope you recovered from workplace smut (I have definitely made the same mistake lol)

You put a thought in my brain, anon. I made this little ficlet based on what you suggested :)

18+ MDNI for smut, including: inappropriate use of invisibility spell (consensual), surprise intimate touching, fingering

I wrote this with F!reader as the subject, hope that's ok <3

Words: 1164

Gale wasn’t a man to do the expected. When you permitted him to use an invisibility spell in your—private moments—he wasn’t going to simply sneak up on you while doing dishes or writing letters. He decided to take the time to make things elaborate, unexpected to the nth degree. Which is why, when he finally did execute his plan, you figured he’d forgotten about the conversation. You couldn’t deny your slight disappointment, anticipating a playful surprise as days went on. Never knowing when he’d take action. Only to have nothing happen. 

He was a busy man lately, now that he was a full time professor at Blackstaff and midterm season was peaking. Locking himself in his office for hours at a time, missing dinner if you didn’t bring him a plate after you’d finished. Followed by copious amounts of ‘thank yous’ and kisses on your cheek. Making sure you knew he hadn’t forgotten you, even if he holed himself up for so long. You tried to remain resilient, trust that he was preoccupied and once this time of the semester was complete, he’d be back to his attentive self once again. 

Self care was a good distraction from the hollow silence of the tower. Tara wasn’t even there to lift your spirits, visiting Morena for the night. Instead, you ran yourself an indulgent bath, using extra honey scented bubble bath and rosehip oil. Frothy suds blanketing the top layer of the hot water as you sunk your body into paradise. Letting yourself fall under the spell of relaxation as you tried to get your mind off the isolation. 

The dripping tap and gusts of wind against the glass windowpane were all that could be heard. Humming to yourself your favourite tunes from the bard performance you and Gale attended a week ago. Eyes closing as you became lost in the warm water, the perfect temperature for you. 

Until a shift in the formerly still water catches you off guard. A smooth, tranquil wave of the bubbles splitting in two, as if a hand broke between. Teasing through the gap of your spread knees. You hardly noticed at first, just thought it was a twitch of your leg or stretch of your foot. But the light flow around your skin becomes a soft but evident caress from ankle to calf. Someone is touching you, but you are completely alone. 

You unleash a shaky breath, a fearful but intriguing jerk within your muscles as the invisible touch hastens to move further between your legs. Ripples of water now waving in full force, sizeable enough that you pieced together just what—or who—guided such spontaneous magic. 

“Is that you, professor?” You say, voice hitching with captivated breath as the formless hand brushes against your cunt. Featherlight to the point where you wonder if you even felt it. 

No response, the typical verbosity of your wizard masked for effect. Part of you fizzled with fear, a tiny threat of a question in the back of your mind that asked if Gale was the one touching you or not. But you were more than familiar with the way he circled around your clit, the patterns of which he teased even though he’d swear there was no routine. After months of living with him in Waterdeep, when he’d seldom go a day without ravishing you, you found little trouble recognizing the force to be him.  

You giggle flirtatiously, head lying back against the ridge of the tub as invisible fingertips went from tickling to softly rubbing your clit. Letting your ankle lift through the steamy bubbles and hook over the edge. Opening further for him, biting your lip in sinful satisfaction as you catch the desirous sound of his shaken breath in your ear. Definitely him, drowning in the essence of your soaked up pleasure. You moan a little louder for him, a sign for this new ghost lover of yours to keep going as you climb further toward climax. 

Splashing increases around you as your lower body jolts with pleasure. Gale slides one finger inside, curling upward in the perfect way. Your skin runs red in a lusty blush as you picture what your pussy might look like as an invisible finger thrusts into it. Getting penetrated by nothing yet filled even further as he slips a second finger inside. 

Your moan is almost guttural, ferally chasing that high. You say, “Are you going to show yourself or am I gonna cum all by myself?” 

With his free hand, he snapped his fingers with a loud flick. Gale appeared behind you, resting his arm around the tub as your eyes stared upward at him. Strands of hair hanging around his face, the circles under his chestnut eyes darkened even further with incurable lust. Finished by a smirk so irresistible you’re sure you could explode just by looking at him. 

Moving his free hand to your breast, prodding at the plush flesh, he says, “I’d hardly be able to concentrate if I tried. Watching you come undone for me…I can’t think of anything else.” 

Gale smashed his lips against yours, passionate and fiery. The same pace as his thumb rubbing your clit, fingers thrusting assertively up. His other hand worked your nipple, pinching and twisting in just the right spots to get your entire midsection in tingles. Slipping his tongue into your mouth just as you let out a pleasurable yelp. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge of paradise. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, maintaining rhythm even as your body writhes in ecstasy. Your kiss slips away, mouths still hovering over each other, drinking in your air. You shudder out, “D-don’t stop…nearly there…”

His breath is hot, keeping your foreheads together. Leading you up and up that hill of no return. He growled, “Yes, good. Do it for me, do it now.” 

The crackle of his voice is enough to fully tip you over the edge. Your sex blossoms with a wet, intense orgasm that spreads throughout your lower body. Gale laughs quietly, taking in the satisfaction of finally unravelling you after so long waiting to strike with that invisibility spell. Days of thinking about the perfect time, now coming to fruition as you fall apart around his fingers. He can’t wait for the rest of the evening. 

Your body calms down, settling into the lukewarm water filled with soap lines and sweat. Gale gives you no time before he scoops both arms under you, lifting you from the tub in a bridal style carry. You giggle as you hug his shoulders, rubbing your nose against his. 

“Thank you for lifting me,” you say, “My legs are like jelly after that.” 

He chuckled, “Well, it’s the least I could do. Considering I’m about to take you to the bed and make the rest of your body—like jelly.” 

“Oh? Invisible or not?” You asked. 

As he flipped you onto the mattress and climbed over you, he said, “Why not both?”

[feyascorner]

10 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks, suggestive content!!!! (new warning hehe)

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. actual????? communication????? after 45k words?!?!?!?!?!? or is it...this chapter is literally them being loser teenagers i love them

To you, his touch is like a drug.

His breath, cool against your hot skin, presses against the shell of your ear as something dangerously close to a whine escapes your lips. You can feel him grin as he lowers his head and places a long kiss on your collarbone. His slender hands slide up your back, grinding you even closer than you already are as he mouths at every nook and cranny of your body. It’s almost like he wants to consume you whole. To drink you until all that’s left is a shuddering mess, your body still begging for his own.

White curls tickle your chin as the strings on your shirt finally come undone. His tongue brushes against the peak of your bare breast, and your eyes meet him in a lust-clouded haze, lips pursed as you swear you could reach your peak just by the way he looks at you. It’s so intimate, so vulnerable, so pleasurable that your eyes half close when the palm of his hand smooths against your clothed core.

He stills, lifting his head to kiss his way up to your neck again. As much as you want to beg him to resume what he’s been doing, he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers bring your face to his.

“Don’t hide from me.”

You shudder. You think you know plenty with how flushed your face is, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lowers back down your chest, grinning as he lays his cheek on your skin teasingly.

“If you look away, I’ll stop, my love.”

“Are you insane? Of course, he’s staying here!”

You lurch up from your pillow as the earth-shattering reality of the morning sun blares you awake. Cheeks burning, you rub at the bags under your eyes, humiliated in the face of nobody but yourself, as you hear more voices from downstairs. None of which even try to keep it quiet. You stare down at your legs, lips pursed.

Only still half-awake, you can practically feel his hands on your waist.

Curses. What are you? A prepubescent teen?

With a loud groan, you force yourself onto your feet. Considering how your dreams will only add to your stress, you might as well.

“Oh, thank gods you’re here. Tell him we’re not taking Astarion with us to the celebration, will you?” Shadowheart hisses as you descend the stairs, still half asleep. “Our wizard seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the leech upstairs.”

You swear Lae’zel snorts.

“It was only a suggestion. I wasn’t sure if we’d want to leave him alone here…isn’t that merely an invitation for him to run away?” Gale rubs his temple with his thumb, clearly exhausted.

You’re fully aware of Astarion’s nightly escapes into the city, but you don’t tell them that. It’s better not to cause a panic.

Shadowheart shrugs. “We’ll tie him to the counter. Hells, we can just lock him into the basement.”

Gale sighs. “He’s not a dog.”

“He acts like it,” Lae’zel grumbles, sinking her teeth into an apple.

“We could ask the Duke to spare some of his soldiers for the night. Make them keep watch while we’re at the party,” Shadowheart offers. “Anything to keep that dirtbag here instead of there. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

Gale’s eyes meet with yours. There’s a sort of expectancy in them that makes you squirm in your shoes as they bore straight into your soul as if he’s aware of your deepest secrets. There are bags under his eyes, surely from having to balance Astarion’s less-than-likable presence with all his other responsibilities in rebuilding the city. A part of you feels guilty for the work you’ve dropped on him, but both parties know it’s for the best.

It’s been made glaringly obvious that you and Astarion shouldn’t be anywhere around one another. It’s only a recipe destined to end in a yelling match or…

Your cheeks flare. Last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.

“We’ll keep him here. Lock him in his room like Shadowheart said,” You finally blurt. “Can you send the invitation back with everyone who’s going? I have someone to visit in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” the cleric smiles, obviously pleased with your decision. Gale only frowns. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

So are you.

You hear the door of Astarion’s room open upstairs and decide you shouldn’t stay any longer. After rushing goodbyes to your companions and another questioning glance from Gale, you scramble to fly out of the house, barely grabbing your bag in the process. The contents weigh more heavily than they usually do, and for good reason. Hopefully, younger vampires feed less than fully grown ones because otherwise, the squirrel you found the night before won’t be able to satiate Berry’s appetite.

It’s hard not to wonder how she’s doing for most of your day. You were initially planning to visit her last night until the unfortunate ambush Petras released onto your already sore limbs. Even now, you constantly rub at the ache of your thighs and arms. The healing potions did plenty, but they couldn’t do everything.

She must be starving, you think. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately for you, however, when you arrive at the Highberry residence, Berry seems perfectly fine. In fact, she’s helping her adopted siblings arrange decorative plants around the house, likely to liven up the place after what’s been happening the past few months. There’s a sense of calm here that doesn’t currently exist in your own household. The scene makes a soft smile pull at your lips, which is more than welcome.

“You didn’t visit last night,” the young girl finally says when you’re with her by the window, far enough from the siblings to be out of earshot. She looks up at you sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve gotten attacked.”

She picks at her fingers.

“Were you worried?” you stifle a laugh, and she shrugs, albeit flustered. “I brought you some—prey. You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” she still takes the worn sack and clutches it close to her. “I went out to find food by myself.”

At this, your eyes widen. “What? You left for the forest? You know that place is dangerous, Berry; it’s not safe for someone as young as you.”

“I’m a spawn. It’s probably safer for me than you,” she squints, and you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“...You’re still a child,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Where’d you learn to hunt anyway? The last time I checked, you could barely fight off a few forest animals.”

Her face flushes red, but she huffs regardless. “The haggard taught me.”

“Hag?...”

“Your friend,” Berry perches either of her arms on the windowsill, staring out at the passing civilians on the street. She whips her head to you and points at either of her fangs, opening wide. “He’s been teaching me to hunt with these.”

“Astarion?” you blink. “He taught you? Willingly?”

It’s rather hard to believe.

“No, I had to follow him. By the time he noticed, he didn’t have much of a choice,” she says proudly, puffing out her chest. Then she deflates again as if she just tasted something sour. “He got two big bears last night but wouldn’t share…So, I had to get my own squirrels because he told me I’d starve otherwise. That old hoot is selfish and mean.”

Well, it certainly sounds like him.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” you scold her gently.

“Maybe by him.”

You want to say that she’s wrong and that Astarion wouldn’t hurt her, but the blasted comb flashes back in your mind, and reality sits heavy in your throat. So, instead, you bite your tongue.

“Have you found any of them yet? The other spawn?” she pushes herself off the wall to stand straight.

“I did—if fighting them counts.”

Her face falls and a part of you regrets even alluding to what happened last night. She begins to fidget with the sharp ends of her nails again and stares at your shoes. “There’s too many of them.”

You’d most certainly know.

“We have the Fist fighting for us,” you assure her, albeit pathetically. Even in your own ears, you don’t sound entirely confident. “And besides, the murder count has been decreasing as of late. If we keep going at this rate, we won’t have more than a body every two weeks—”

“It won’t work that way, though. They’ll just keep coming back.”

Were children always this perceptive?

You’re not sure what to say.

She clenches her fists. “Not all of them are bad, you know.”

“I know, Berry. You’re not a bad person at all; it’s just that—”

“I meant the siblings,” she blurts, finally meeting your eyes. “Aurora…she was nice. She was nothing like Petras.”

Aurora?

You’re suddenly leaning down to her, shoulders tense. “You’ve met the other siblings? Since when?”

“Only once, months ago. Petras tried to convince the others to stay here with him, but they said no,” her brows furrow. “He was furious that day.”

Of course. Why didn’t you realize that earlier? Petras, Dalyria, and Leon were the only ones of the main spawn that remained in the city, and being so swept up with their antics, you’d forgotten to ponder on the motivations of the others. You swallow the dry lump in your throat as realization slaps you across the face.

“So not all of them want to go through with the ascension?” you gasp. Berry pauses but nods slowly. 

Help. You could ask them for help. Surely, if they don’t want another Cazador running rampant in the city, they’d be willing to stop the ritual as a whole. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek as your mind races. Were they even aware of what Petras was up to? How many lives he’d taken?

You take her hands to stop her from picking at them, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Berry, where are the other siblings?”

“They told Petras they were leaving for the Underdark like they promised you.”

Gods, bless this girl. Somehow, she’s been more helpful than any other resource you’ve had the past few months—including the Duke, and your vampire spawn. You’d think she might be a blessing from the heavens if it weren’t for all the other bullshit they’ve thrown your way as of late.

“Tell Cora I dropped by,” you smile brightly. Though it’s rare nowadays, you feel almost hopeful. “I’ll come back in a week. Stay put until then.”

By the time you realize how much time has passed being cooped up on your bedroom floor, the sun is already setting. You reach for a candle, flicking a match against the box before lighting a flame to illuminate the pages sprawled around you. In anyone else’s eyes, you might look nearly hysterical, but to you, it feels as if the weight of the entire city is on your shoulders again. In a way, you suppose it is. Unless you want more than just a couple dozen bodies on the city streets in a few months, that is.

Your eyes scan over Dalyria’s drawings for what seems like the millionth time. And for the millionth time, you find nothing. Since the last time you obsessed over her journal, there have been a few additions to your collection: some books on ascension, vampires, and, for some reason, a book on vampire lords. 

You’re not sure you see the point in picking up this particular book, considering the spawns’ master is long dead, which means none of them can become a true vampire unless they were to ascend—the exact scenario you’re trying to prevent. But perhaps spending an entire day at the library blossomed a newfound curiosity within you. 

There isn’t much in there you don’t already know from first-hand accounts Astarion would recall on the nights you couldn’t fall asleep. There are parts, however, regarding the vampire spawn they can compel that lure your attention.

“Vampire spawn were the masters of stealth and charismatic cunning,” you read mindlessly. “...vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators.”

Vengeance. Is that what it was when he tried to strangle you?

Your jaw clenches, and you feel a sort of buzzing on your lips. What an asshole.

Quickly, you shut the book with a slam as you decide that dwelling on information you’re already well accustomed to is a waste of time. You’d likely be a better source of knowledge than the book itself because of how basic its contents tend to be.

You stare at the cover, which simply illustrates a set of fangs. Cliche, you think, but it’s effective.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

Fortunately, the uncomfortably loud growling of your stomach snaps you out of your trance.

Shoving the book under your bed, you swing the door to your room open to pace to the kitchen. Hopefully, there’s some dinner left over from last night—-worst-case scenario, you have to eat one of those days-old fruits gathered in the bowl on the counter. You don’t have much time to ponder, though, because you hear a familiar groan from downstairs as soon as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Will you please stop leaving dead animals in the cabinet? As grateful as I am that you’re feeding on them rather than our friends, it bloody reeks, Astarion!”

Shit.

Astarion stares up at you with wide eyes on his way up to his room while you blink down at him wearily. Gale continues to mutter mindlessly about whatever trouble the spawn has caused in his sacred kitchen, but Astarion doesn’t seem to pay him any heed. You feel naked under his gaze, but you think putting on at least four more layers of clothing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of how you feel.

“Good morning,” he blurts.

He never greets you. Not like this, anyway.

It’s not even morning.

Fortunately, he looks just as confused at his words as you do.

Searching for a response that won’t come to you, you refer to the lamest solution. A scapegoat, if you will. “I need to walk past you.”

Astarion immediately nods. “Right. Yes, of course.”

He stands to one side of the narrow stairs, and you cautiously squeeze past him. Has it always been this much of a struggle to fit two people on the stairs? It’s terribly awkward as you shuffle by, holding the air in your lungs in hopes that he doesn’t recognize how uneven your breath is. You’re sure he does, but it was worth a try anyway.

Suddenly, Gale is standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of you.

“Where are you going? I thought you needed a healing potion for your stomach,” he aims at Astarion with a raised brow.

The said spawn coughs. You almost choke on the air.  “No, I—I’m alright now.”

“Are you sure? That bruise was pretty nasty, my friend. Letting something like that fester will surely only hinder you…”

Astarion closes the door to his room. Slams, more like.

You glance at Gale pitifully, who only crosses his arms with a sigh as he turns to return to the kitchen. “He’s moodier than I was when I was going through puberty.”

Wordlessly, you trail behind him until he resumes whatever dish he’s cooking up inside a pot while you reach for an apple. There’s a comfortable silence as you perch yourself on the counter, legs gently swinging as you chew, cringing whenever you feel a mushier part of the fruit. Gale lifts his ladle to his nose and takes a quick sniff before nodding in satisfaction. He then puts the lid over the pot.

“I’ve never seen Astarion as awkward as he was earlier,” he comments, and you cough.

“He wasn’t that charming in the first place,” you grumble.

“I never said he was charming. Just that he isn’t awkward.”

“Maybe he’s still drunk from last night,” you scoff, blood boiling at the mere thought of how he acted. A strange sense of pride spreads through you, knowing you hit him hard enough to do some damage, but you still think you could’ve hit harder. All those months pent up should’ve garnered far more strength, surely.

“Or perhaps it’s from the kiss.”

You do choke on your apple this time.

After you wheeze out whatever apple chunks were lodged in your throat, your head whips in the wizard’s direction. “Gale, you–”

“It wasn’t voluntary, I’ll have you know,” he cuts in, crossing his arms. “I just happened to leave one of my books on the couch, which I only wished to retrieve for my nightly routine of reading at least 100 pages.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your face deepens in color, even as you beg it not to.

“I, of course, being the most fortunate lad I am, had to walk into the room when his tongue was halfway down your throat.”

You nearly shriek. “There was no tongue!”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief!” he laughs. “I likely would have had to pry my eyes out with one of Lae’zel’s swords otherwise!”

On any other occasion, you’d bite back at him, but you’re too busy drowning in your own humiliation to register half of his words. A blessing and a curse in this case.

“It didn’t mean anything!” you blurt, even though he never really asked. “It was—he kissed me. I punched him afterward, too.”

Gale raises a brow. “Really? It appeared to me that you were kissing back, though it might have just been the angle. Quite passionately, too, but that might’ve been the trick of the light…”

You slap your palms over your ears, praying to the gods that he shut his mouth for once in his damn life. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Does he know that?”

“He hates me! And he’s kissed hundreds of people—I doubt one stupid kiss even bothers him.”

“Yes, but it’s a kiss from you. His ex-lover,” Gale shoots back. “And he doesn’t seem unbothered. Neither of you do.”

“So what?” You know exactly what, but it’s difficult to acknowledge at the moment.

“Tav,” Gale says carefully. “If you’ve—by any chance—begun to grow accustomed to his presence again…and I don’t blame you at all, by the way. I’ve become rather fond myself of forcing him to listen to magic lectures that nobody else is willing to listen to; however…if it’s becoming something more on your end–”

“It’s not,” your tone is more stern this time. Colder. “It never will be.”

“Really?”

“Do I need to punch him again for you to believe me?”

“That’s not quite what I’m getting at. I just witnessed the tension between the two of you, and it would be irresponsible of me as a friend if we didn’t work through what you’re feeling before things start to get out of hand.”

You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “There is no tension, Gale!”

“Now now, I might not be the most experienced out of all of us in romantic affairs, but I’ve had my fair share of them. With a goddess, no less! It would be wise if you heeded my advice and discussed what the kiss meant to both of yo–”

You clap a hand over his mouth, words gritting through your teeth. “Stop saying it!”

His response comes out muffled against your palm.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. I’ll go up to him right now and tell him how I’ll bury him alive if he tries anything again. Would that be enough to shut you up?” 

Gale smiles. You don’t return it.

The angry march up to Astarion’s room should’ve been enough to wake up your other companions, but it doesn’t. You knock heavily on his door, foot tapping impatiently as you glare at Gale, who stands halfway up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging. It only makes you want to shrink into your shirt.

When Astarion fails to answer after multiple knocks, you decide you have no time for this. “I’m coming in. Please don’t be naked.”

The door doesn’t even have a lock. His room is empty except for the cold air that hits your cheeks. You realize that the window is swung wide open, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the wooden floors where he’s left his cloak in favor of what you assume to be usual nightwear. You pull the door behind you and cautiously step into his room, eyes glazing over the rest. It’s a stark contrast from your own. Despite how much time he spends in it, there isn’t a speck of dust or an article of laundry where it shouldn’t be. His bed is neatly made, his chair pushed into his desk, and if it weren’t for his books organized on his desk, you’d think nobody even lives here.

You slowly inch toward the window, running your fingertips over his books. They’re worn but somehow still well taken care of. You can feel how old they are, yet their pages remain perfectly intact, without a single crease on any corners. 

When you reach the window, you finally notice the vines growing on the sides of the building that protrude just over the window sill. You hear soft thumps from the ceiling, resembling the pace of his footsteps. Or at least, what do you think they’d sound like if he made any sounds while walking.

The asshole knows you’re here. Of course, he does.

With a wary glance at the vines, you firmly grip both hands on the roots and slowly lift yourself off the windowsill. Thankfully, the stones making up the building make for good boosters to haul you up toward the rooftop, even though your instincts suggest you’d likely fall and die an unfortunate death here. Still, somehow, you manage to haul yourself onto the roof's edge with a final groan.

You slump rather unceremoniously onto the angled edge, and the slight snicker from the other occupant of the space doesn’t go unnoticed. You glare at him, and Astarion only grins, leaning back on both elbows. “Should I have lent you a hand?”

“I can climb a wall, thanks,” you snap, crawling to a spot that allows you to lie back and stay a generous distance away from the vampire spawn. The tiles of the roof feel cool against your skin. From only two stories up, you can see a full four streets further than you usually can from your window, where only a few people now shuffle through the city given the time of night. While you think it should be peaceful here, all you can focus on is the undead individual lying a good few feet away from you, staring up at the sky rather than the city.

“As much as I enjoy all the colorful insults you throw at me, I was hoping for some peace tonight,” he finally says.

“This is my rooftop that I paid for. I’ll go where I please.”

Astarion sighs, his eyes still gazing up at the stars. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight? If it’s about the dead animals, I’ve already told Gale I’d store them outside from now on—”

“Last night didn’t happen.”

There. It’s like a weight off your chest. At least, it should feel that way.

He stops, moving to stare from the stars to you. “And since when could you manipulate the very essence of time?”

“Don’t get smart with me unless you want another repeat of yesterday. Maybe I’ll knock out a fang this time,” you hiss.

“The damage you’ve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,” he frowns. “And if I may: It isn’t completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I might’ve been intoxicated, but I wasn’t deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?”

You roll your eyes. “I was trying to bite your lip off.”

“I would believe you if you hadn’t made such teasing sounds when I bit back.”

This boils your blood just enough for you to tear your gaze away from him and back onto the city. “Just forget it happened.”

“Must I?”

“Yes! It was clearly a lapse of judgment!”

“It was,” he affirms. From the corner of your eye, you can see him put his chin against the palm perched on his elbow, fully turning on his side to face you. “An exciting one. I thought I knew you well enough that I could trust you would never kiss me again.”

You glower. “I was bleeding half to death—I was barely conscious. For all I know, I thought you might’ve been someone else.”

You can both hear the obvious lie in the statement, but neither points it out.

“I do wish you’d stop doing that,” he mutters, staring through lidded eyes. “It’s hard not to pay you any attention when you constantly smell like fresh bait. It’s like seeing an entire feast before you but being unable to have a taste.”

“Yes, because I wanted to get attacked by your brother.”

“Right. That.”

He stares up at the sky again. Hells, if he stares any harder, you’d think his damn eyeballs would fall out. His white curls blow gently against the breeze, and from here, it appears like nighttime was really made for him. Or do all vampires just glow during the night?

“For all it is, I’m truly sorry.”

Your eyes resemble barrels as you turn to look at him. He’s now occupied with his hands—those flawless hands of his that, by some miracle, don't have a single scar on them even after all the two of you have been through. Those very same hands you’ve once loved and that you’ve grown to hate.

“I, of all people, should know what it feels like to have someone forced upon me. And if I had any sort of control over my body at the time, I assure you what happened last night wouldn’t have happened.”

Though it’s not the main point of his apology, you find yourself focusing on the implications. He would’ve never kissed you if he was sober. You know this—you’ve known this—so why you’re so preoccupied by this confession, you have no idea. Internally kicking yourself, you steel your mind to remain calm. He hates you. You hate him. Simple. You only notice, moments later, that he’s still talking.

“---and I’m aware we aren’t on good terms,” he says, softer. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stoop down to the levels of the dirtbags I had to deal with for two centuries. I might have questionable morals about all else, but in that aspect, I’m unlike them.”

Still wide and unblinking, your eyes slowly relax as you soak in his words. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him so sincere (in a manner that isn’t insulting), and it feels like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, you want to deceive yourself that you’d never reached Baldur’s Gate. That you and your companions are still camping in the woods, and Astarion is still only learning to care for another. That he never went to Cazador’s palace, and you never needed to stop the ascension.

You would’ve indulged in such fantasies months ago, but now, they feel too artificial to derive joy from them. They feel too hollow. Fake. Like biting into a poisoned apple. You can sense him waiting for your response, and it takes a moment, but you manage to mumble it out. “It’s fine. I did kiss you back. We were both not in our right minds. Just…forget it happened.”

You don’t know how to decipher the look in his eyes, but you’ve long given up on how to do it in the first place. Because every time you think you finally understand him, it turns out to be a mask or a plot to deceive you. And every time, you don’t see it coming. It’s better not to try at all because it means he has no way to lie to you in the first place.

“Very well,” he says numbly. “It never happened.”

Both your heads turn to look up at the dark sky. The stars twinkle overhead, glistening in their own respectful glories. There’s one in particular that shines the brightest, floating right beside another that dims compared to all the other stars. It seems to drag behind the brighter star like a shadow, always following but never truly acknowledged.

You pity it.

“Why did you quit music?” he asks suddenly. “I thought it was…your passion.”

“I can’t see the beauty in it anymore,” you say simply.

Astarion hums. “A shame. I was rather fond of your lyre.”

The brightest star almost appears to move again. The darker one trails right behind.

You raise your brow. “Is this where you run off to every night? To stargaze? It’s pretty, but doesn’t it get boring?”

“It’s not pretty at all, darling,” he grins, attention never leaving the sky. “I watch every night, hoping that the dimmer star dies out before the brighter one notices it’s there.”

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Night Wandering

Gale x F! Tav

18+ yearning, mutual masturbation, improper use of tadpole, dom/sub, restraint, roughness, public sex, voyeurism, fingering (f!), breast worship, heavy petting, porn w/o plot

After Tav's little magic lesson from her favorite wizard and the heat momentarily shared between them, she's feeling pent up. If only his tent wasn't directly next to hers...

Masterlist

-

Tav lay awake in her tent, fingers threaded over her belly. A slight frown creasing her face.

Trying to decide if she had embarrassed herself.

His reaction to her imagination hadn't been... entirely rejecting. But it felt in proximity to it.

Within the magic they had created together, she had shown him the kiss that she sought. One that started out soft and exploring, but quickly became all pulling heat and tangling need.

He had said that he was just surprised, but she couldn't help but wonder if that was really the case.

She turned over on her bedroll, burying her face into her pillow.

Damn him for making her feel this way.

Her imagination carried on, pulling more salacious visions from the carnal corners of her mind.

Their kiss becomes desperate, hungry. His body cages hers against the cool stone wall. Tongues twisting, panting breaths escaping.

Her hand slid under her, pushing past her waistband.

His mouth nipped and suckled at her throat, his stubble tickling her. Leaving bruises as she writhed underneath him. Moaning as softly as she could manage. After all, their companions were sleeping just around the corner.

Her eyes glazed over, flipping onto her back. Fingers pulsing hard circles into her clit. Vaguely aware of a pulling in her mind but too pent up to care.

His fingers snapped her bustier open, pulling her blouse down with his other hand. Her breasts suddenly exposed to the cold air of the monastery. Pebbling in both the temperature change and her arousal in being revealed like this. Anyone could walk by and see her.

Her head fell back, arching her leg out. The working of her hands only temporarily scratching that itch. Hips starting to writhe in short pulses.

He leaned back, watching her chest heave with lidded eyes. Pinching one peak just to get her to wriggle and bite back her moan. Fingers sliding inside her waistband, traveling lower-

She heard a low moan from his tent, then a gasp.

Realized with deep horror that her tadpole had been broadcasting.

And his tent was closest to hers.

She tried to close the channel but felt a pulling from him.

Don't stop. Please.

Her cheeks flushed.

She opened back up to him again slowly and felt his relief. The well of desire he was pulling from.

Show me what happens next.

She fell back into her mind, his alongside hers now.

His long fingers hooked under the laces of her leathers, untying just enough to slip inside. Head leaning down to take her hard peak into his mouth. Swirling the tip and suckling. Her back arching, an indignant whine leaving her.

She could feel his fast breathing, the working of his hand over his twitching cock.

His fingers teased along her curls, circling just outside of her entrance. Thumb pushing feather light circles into her hard clit. His mouth nibbling down on her nipple. His free hand coming up to cup over her mouth as she whimpered.

Her hips had started twitching, her limbs tingling in warning. The spreading ache in her pelvis clenching into itself.

His two fingers plunged inside her, curling towards her navel. Hitting the spot that made her mewl. Fucking into her roughly. Mouth just as unforgiving, laving hard panting stripes over her engorged peaks.

She could feel the way he fucked into his fist, eyes clenched shut. Biting back the groan in his throat.

His body trapping her against the stone, she had no choice but to ride out the unbearable pleasure. Gripping into his hair to gain some semblance of control. Her leathers falling further down her thighs, his hand began slamming into her. The heel meeting her clit in rough strikes. Sending her eyes into the back of her head. Writhing helplessly.

Her eyes squeezed shut, panting. Fingers blurring on her clit.

Tav, Gods I'm... close...

His tongue swirled hard and pulled her nipple in between his teeth. Adding a third finger without warning. Pushing her further up the wall with his thigh. Bending her open fully, splayed against him. Her legs starting to shake.

She could hear his panting from the next tent. The lewd sounds of his rutting.

She cried out against his cupped hand as her end hit her. Body tremoring, eyes rolling back. The dual hits of his unrelenting mouth against her breasts and the wrenching release only found deep inside her cunt. Fully falling apart against him.

She crested up over the edge, her release hitting her at the same time as her fantasy. Arching up and muffling her moans against her own hand.

A whine from his tent and she felt the spend pulse out of him in hard jolting waves of pleasure. Spurting up his toned belly.

Trying to catch her breath, she had the wherewithal to feel embarrassed again. Cutting off the connection with a sheepish apology.

After catching her breath a moment the flap of her tent opened.

She looked over, surprised.

Gale's silhouette heaved with breath, dressed in just his sleep pants.

He rushed inside, crashing his mouth with hers.

She moaned, falling under his body. The smell of both of their sex heavy in the air.

Twisting her hands in his long hair, she pulsed into him. Their mouths all slick and pleading. Unabashed need tying tight, bodies pushing and pulling.

He released her mouth with a gasp. Panting hard.

"Don't think for a single moment that I don't desire you." He spoke low, his voice gravelly.

He traced the back his hand along her flushed cheeks, then pulled away.

Leaving her tent, heading out into the night.

She groaned quietly, head falling back in a thump on her pillow.

Now she wanted more.

Damn him.

~

[brotherwtf]

Freaky proooompt: bucky talking a big talk about bottom for the first time and as soon as Gale gets a single finger in him he’s done for. Absolutely gone. Whimpering, whining, drooling, melting into the mattress as Gale takes him apart and he makes it so easy in spite of all his talk, big dog that’s all bark and no bite and just wants to be loved. Buck fucking him hard, face down ass up is life changing

oh man anon mouthy Bucky is all I've ever needed I fear, he would talk SUCH a big fucking game and then he's immediately rendered speechless, a moan choking his words as soon as Gale starts to touch him

he agreed to bottom because Gale casually challenged him one time because John jokingly teased him about being so sore after they had sex, to which Gale responded "let me know how YOU feel after all of the positions you put me in" and Johns just like aight bet I'll do you one better, I bet you come before I do and Gales just smirks and rolls his eyes "sure John" and they agree to let John bottom

and of course Gale is stupid gentle with him, can't imagine being rough or holding John down or anything, and Johns being peak John by being the brattiest son of a bitch alive, but oh can you imagine John getting shoved off of his high horse when Gale runs a hand up his spine to hold his neck down, uses his other hand to massage John's ass cheeks in preparation, and oh God poor John is already moaning and keening into the sheets from Gale's feather light touches

he still tries to hold onto his brattiness, tells Gale he's just tickling him, he's not really that worked up until Gale gently circles his hole with his finger and Johns hips are bucking forward, pathetic noises spilling into the hand clapped over his mouth

and when Gale finally fucks his cock into John? oh my God John would be so embarrassed if he wasn't so fucking cock drunk, blabbering and drooling into the sheets as Gale starts to move, the hand in his hair pushing him down into the bed to muffle his sounds even more, pathetic, drooling sounds that would give any porn star a run for their money and Johns making them right now, just because he's bottoming for Gale

Gale starts off gentle, teasing almost, which only makes John even more insane because it's not enough, he wants more, literally begs and cries for Gale to give it to him more, he NEEDS Gales cock, and Gale smirks, holds his neck down and fucks into him brutally, thighs slapping on John's as he holds John down with his hand, using his other hand to force John's hips back onto his cock and he's hitting somewhere so deep that John can almost feel it in his throat, feels like he's choking on it

he almost screams when he comes, the moan ripped from him as his hips shake, his thighs tremble as he collapses into the bed, all while Gale soothes him with a hand running up and down his back, telling him he did such a good job for him, kisses his hair and tells him he was so good, and John has never felt so pleased in his life

John does feel sore the next morning, but he would rather die than tell Gale he was right, but Gale notices quickly how John hobbles around their room and can't help but smile at his stupid partner

clegan being stupid!! my favorite genre I fear

[avonne-writes]

NSFW headcanons: John and Gale's fantasies and kinks (HS AU)*

*non-exhaustive list 😉

1. In high school

John

A lot of his fantasies are centered around sports. Having sex in the locker room after a game when everything smells like sweat, sports equipment and grass. Getting off under the bleachers. Fucking Gale while Gale's wearing his soccer jersey, going down on Gale and tracing the tan line drawn by Gale's swim trunks with his lips.

He’s also into exhibitionism and fantasizes about doing it in all sorts of public places, like in a park or at school. He wants to be recorded too. He might even convince Gale to let him take a video of Gale's hand as he gives him a handjob.

Speaking of handjobs, he loves Gale's slender but strong hands, he loves holding them, playing with them, sucking on Gale���s fingers, having them squeeze Bucky's neck/thighs/shoulders. He imagines all sorts of wild fantasies involving those hands.

He has a fantasy of being a sex god or sex android - basically, just being impossibly good at sex - having insane stamina and knowing how to do things just right without ever even having sex. While touching himself in the shower, he often imagines Gale buying him in some sci-fi universe and him blowing Gale's mind with his extraordinary performance.

Gale

Teen Gale doesn’t even have the slightest clue that these things might be related, but he fantasizes about: having sex in complete darkness, being wrapped in latex except for key body parts, giving a blowjob while covered by a blanket, being separated from his lower half by a wall so that he can’t anticipate what's coming, having sex in space... These are all facets of the sensory deprivation kink he discovers later, when he's much older.

He dreams of having sex in the wilderness, in forests, lakes or meadows. The sense of serenity and freedom really appeals to him. When this fantasy collides with Bucky's exhibitionism and their camping trip during the summer between high school and college, they attempt a blowjob in the forest.

Gale likes biting, both being bitten and marked up and doing it himself. There’s a phase in their relationship when he and Bucky are constantly at it, leaving hickeys and bite marks everywhere until it gets too embarrassing. Gale enjoys the idea that someone wants him enough to be possessive with him.

Teen Gale is also very love-starved, so no matter how dirty or wild his fantasies become while he’s jerking off, just before he comes, his mind often jumps to the idea of making love. To casual, regular sex - actually, often outright marital sex. Having a husband and having sex with him is a peak fantasy for him.

They both have an authority kink from opposite sides of the coin, so it works out perfectly, but they keep this in their own fantasies until college. Bucky wants to be a good boy and be of service, Gale likes to be called sir, he likes to tease and feel needed. Calling each other daddy is a squick for them though.

2. Later life

Authority kink (see above). They do this kind of power play frequently just before their conflict at 30 gets bad.

Sensory deprivation for Gale: he loves everything ranging from shimmying under the blanket to give Bucky a blowjob to headphones+blindfold+being told not to move. Also likes temperature play and mild tickling.

Bucky definitely gets his soccer jersey fantasy fulfilled and probably some others too. Sports continue to arouse him and give him dirty ideas.

From his mid-twenties, Bucky starts developing a breeding kink, which gets increasingly stronger over the years. Talks about it a lot during sex, but when they start fighting about having kids together, Gale stops letting him do it.

As a combination of the sensory kink and his domesticity kink, Gale loves sex when they don’t say anything to each other because they're comfortable and know each other enough that they don’t need words.

They also start roleplaying regularly, which is a fun way to spice up their sex life and to pretend that they've had sex with other people too, not just each other.

[javiersprincess]

tags: 18+ minors dni, female receiving head, body worship, religious allegories.

a/n: save me munch gale…save me…

Gale looks up at you from beneath you, the fabric of the robes tickling his nose from where they slip from in between your fingers. Wide big brown eyes gaze upon you with adoration reserved for an acolyte with their god but maybe that’s what you are to Gale.

He’s always had a bit of a thing for the divine.

His fingers trace and grip the curves of your form and he grins something greedy when he feels your shin thump against his bed in the Elfsong Tavern. There’s something of a man’s pride in making their beloved finish, and he groans when he can taste more of your slick that gushes into his mouth and sticks to his beard when he sucks on your clit. The dull sting of his nails can’t compare to how you scratch at the pillows - he can hear the cracking and ripping of thread among your gasps and rocking of your hips.

“Gale - Gale, please!” You say his name like it’s something holy, like it’s your whole word and not the other way around. As if Gale doesn’t wake every day thanking the gods for bringing you to him and that he gets to have you like this. There’s a desperation to his manner, rocking his head in time with your hips so you can’t escape his practiced tongue as it flicks inside you to trace your walls and lap at any slick that thinks it can trickle away from him. He swallows you down greedily as he would consume the Weave and finds you all the more intoxicating.

You deserve this, Gale thinks. It’s hard to comprehend that someone as strong, as resilient, as wonderful as you walks the earth with the rest of the rabble but here you are and you are his. You deserve a hot mouth to grind into every night and to wake up to every morning. You deserve to be spoiled, to be bathed in adoration so you never want for anything.

Your voice cracks and breaks, and he finds something like pity in his heart at the sound. Though it is quickly replaced by his avarice when he hears the high whine of his name from your lips when you hit your peak. It is followed by the jumbled cries of your love for him - you are far too sweet to him; knowing you can’t quite finish if you don’t admit that he has your heart every time.

Gale lifts you off his mouth, just enough to hover you over his lips and gasps hot breaths over your dripping folds. You shudder each time it passes over your puffy clit and he can’t help but moan at the sight of your messy cunt. Flushed and dripping onto his neck, the poor thing throbs from your clit to the entrance of your cunt - gripping around nothing in the aftershocks. His thumb rubs at your hip bones adoringly, looking up at you with wide eyes. His voice is rough and jaw is beginning to grow sore.

None of it compares to how his cock aches in his robes, twitching and leaking in time to your moans. He presses one last fleeting kiss to your pearl and something smug curls in his stomach at the way you keen out his name followed by a jumbled please. You sound pretty and frail, pride brewing in his bones that only he can have you in this way.

“Would you like more?” Gale asks, kissing the inside of your tacky thigh as you pant heavily. You whimper with eyes that are so consumed by the black of your iris it’s like you consume all the light in the room at once. You bite at your lip before nodding timidly, mouth barely open to gather your breath. Gale only grins broadly beneath you - ask and you shall receive as the saying goes.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Chasing Away the Cold

The ship swayed gently as it rested, at anchor. Doe lay on her bed in the bright cabin that was hers alone, gazing at the trinkets on the shelf: several pretty shells, a cut ruby and gold necklace that had been a gift, a music box. It was eerily silent; the crew had disembarked, but she was tired of land, wanted the gentle hush of the sea. It made her heart full to know she was trusted to care for the Sanguine Shadow, a little flare of light in her chest that kept her warm on this cold night. Through the porthole, she spied a drift of white lifted on the chill air.

A gentle knock pulled her from her reverie. 'Lass?'

'Come in,' she said, shifting onto her side as the door opened to reveal Gale, snow melting in his hair. 'Hello, you. I thought you were having a well earned drink and a dance.'

'Ah,' he said, smiling sheepishly at her as he shrugged out of his coat. 'A siren pulled me back. Have you seen her?'

'Hmm,' said Doe, tapping her bottom lip thoughtfully. 'She was in the captain's quarters last, I believe- hey!' She squealed as Gale pulled her from her bed to kiss her. He held her by the waist, close and gentle. It was sweet and smouldering, his kiss, like embers and yielding ripe fruit on the tongue. She melted into his embrace and felt him grin against her, dipping his head to kiss her throat.

'Not tonight,' he rasped softly. 'If you don't mind.'

'I don't,' she agreed. 'It's a cold night, after all.'

As if to emphasise her point, the wind picked up to a howl outside, the whirl of snow thickening and beginning to settle. She shivered in her thin shift. Gale smiled sympathetically, grasping the thin material in his warm hands and lifting it over her head to reveal her body, gooseprickled with cold.

'Poor thing,' he breathed, tipping forward to claim her mouth again, his hot tongue slipping between her lips, his breath in her mouth, a hand moving to gently cup the back of her head, kneading in soothing circles. They fell back on the bed and he covered her body, trailing kisses over jaw and neck and chest; he was focused, lips and tongue drawing sighs from her, leaving marks of possession on her skin for the captain to find- and try to best- later.

'Gale-' she said breathily, her hands tugging at his hair gently as he suckled a nipple, drawing it to a hard peak. When he looked up to meet her eyes, his gaze was hungry, the fire in those dark depths stoked to a blaze, but still adoring.

'A little warmer, lass?' He smiled at her blush; she was thawing under his skilled touch. Smoothing a hand along her skin to rest at her throat, the heavy coolness of his rings strangely soothing to her, he turned his attention to her other breast, groaning into her skin as her breath caught. He knew the map of her body well enough, but allowed her hands to guide his head down the soft rise of her belly. His kisses there tickled; she giggled and he only peppered her with more, laughing up at her with sparkling mischief in his gaze.

'Beautiful songbird,' he chuckled, nuzzling at her skin. 'You have such an infectious, wicked little laugh.'

'It's the wicked company,' she replied, grinning. 'Something about a scoundrel pirate...'

He raised a brow, smirking. 'What have you heard?'

'Oh, lots of things,' she said, writhing as he licked at her inner thigh. In response, he tsked and gripped her thighs with both hands, keeping her still. 'For one thing- he's a bit of a control freak.'

His eyes glittered at that. He pulled her down the bed, closer to his mouth, laughing darkly when she yelped. 'Hmmm. What else?'

'He's very attentive.'

'Mmhm.' He smirked into her skin, pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses higher and higher, going slowly, teasing and thorough.

'Anything else, lass?' he whispered, breath ghosting over her clit.

'He's very good,' she croaked, mouth suddenly dry.

Gale closed his eyes and moaned softly at the praise, finally lowering his head to put soft lips and skilled tongue to work. He remained slow, relishing the waves of heat rolling off her, the soft cries from her mouth, her hands gathering his hair in her fists in an effort to ground herself. He lifted her, hooked his arms beneath her thighs to ensure no escape, stayed attuned to the trembling of her body and the tension he was building. When her breathing grew fast and shallow, he pulled back for the briefest moment.

'Doe,' he growled. 'Let go.'

The command sent her falling into pleasure; tears rolled down her cheeks and she screamed his name as he worked her into a second, finally pulling away with her arousal over mouth and bearded chin. He licked his lips, catlike and smug.

'You're wearing too many clothes,' she said as he rose to kiss her. He pressed her into the mattress, hands cupping either side of her neck.

'Hmm. And what do you plan to do about that, little siren?'

It was his turn to yelp in surprise as she flipped them, straddling him as her hands went to his crisp blue linen shirt. Her legs still trembled; Gale's hands went to her hips to steady her as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. She pressed small soft kisses into his chest and shoulders, licked up his neck with a devouring tongue, tugged at his earlobe with her teeth and drew a feral snarl from him.

'You're so good,' she said between kisses, nosing at his jaw. 'Such a sweet boy.' Her hand stroked downward to unlace his trousers and she shifted so he could shimmy out of them, dropping to her knees beside the bed.

'Careful lass,' he warned. 'Keep talking like that and I won't get to be inside you before- ah-'

She grinned wickedly, big brown eyes sparkling. 'I don't plan on it, love.' With that, she divested him of the last of his clothes, took his cock in her hand and drew it into her mouth; the sound of his stuttering breath, the whimpers he could not hold back, were music to her.

She was as slow and attentive as he had been; the heat of her mouth and softness of her tongue rendering him nothing but a moaning mess above her. She would not let him have release however, not yet; she released him, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and bright eyes as she rose to straddle him again, guiding him within her. His eyes fluttered closed, his teeth grit on a groan as she sank onto him, his hands bruising on her hips to set his own punishing pace. The sweet gentleness of before gave way to hard, desperate thrusts; she came again above him, collapsing into his grip with a hoarse cry, and it only drove him to push her more.

'Fuck, Gale that feels so good-'

'You feel incredible,' he moaned in response. 'Gods- I love you- I love you so much-'

'I love you too,' she gasped. 'I need you- I need you to fill me right now-'

And then he came, heat and cries and ragged breathing, his arms winding around her to hold her close as they rode out their highs, the snowstorm raging outside, unable to touch the fire that blazed between the siren and her scoundrel.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

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@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Undersea Marauder.

There are so many rules in this world. So many shackles to keep him down.

Let nothing obstruct his errant path.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

A fish is bound to the water his entire life.

It’s not a life for him.

Floyd is on his back, set adrift in the face of the Coral Sea. His hands cradle the back of his head, and he finds himself staring up. A flock of birds form an arrow, slicing through the sky. He wonders where they're going, what they'll do there.

Some merpeople dreamed of trading scales for skin, but Floyd thinks about giving up his fins for feathers. A pair of wings with which to witness all manner of strange things…

He chuckles soft.

Wouldn't that be so freeing?

“Eheheh. I wanna try it, too! Wait up for me, birds. Here I come…!”

Floyd rights himself and dives unto the frigid waters. His powerful tail undulates like a teal ribbon, propelling him after and faster. He steadily gains, chasing the shadows of the birds that skim the surface of his home turf.

Floyd approaches, lifting himself toward the shimmering boundary between sea and sky. A second later, he breaks through with a mighty splash.

His body elegantly arcs in the leap. He’s a skipping dolphin, a flying fish.

Free.

Floyd launches higher and higher, zipping past the flock. He collides with some birds, screeching with laughter as they spin like cars out of control.

Here come the clouds now—he easily bursts through them. They’re made of cool and fine-grained beads of water, refreshing him as he flies.

And higher still he goes, the sky dimming, a gradient of light to dark.

Floyd is among the stars, each twinkling like diamonds in greeting. The planets, like massive globes of sugar orbiting him.

The eel is weightless, effortlessly floating through space. With his arms, he paddles--and though there should be no gravity, the space warps and gives like water, letting him sail as smoothly as a ship after a storm.

He reaches out and plucks a star out of the cosmos, giving it a curious lick. The taste is like sweetened milk, and so he pops the entire thing into his mouth.

Then begins his descent.

At the peak of his jump, surrounded by the stars, he bends downward and plunges.

But there are no longer any waters waiting for him.

He crashes through a canopy of leaves. They scatter like papers, raining down verdant, brown, scarlet, tangerine, and gold. Sunlight pierces them, giving each a magical glow.

Roots come, skittering by him like a snake might slink. Thin tendrils extend from them, brushing his face.

Maybe there is some other name for them? Hyph-something, myce-whatever. Floyd does not care to remember his twin's excitable rambling.

Alarmingly, he spies an ugly bulbous cap poking out from a root. His nose crinkles with disgust.

Shiitake mushroom.

Floyd paddles through the fungi and plants, the scent of dirt and chlorophyll filling his nostrils. It's fresh and green mixed with damp and earthy, nothing like the salty smell of the sea.

Jade would like this, he thinks.

Daisies push through, their petals tickling his skin. He takes a shaky breath, holds, shakes again, and...

Sneezes!!

A great gale is unleashed, clearing his surroundings in an instant. Floyd is sent flying up, up, and away--

He shoots out of the dunes. Sand scatters from the force he emerges with, throwing particle clouds up into the air. Floyd flails, trying to balance his body. No use--he flops uselessly under the pull of gravity.

A scream rips from his throat. Not of terror, but of joy.

The landscape unfolds into a sandy expanse. In the distance, he sees an oasis guarded by palm trees. And below, a great city crowning the desert.

There are bright tents and stalls pitched, merchants hawking their wares. Vases and lamps with unique patterns, ripe fruits, adornments in a variety of designs.

Families and friends mill about in the packed marketplace, satisfied with their mundane lives, the schedules they keep. So content, so peaceful.

Floyd grins.

And he lets himself plummet straight into a stall.

The weight of him collapses it with a loud THUD. The merchant looks on, horrified, and his circle of customers gasp, putting distance between themselves and Floyd. Sticky with fruit juices, he removes the strand of black hair that clings to his cheek.

"Eh, guess it could be worse," Floyd shrugs, tossing off a chunk of watermelon sitting like a hat on his head. A line of juice dribbles down his forehead.

He notices the crowd staring and wiggles his tail in a casual pseudo-wave. One person immediately faints--but luckily, they're caught by a concerned onlooker.

"Riffraff!" the merchant shouts, waving a fist. "Scoundrel!! I demand compensation for what you've wrecked!"

Floyd rolls his eyes. He sounds like Azul.

The eel hauls himself off the pile of fruit--and peels right past the feet of the customers. The merchant's face heats.

"Guards! GUARDS!! Come quickly, HELP!! There's a sea monster on the loose!!"

Floyd rapidly drags himself across the market, digging his talons into the ground, his tail pushing him forward. He gleefully writhes as people scream and flee, clearing a path for him. His laugh, cackling.

He's at the waterways that thread the city when heavy footsteps spill into the street.

"He went that way!!"

Floyd doesn't look back before he dives back into his natural element.

The water welcomes him, its streams washing off the sand that paints his skin, loosening the hair that clumped from fruit juices. A tender kiss, a kind hand.

He has returned to the sea.

The channel goes deeper than Floyd thinks. It widens, becoming an entire ocean bathed in sunlight. A coral reef teeming with life stretched out below him, and when he runs his hand along it, tiny seahorses escape and trail bubbles.

He turns his head this way--a school of rainbow tropical fish race by. The other way, a band is in full swing. A carp on the harp, the plaice on the bass, bass on brass.

Floyd twirls as he passes, happily humming along to the tune. The music wraps around him, giving a warm embrace. He almost misses his name being called, almost forgets himself.

"... od....... loyd... Floyd! There you are."

A face that matches his appears beside him. He is followed by a boy with lilac skin, a series of squirming tentacles at his beck and call.

“Where did you vanish off to?” Jade asks. “Azul and I were starting to get worried about your whereabouts. Weren’t we, Azul?”

“I’m more concerned for the places he visits rather than Floyd himself. Who knows how much collateral damage he could cause unsupervised,” the octopus merman grumbles.

“Oya, Azul… Could it be that you lack faith in Floyd? Even though he has unquestionably served you since middle school?"

"You're saying strange things again. I recall him losing interest and changing his mind last minute more often than 'unquestionably serving'." Azul raises a brow. "So? Where were you all this time?"

Floyd flings himself at the duo, slinging his arms around their shoulders and pulling them close.

"F-Floyd?! What is the meaning of this?" Azul sputters, struggling against his binds.

"I was everything and everywhere all at once," he responds with a laugh. "I was as free as a bird! I'll tell you guys about it~"

"Fufu, it sounds as though you've been away on quite an adventure. We would, of course, be more than happy to hear of your escapades."

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Gale's Summon

Shovel doesn't get enough love

"Master says no hurting friends! Shovel isn't hurting friend!"

"N-no but, ah, AH! AHA, get off! Your claHAWS!" 

"Hurt?"

"N-no, but HAHA! NOT THAHAHAHAT! QUIHIHIT, quihihit, G-Gahahahale! GALE! Hehehehe, hahahahaHA!"

"Shovel? Wyll?" Gale rounded the corner past his tent, approaching the beach hidden behind those rocks. When Shovel wasn't near Karlach she was getting up to trouble, and his suspicions proved correct. Wyll's booming laughter could be heard through the whole camp.

He was on his knees in the sand as Shovel crawled around his back. Her feet were currently hanging off his horns and she appeared to be pawing at Wyll's sides upside-down with her long claws. He was twisting around as she moved too, and a large helpless grin gave away what Gale's summon was doing. He smiled at himself, pleased that she was learning less violent ways to amuse herself amongst the others. Astarion had not found it amusing when he awoke from his meditation to see her rifling through his daggers not a few days ago, but after some guidance from Gale it appeared Shovel had found better entertainment.

"Gale, Gale, sh-sheHEHE! She, haha, get her OHOFF! Your tickle demon is kihihilling mehehehe!" Wyll's arms lifted to move Shovel from his horns, but her claws dug into his exposed armpits. They came crashing down to his sides and the tiny demon readjusted her position. "Tickle demohohon! FIEND! Get ohout of thehehere!"

"Master! Shovel is making friend squeal!" 

"I see that!" Gale put his hands on his hips not unlike a proud father. "I didn't think that she would take to nonviolence so quickly. I'm proud of you, Shovel."

The quasit hummed happily and finally jumped off of Wyll's back to crawl towards her master. "Master's proud? Master is proud of Shovel!" Her tail flicked.

"I am!" He knelt down to rub the top of her head. "Such a fast learner! She didn't hurt you, did she Wyll?"

"Noho, n-no, but she got me," He stayed on his knees, rubbing his tingling sides. "Gods, and here I was trying to brood. She jumped on me and started to," He paused in a blush. The other members of their party were peaking around the rocks to see what was going on, and Wyll's ticklish secret was no more. "To…well. I guess I was loud, huh? Wasn't trying to be. I ah, have a few tickle spots she exploited crawling all over me, there, sorry I…ah…"

"Please, everyone has a tickle spot or two, no need to be embarrassed," Gale approached him and offered a hand. "I hope you're in a better mood now?"

"A bit, actually," He chuckled sheepishly and stood. "But she better not do that again without permission."

"Shovel made Master proud! Shovel will make friend squeal again."

"He's only a bit better after all that? My permission is granted," Gale surprised himself with the command, and with a squeal Shovel launched herself at Wyll once more. He fell to the ground in another giggle fit as she crawled all around his torso scratching and kneading and even nibbling. The little demon couldn't be pushed off. On the bright side, it gave the others some entertainment and Wyll didn't have a chance to stay in any sort of negative mood.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 5 - And Fresh-Fallen Rain

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

It was only a matter of time before Pomni blinked herself awake. 

Wave after wave of pulsing pain, synchronized with the beat of her heart, relentlessly pounded the back of her skull. A landscape of crimson curls, wild weeds, and shimmering stars expanded, contracted, and twisted before her half-lidded eyes. The disorienting sight was more than enough to make her stomach do flips — and fail to stick the landing every single time.

But even so, it was hard to feel anything but content. 

The wind was fierce and frigid, but Pomni didn’t know it. She didn’t feel the bitter cold, even as gale after freezing gale slashed her skin like the crack of a whip. All the pain in the world wouldn’t have phased her, not as long as the wind’s touch highlighted the slightly-wet spots where Ragatha’s lips had so lovingly grazed her face. 

Stalks of overgrown grass wavered as a brisk squall flew across the yard; a palette of fallen leaves, which just so happened to be sleeping in its path, was cast into the sky. Red, yellow, orange, and brown — the cozy colors swished and swirled through the air, then drifted back to their resting spot below the jungle-like lawn. 

It only took a moment for the breeze to return. Coming from the other direction now, it passed through Ragatha’s red yarn hair before pummeling Pomni’s face. All at once, the saccharine aroma of the ragdoll’s locks — strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain — introduced itself.  

And it was heavenly. 

Pomni’s eyelids drooped further, and a dumb, wobbly smile blossomed on her face. As her tiny arms wrapped around Ragatha’s plush, guffawing belly, she didn’t worry about how embarrassed she was to have fainted, or what Ragatha’s little kisses had meant, or why someone like her even deserved to be treated with such affection. Those pesky doubts were for future Pomni to agonize over; for now, they crumbled to pieces with each precious peak of Ragatha’s laughter.

“Oh! There she is!” Ragatha flinched as Pomni’s arms enfolded her. “I was starting to worry I up and killed you…”

“Nope! Still kicking.” Pomni chirped, “But just barely…” 

Slowly, Ragatha’s giggles began to peter out, but their spirit still tickled every word she spoke. “Goodness me — aren’t you in a good mood! Your head didn’t hit the ground too hard, did it?”

Pomni waffled. She decided not to tell Ragatha about the big lump on the back of her head — the redhead would just worry herself sick, after all. “...I’m fine. Just a little bit dizzy.”

“I really am sorry.” Ragatha placed her soft hands atop Pomni’s, idly dragging her digits across the jester’s worn leather gloves. “I should have warned you before I…” she paused. “Well, y’know…”

Pomni could feel the heat rising in Ragatha’s hands. She waited patiently for her to finish, but as the silence dragged on, it became increasingly clear that she’d have to be the one to break it. 

“No, it’s okay! Really! I just, um, wasn’t expecting…that. And if you think about it, it was actually my fault. I wouldn’t have fainted if I had just listened—”

“No, no! It was sweet! I don’t know. I just figured…” Ragatha said, a nervous tilt to her tone, “...since you were having so much fun getting into your character, I ought to return the favor.” Ragatha's hands were twitching now, “And…”

Somewhere nearby, a ladybug crested a wobbling blade of grass, flitted its wings, then buzzed away to who-knows-where. Another brisk gust wandered through the dilapidated yard, sending an armada of dandelion seeds sailing swiftly through the air.

“And…?” Again, Pomni was the one to shatter the silence. 

“Oh, nevermind.” Ragatha forced out a laugh. Pomni swore she could hear the woman’s blush. “I think I’ve just got an overactive imagination.”

Another pause. That made three. 

Pomni’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Unsure if this was even real, she slipped her hand out from beneath Ragatha’s, eager to simply trace the woman’s strong, soft frame…

… but her finger didn’t get very far before arriving at the gaping hole slashed across the ragdoll’s abdomen. 

Guilt flattened Pomni’s heart like a speeding train. Holding Ragatha close, the jester sat up in a snap, examining her friend’s injuries with a level of determination that could only be described as ‘obsessive’. 

Talk about a mood-killer — it was as if Pomni had never even bothered to stitch Ragatha up at all. Stuffing leaked out of the ragdoll here, there, everywhere. Nearly all of Pomni’s makeshift threads, nowhere close to well-crafted, were already failing — if they weren’t coming loose, the strings themselves were coming apart. 

Pomni clenched her teeth. Her brow descended, and her lips trembled fiercely. 

“Hey, hey! Don’t cry! You don’t have to worry about me.” Tenderly, Ragatha pushed herself against Pomni's little frame, “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not sad.” A stormy look came to Pomni’s face. “I’m angry.”

“...Angry?”

“Stupid #$&%ing tree monster. Stupid #$&%ing Caine!” Pomni bared her teeth, “Stupid #$&%ing circus!”

“H-Hey, now! Take a breath, okay? Let’s not get ourselves worked up—”

“No! I’m pissed!” In a snap, Pomni leapt to her feet, firmly holding Ragatha in her arms. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt anymore,” she said, making a beeline toward the haunted mansion, “Not a single scratch, from now until we escape this horrible circus together — I promise!”

Ragatha’s eyes were sparkling, though Pomni was too focused on climbing the front porch’s creaky staircase to notice. “Pomni, Y-You don’t have to do all that…!”

“Too bad. I want to.”

“O-Oh…” Ragatha’s breath felt warm against Pomni’s chest. “I see…”

Without another word. Pomni summited the porch stairs, where a pair of double-doors patiently awaited her arrival. She eyed the doorbell, but her hands were full — so she opted for three mighty kicks at the doors’ expense instead. “Hello? Anyone home?” 

Pomni and Ragatha waited for an answer. And then waited some more. Pomni’s shrill voice echoed at least a dozen times in the stiff silence. 

“Hellooo!?” Pomni’s ill-fitting boot pounded the door thrice more. “We don’t have all day, you know! Open up!”

“Pomni! It’s been five seconds!” Ragatha chided, “Don’t be rude!”

“Rude? What am I doing — interrupting supper time? They’re NPCs.”

“I know that! But still. It just feels so wrong…”

A relaxed smile found its way to Pomni’s face — at this point, the jester wouldn’t have been surprised if Ragatha were hiding a pair of angel wings underneath that pretty dress of hers. “Let me guess. You’re the type of person who feels guilty about not giving equal attention to all of your stuffed animals, aren’t you?”

“I—” Ragatha sputtered, glancing off. “N-No! I’m thirty years old! What makes you think I own stuffed animals?”

Pomni raised an eyebrow.  

Ragatha had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. It was incredible how quickly her face flushed completely pink. “Okay, first of all, how dare you attack me like this—”

Before Ragatha could even finish her tongue-in-cheek response, both girls simply lost it. Their uncontrolled, side-splitting laughter — one giggling, one cackling like a witch — spun together into a harmonious duet, and for a fleeting moment, both captives felt like they were home. 

“Alright, alright.” Ragatha wiped at her eyes. “Enough joking around. How about I just ring the doorbell for you, Sweetheart?”

“Huh?! No way! You have to stay still or you’re going to rip yourself! Look, I’ll just set you down—”

“On the dirty porch? Are you out of your mind?” Ragatha reached for the ornate button beside the door. 

“Hey! What are you doing?! I just told you—”

“Oops!” Ragatha poked the button, then quickly fell back into Pomni’s arms like a helpless princess. “Sorry, dear. Didn’t hear you!”

Pomni grumbled, and the doorbell replied with its signature chime. Windswept shutters battered cracked windows as Pomni and Ragatha stood there, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Pomni’s patience was in short supply. She stamped her foot, and the old porch whined. “Seriously?”

“Maybe the entrance is around the back? My old apartment building was like that.” Ragatha said. “Ordering anything by mail was just the worst. It’s like — I get that the mail carriers had to stick to a tight schedule, but they would never read the signs. Oh, and trick-or-treat was a nightmare every Halloween—”

Ragatha’s riveting tale was cut short as, at last, the double-doors swung open at the sound of the magic words — trick-or-treat.

Ragatha’s mouth fell open. Pomni wrinkled her brow. Both women studied the other’s outfit in stunned silence — and suddenly, Caine’s choice of costumes didn’t seem quite so arbitrary. 

“Ohhh…” They nodded in sync. “Right…”

Cautiously, Pomni poked her head through the door frame. If the scent of stale tobacco pouncing upon her senses was any indication, the surprises weren’t over yet. 

“It’s…” Pomni breathed, “...an elevator…?”

“Ooh, and an old-fashioned one, too!” Ragatha tapped her fingers together, excitedly peering inside. 

The interior was nothing if not visually striking. Each of its four walls, carved from cherrywood, hosted polished panels gilded with gold. Winding bands of white and black and gold and blue danced a tango across the smoke-stained carpet. An expensive-looking chair sat in the corner; an equally-elegant end table, complete with a flickering lamp, complimentary cigars, and a half-filled ashtray, sat to the left. 

“Gosh, and just look at all these little aesthetic flourishes!” Ragatha gushed. “Folks back then really put effort into making every little thing look beautiful. You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh. S-Sure…”

“Sometimes I wish that attitude would make a comeback. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an old soul…” 

Pomni blinked, regarding the elevator’s interior through empty pupils. She would have instinctively eyed the exit had she not already been standing in the middle of it. 

The jester couldn’t recall something as simple as her own name — but, by some cruel twist of fate, everything else about the life she’d had stolen from her remained crystal clear in her head: including her swarming, overcrowded menagerie of obsessive anxieties.

Back home, Pomni’s teeny-tiny cubicle — something she couldn’t believe she actually missed now — was located on one the higher floors of her employer’s drab highrise. Entering the lobby, a lengthy carpet led the eye to a conveniently-placed pair of lifts. Their metal doors, constantly opening and closing as employees funneled in and out, was a sure sign that another busy day of work lay ahead.

Pomni was quite familiar with the contraptions — which was reason enough for the tie-wearing twenty-something, armed with her trusty backpack, to begin each morning with a hard left towards the musty concrete stairwell instead. By the time she’d reach her floor, the young accountant would be out-of-breath, weak in the knees, and far sweatier than any sane person would ever like to be. In her book, though, it was worth the trouble. She would do anything in her power to avoid the sensory torture that was riding in one of those cramped sardine cans. 

Elevators were awful. Just awful. Women wearing far too aggressive perfume; men who had forgotten to wear any deodorant at all. Extroverted co-workers trying to make small talk; creepy strangers trying to hit on her. Idiots with no concept of personal space; morons with no respect for the fire marshall’s occupancy limit clearly posted on the wall in big, bold letters. 

But being stuck inside of a tiny box with eight other people was a dream compared to the experience of riding alone — where her mind could wander, and the simmering fear of some catastrophic malfunction could consume her thoughts. What if the power went out? What if she got stuck? What if she were trapped inside and ran out of oxygen? What if the cables snapped, and the final moments of her life would be her screaming in horror as the car was sent plummeting down the shaft?

Nope. Pomni didn’t like elevators. Not one bit. Sensitive to Ragatha’s feelings, however, the young woman tried her hardest to force a smile onto her face. “Wow. C-Classy…” 

For a moment, Ragatha didn’t even react. “...You’re nervous.” she tilted her head in concern, “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s the matter!” Pomni lied, and rather poorly, at that. “I was just…” she floundered, “...admiring the craftsmanship! Gee, don’t you wish they made stuff like this nowadays?”

“...Yeah. I just said that.”

“Right…! S-So…! Anyway…!”

Pomni closed her eyes, ducking her face behind Ragatha’s shoulders. Oh, come on! What are you waiting for? Just go! It’s just an elevator! You’ve had your whole life to be a coward — now’s the time to be brave. For her! You can do that, can’t you!?

The shaking jester steeled herself. The sole of her oversized boot departed from the sturdy wooden porch, swung forward, flirted with the elevator’s artsy carpet, pressed down… 

…and the entire car shifted with an ear-splitting creak. 

Pomni’s whole body seized up — she couldn’t stumble back onto the porch fast enough. Nope. Nope. Abso-#@%$ing-lutely not.

“Pomni! You are nervous!” Ragatha rubbed at her chest, “Oh, no — Ugh! I’m sorry! Are you afraid of elevators?”

Pomni squirmed in place. Her gut commanded her to keep up her defenses — to deny, deny, deny, because showing the slightest inkling of vulnerability had been punished so severely in the past. Despite all of her strongest instincts, however, the soft look of concern on Ragatha’s face hit her like a magic spell.

“Um,” Pomni’s shoulders slumped, “Maybe a teensy-tiny bit...”

“Oh, Sweetheart…” Ragatha drew closer, “Forget it, then. Why don’t we try looking for another way in?”

“N-No! It’s fine! This way is the fastest!”

“But I want you to be comfortable, too…”

“You’re worried about me?!”

Ragatha twisted her lips. “Is that bad…?”

“Yes!”

“O-Oh…”

“God, Ragatha — can’t you just be selfish for once in your freaking life!?” Pomni’s voice was sharpened to a fine tip. “I mean…look at yourself! You’re falling apart at the seams — literally!”

“Pomni! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Watch me!” Pomni squished Ragatha against her chest before the ragdoll could even think to protest. Surging with adrenaline, she clenched her jaw, made peace with her god, and barreled forward. 

The ancient elevator quaked beneath her feet; each time it stirred, her body seized, preparing itself for the whole contraption to plummet into the endless abyss below. Pomni quailed at the sound of squeaking metal, cowered at the buzz of hydraulics, and pined after the whistling wind outside the car — a beacon of safety and stable footing. 

She shivered, choking on every haggard breath that just wasn’t enough — but somehow, the slight weight in her arms gave her the courage to open her eyes and face the music. 

“I…” Pomni stood in the center of the elevator. She looked down at a begrudgingly-happy Ragatha, each stammered word framed by bouts of breathless laughter, “...I did it!” 

Ragatha beamed, practically singing. “You did!” 

“Yes, indeed!” A series of polite claps sounded from behind. “Jolly good show, darling!”

Pomni just couldn’t stop smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?” she agreed. Sticking out her chest, the young woman pulled in a deep breath, and then…

…Wait a minute! Pomni spun around on a dime. Who said that!?

A ghostly figure, surrounded by an otherworldly aura, sat with her legs crossed in the elevator’s cushioned chair. Her outfit, equally as old-fashioned as her surroundings, evoked all the stylings of a suffragette. Her wide-brimmed hat cast a spooky shadow over her face. Her ruffled shirt was tucked neatly into a long, floral-print skirt. A silk sash spanned the length of her chest, bearing a progressive slogan spelled out in a simple typeface.  

An eerie smile crawled across the phantom’s ashen face. Slowly, she looked up from the book in her lap, and the lamp’s struggling flame gasped its final breath, “Going up?”

Pomni SHRIEKED. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” the ghost marked her place with a bookmark, closed her tome, and sharply raised her other hand, “Dining room. Fifth floor.”

With a light ‘ding’, the elevator’s sole exit slammed shut, casting the car in total darkness. The elevator rumbled as if caught in an earthquake, rusted gears whirring and whining all the way. 

“Uh…” Ragatha’s face fell. She looked up at Pomni, who was taking things exactly as well as you would expect. 

“WHAT?! HEY! NONONO! WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“There’s the handrail, darling.” the ghost pointed with a wink, “You might want to make use of it sooner rather than later.”

“NONONO! LET ME OUT!” Pomni pounded her foot against the door, “WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT—”

The ghost shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, the elevator shot into the air at gravity-defying speeds, thrusting Pomni and Ragatha roughly into the floor — and pinning them there for the remainder of their abrupt ascent. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The haunted lift halted the same way it had started.

Painfully. 

The doors slid open with an innocent chime, and the girls shivered in sync as the ghost’s ethereal high-heels passed straight through them. 

“Right this way, ladies.” the phantom twirled her fingers. A magical aura surrounded Pomni and Ragatha, dragging their aching forms behind the ghost as she stepped gingerly out of the car. 

A cozy dining room awaited beyond the threshold. Autumn-toned streamers stretched across the ceiling. A perimeter of potatoes, turnips, and radishes, strung up on strings and carved with grotesque faces, was proudly displayed on each wall. A large banner pinned to the wall read ‘ALLHALLOWTIDE GREETINGS’, just in case the apple-bobbing stations weren’t sufficiently on-the-nose.

A long, wooden table was situated in the exact center of the room, dominating the space. The ghostly woman sat herself at its head, and, with a flick of her finger, sat her dazed guests across from each other. 

“Well, well, well!” The ghostly specter fanned her face with her weighty novel. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has another troupe of wayward rabble-rousers dared to trespass upon the esteemed estate of—”

“Oh, God!” Pomni, green in the face, scrambled to slap her hands over her mouth. “Oh, holy #$@%—” She swiped the closest open receptacle she could find — a gorgeous Edwardian vase — and held her mouth against the opening. Her whole frame crumpled forward as her body quite ungracefully emptied itself out.

“P-Pomni!” Ragatha’s fingers grazed the side of her face. “Oh my goodness — are you alright?!”

The jester groaned. Plopping the vase back onto the table, she weakly nodded, trembling hands hugging her ailing stomach. “I’ll be fine. J-Just…give me a second…” she faceplanted into the large heap of candy corn piled on her plate. “This happens more often than you’d think…”

Ragatha pouted, watching Pomni’s face sink deeper into candy corn mountain. Individual pieces slid off of the young woman’s plate and scattered across the table. “Remember your breathing, okay, Sweetheart?”

Pomni flashed a flaccid thumbs-up.

“My word! What is the meaning of this?!” The ghostly apparition clenched her fists, lips curled back in disgust. “Perhaps if your detestable generation spent less time listening to that boorish ‘jazz’ music — and I’m being generous calling it music at all — you’d have room in those cramped skulls  to remember proper etiquette!”

In a flash, she tore open her book —  the cover read, ‘THE LADY’S BOOK OF COMMON ETIQUETTE & ASSORTED DEMONIC SPELLS — 1860 EDITION’ in embossed, glossy lettering.

The ghost loudly cleared her throat. She pointed to the text with a manicured fingernail,  “Immediately upon entering the parlor, find your hostess, and speak to her first. It is very rude to stop to chat with other guests before greeting the lady of the house.”

Ragatha blushed, shrinking in her seat like a scolded child. “Ma’am...”

“Hmph. As appalling as your conduct is, I suppose you aren’t completely hopeless. It’s worlds better, at least, than that infantile rabbitoid or that foul-mouthed modern-art abomination.” The haughty ghost shook her head. “But I digress — what business do you mortal wretches have in the decrepit domain of I, the great Margarethe MacGuffin?”

A long, drawn-out pause ensued — longer than usual. “Um…” Ragatha rapped on her chin, “…Who?”

“Who? What do you mean ‘who’?”

“Come to think of it, I’ve completely forgotten what we’re even supposed to be doing here. Pomni…?”

Groggily, Pomni lifted her head; more than a few candy corns came along, sticking stubbornly to her cheeks, chin, and forehead. “Brooch,” she sighed. A single morsel tumbled off her face, “We’re looking for the—”  

“Brooch, you say?!” Margarethe flinched at the word like a trained dog hearing its name. Her sour mood shifted in an instant. “You couldn’t possibly mean…” she drew closer, “...that brooch, could you? The legendary MacGuffin family heirloom? The priceless treasure forged in the highlands beyond Hadrian’s Wall, passed down from generation to generation—”

“Uh-huh! Sounds about right!” Pomni abruptly pushed her chair out, sending an avalanche of candy treats pittering and pattering across the hardwood floor. She wasted no time racing to Ragatha’s side — and gently, so gently, hooking her arm around the dolly’s. “So where do we go? What do we do? How do we leave!?” 

“I…” Margarethe balked. “Sit back down this instant, young lady!”

“Uh, hello?! Do you not see that my friend is practically in pieces, here? We don’t need your stupid theatrics — none of this is even real, anyway — just spit it out so we can go back to the tent and get her fixed!”

Margarethe’s posture was as sharp as a tack. “For shame! Never in my sixty-seven years have I witnessed such uncharismatic, uncouth, unbecoming behavior from a young bachelorette. Simply appalling —  you’ll never find a husband with that attitude.”

“Aw, really? You mean it?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“HAHAHA!” Ragatha slapped the table, “G-Golly, Ms. MacGuffin! This glassware is just to die for! Wherever did you procure such a stunning collection?”

Margarethe hesitated — but then curtsied in appreciation. “Well! I’m glad you noticed. They’re just wonderful, aren’t they?” she proudly mused, “The help says they’re made of this newfangled, petroleum-based material that’s cheaper than glass and impervious to breakage. Bakelite, I believe it’s called — the material of a thousand uses!”

Pomni flicked the nearest goblet. She whispered in Ragatha’s ear: “I think they’re plastic.”

“Indeed — we are truly blessed to be reaping the plentiful fruits of the industrial age. Now, where was I…?” Margarethe tapped her bottom lip, “Ah, yes!”

Margarethe launched herself in the air with a flamboyant pirouette. “To make a long story short, the MacGuffin clan is, sadly, no more — our treasured brooch is the only artifact that remains of our storied legacy. My life is long behind me, but alas, as the matriarch of my kin, I cannot pass on into the next life until I find a soul brave enough to carry on the great MacGuffin legacy. Someone like…you two!”

Pomni and Ragatha looked at each other. “Us? You’re sure?”

“Certainly! But a MacGuffin knows no weakness.” Margarethe continued, “In order to secure my brooch, and carry on my proud family name, you must venture through my audacious abode…and confront your greatest fear!”

“Greatest fear…?” Pomni stammered. 

Margarethe flexed. “Then, and only then, can you consider yourself a true MacGuffin!”

“G-G-Greatest…” Pomni repeated, almost choking on her words, “...f-fear…?” 

“Why, of course, darling! You didn’t expect this to be a walk in the park, did you? It wouldn’t be much of an adventure without a little bit of challenge!”

Pomni stared straight ahead — but her pin-sized pupils didn’t perceive a single thing. 

Greatest fear.

The room shrank. 

Greatest fear. Greatest fear? What in the world was that supposed to mean!? Pomni didn’t have a greatest fear — as far as she knew, the obsessive thoughts that constantly terrorized her mind did so with total parity. How was she supposed to know which one had cost her the most sleep over the years?

Car crashes, plane wrecks, train derailments, high-speed transportation in general, being bitten by a wild animal and dying of rabies, stepping on a rusty nail and dying of tetanus, contracting some other horrible disease after forgetting to wash her hands and dying from that, being stalked by weird men, being assaulted by weird men, being kidnapped and murdered by weird men, weird men in general, disappointing her friends, disappointing her parents, disappointing her boss, people in general, her boss in general, being late to work, performing poorly at work, being fired from work…

Pomni’s eyes bulged. 

Work — oh, no. Work. WORK. 

Pomni’s mind had already overloaded itself merely accepting the notion that she was trapped forever in this weird, obscure computer game — so overloaded, in fact, that the horrific question of how the world was proceeding without her hadn’t even occurred to her.

Until now. 

How long had she been gone? One week? Two? Even more? Her blood ran cold at the realization — even if she were to escape the circus this very instant, there was no way she hadn’t already been fired, no way her cubicle wasn’t already cleaned out to make way for the next poor sap to apply to that god-forsaken office. 

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t happen. What was she going to do? Beg for her old job back? Apply for a new one? How the hell was she supposed to do that when her degree sucked, her resume could fit on a sticky note, and all her single reference could forward a potential employer was years and years of middling performance reviews?

Even if her boss was merciful, her rat bastard of a landlord wouldn’t lend her a single shred of sympathy. Not in a million years. The clock was ticking for Pomni to locate an exit before next month’s rent was due. Should she fail, and she certainly would, she’d return home to find someone else living in her apartment. Her space. The only place in the whole entire world where she felt safe. 

Her belongings would be auctioned off at best, and thrown away at worst. 

And…oh, God. She was a missing person. There were probably posters all over town. Posters plastered with her face and name, front-and center. Stapled to telephone poles, printed in the paper, pinned to those little bulletin boards at the supermarket. Everywhere. Millions of eyes, looking at her face. Reading her name.  

Pomni could already feel them burrowing into her back. Judging her. Pitying her. Laughing at her. The best thing they could do was look away in apathy. 

Her friends and family were probably searching high and low  — but their resolve would dull as the months paged over into years. Embers of hope, pining for her return, would still burn in their hearts until the very end, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. In the back of their minds, they would know she wasn’t coming home.

The few friends she had, unwilling to carry the burden of their grief, would almost certainly make an effort to forget her. Just to ease the pain. Her voice would be forgotten as old videos and voicemails were deleted. Her face would be next. And then, one by one, each of her friends would speak her name for the final time. 

Pomni whimpered, burying her face in the soft fabric of Ragatha’s arm. Her chest was tight, pressing harder, harder, harder against a hollow core. Each heaving breath sent shockwaves of pain throughout her shrinking, shivering, pitiful body. 

Time. She was running out. Running out of time. She had to find a way out. A way out. A way to get home. Home. Home. Home. Time. Running out. Get out. She had to get out. Get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT RIGHT NOW BEFORE EVERYTHING SHE’S WORKED FOR CRUMBLES TO DUST AND SHE’S DEAD AND FORGOTTEN AND AND AND AND AND AND—

Pomni choked back a scream as a dreadfully-familiar, searing pain stabbed the tips of her fingers. Blackened flesh creeped like cancer toward her palm, each heinous step piercing her skin like a thousand poison needles. 

“R-Ragatha!” Pomni gasped. Abstraction shackled her wrists as the tips of her fingers sank into the ragdoll’s downy flesh. One, three, five, ten twitching eyes sprouted beneath her gloves. “No…no, no, no! I’m going to—!” She couldn’t bear to say it. “I…I need to—”

Ragatha turned. “P-Pomni? What are you—”

“I’m sorry!” Pomni strangled the ragdoll’s wounded arm, squeezing the bulky limb hard enough to force clumps of cotton out of her own failed stitchwork. 

Her eyes squeezed shut. 

Her breathing slowed. 

Shaky breath in, shakier breath out. 

In and out. 

In, and…

The grandfather clock announced the hour with a half-dozen chimes. Pomni cracked open a single eye. Like magic, her mind was calm and clear.

Her weary gaze swept over Ragatha’s shredded arms, over her shoulder, her neck, her furrowed brow, her gnashing teeth, her wincing eyes.

“P-P-Pomni! I said let go!” Ragatha’s complaints finally fell on Pomni’s ears, “That hurts!”

Flinching, Pomni released the doll’s arm, “Ah! I’m sorry! I-I—”

“What’s gotten into you?! Is everything okay!?”

“Y-Yes! Everything’s just fine! I just, uh…” Pomni slumped over, still gasping for air. “Um…” she shrank beneath the shadow of Ragatha’s stern gaze, “...just needed a hug?”

Ragatha’s stony face didn’t crack. “You’re hiding something.”

“What?! No, I’m not!” 

“Don’t lie to me! What’s going on?! It looked like you were just about to—”

Margarethe hissed. “Alright, alright! That’s quite enough chatter!” She clonked Pomni’s head with her hefty book. “In case you forgot, I was in the middle of explaining—”

“HEY!” Pomni barked like a dog, rubbing the back of her head. “Who the #@$% do you think you are, you ancient &!$#% !?”

“Heel.” Margarethe’s razor teeth flashed a ravenous smile, “...If you know what’s good for you.”

Pomni growled — but wisely kept her big mouth shut. It helped that a small part of her was thankful for the excuse to drop the subject with Ragatha. 

Margarethe chuckled. Referring to her book once more, she flipped to a specific page and began chanting a hex under her breath. Before either Pomni or Ragatha could ask what was happening, a pair of blindingly-bright orbs had already emerged from both of their chests. The magical objects drifted toward MacGuffin’s outstretched hand. 

“Now. Let’s begin with the darling coquette. What are her nightmares made of?” Mararethe peered down at the two white spheres orbiting each other in her open palm. Studying one for a moment, she cocked her head with a sneer. “Hmph. Typical.”

Ragatha slouched, looking sullen. 

“Centipedes. It’s centipedes, right?” Pomni leaned on Ragatha’s chair. She had only just walked herself back from the verge of tears, but she had made a promise to protect Ragatha, and she intended to keep it. “Don’t worry — you’ve got me by your side, remember?” She spoke through a confident facade, “I-I’ll squash ‘em for you!” 

Ragatha covered her mouth like she was about to vomit. “Ugh, Please—” she shook her head, “D-Don’t make me think about their guts...” 

Margarethe flicked Ragatha’s orb back into the ragdoll’s chest, leaving only Pomni’s circling her palm. She cleared her throat. “As for the untrained whelp…” she was already laughing as she lifted her long-fingered hand to her face — but the moment she gazed into the orb, her smug affect faltered. 

The phantom’s cold, soulless eyes ping-ponged between Pomni and Ragatha. “Well.” Grinning, she flicked Pomni’s orb away, “Isn’t that sweet? I wouldn’t have taken you for the type, darling.”

Pomni jerked her head. “Huh? What type? What do you mean sweet?!”

Mararethe’s face simply radiated superiority. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t you?” She mocked, fanning herself. “Oh, shame on me! I haven’t been this worked up since the summer of nineteen-aught-five. This is going to be fun…”

Pomni’s knees locked together as the ghost faded away. “Wait! Where are you going?! What’s my fear?! What—”

“Best of luck!” The candles flickered to the rhythm of Margarethe’s cackling laugh. “You’ll need it…!”

With minimal fanfare, the door to the next room swung open all by itself, creaking horribly on its rusted hinges. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

Margarethe MacGuffin’s maniacal mansion was truly massive, and, within the last few hours, Pomni and Ragatha had been treated to a terrible tour of every last nightmarish nook and creepy cranny. Just as Caine had advertised, an assortment of ‘tricky traps’, ‘perplexing puzzles’ and ‘supernatural sentries’ had been set up for them to navigate, ranging in difficulty from ‘mind-numbingly easy’, to ‘psychologically traumatizing.’ 

Surprisingly, Pomni’s accounting skills had come in handy in the manor’s ‘money-counting room’. The horrifying puzzle, involving the petty minutiae of tax codes and estate settlements, was easy pickings for the seasoned number cruncher. Still, no one was perfect, and Pomni’s sole mistake — in which she’d forgotten the purpose of box 12D on form 5E-344-B  —  left her at the mercy of a swarm of greenbacks-turned-paper-cranes. 

In the music room, Ragatha would have taken the opportunity to show off her cello skills, but Pomni, concerned that Ragatha would worsen her injuries in the process, had flatly refused. A small back-and-forth had ensued — but in the end, both parties agreed to disagree once the instruments, magically stirred to life, started to viciously attack. Poor Pomni had never sprinted so quickly in her life. 

The place where Ragatha’s expertise did come in handy, however, was the stables. A pack of raging horse skeletons ran rampant, threatening to trample anyone foolish enough to stand in their way. Ragatha’s prior experience with equines, however, gave her all the tricks she needed to quickly soothe the wild herd. In retrospect, the room’s main obstacle wasn’t even calming the horses — it was reassuring a shivering Pomni after the jester had learned first-hand what a horse’s skull looked like. It wasn’t pretty.

In all of that time, not once had either of their so-called ‘greatest fears’ reared their ugly heads — or even so much as teased them. Every single task, no matter how asinine, was turned terrifying by the prospect of transforming into an unimaginable nightmare at any point in time.

The sheer anticipation was a torture all of its own — but the girls’ latest assignment, apparently designed to drive them straight to the precipice of insanity, was a close second place.

“Ohoho, don’t fret! It’s quite simple!” Margarethe had announced shortly after Pomni and Ragatha had arrived at the spacious ballroom. The phantom hadn’t even tried to hold back her laughter — she truly was having the time of her life. “The door to the next room is just a hop, skip and a jump away. All you have to do, honored guests, is locate the key.”

In a snap, Margarethe was gone, and Pomni and Ragatha had looked at each other with dread in their eyes. Nothing in MacGuffin Mansion was ever that simple. 

Every part of the ballroom was sculpted with painstaking precision. The moon peered in through a series of extravagant French windows; long, velvet drapes, slightly darker in color than Ragatha’s licorice locks, spanned the length of each one. The checkered marble that spanned the floor hosted a spattering of perfectly-set tables; a crystal glass and a set of unsoiled silverware framed each empty plate. 

A mountain of keys — brass, silver, and gold — sat upon each plate, sparkling in the moonlight. The drinking glasses beside them were similarly filled to the brim…with keys. Keys, keys, keys. Keys were floating in the flower vases, floating in the wine bottles, floating in the air.

Finding a key would be a cinch — finding the key, however, was a task tedious enough to make Sisyphus himself blush. 

And so, there Pomni was, kneeling in front of the locked door, sunken eyes looking like they hadn’t had a wink of sleep in years. The young woman glanced down with a harsh sigh — the marble floor wasn’t exactly the softest surface, and her knees were starting to hurt. A lot. 

Head drooping low, she half-heartedly held out her hand. “Next…”

Ragatha, slumped against the peeling floral wallpaper, perfectly matched Pomni’s energy. Without even bothering to look, she stuck her hand into one of the myriad piles of untested keys that surrounded the pair. A moment later, she plopped a plain-looking one into Pomni’s palm.

The jester ran her finger across the dented brass surface of what must have been the thousandth key to pass through her hands in under an hour. Her eye twitched. 

This was the one. Their ticket out of this god damned ballroom. It had to be. She had no rhyme or reason to explain why — she just knew.  

With a curt nod, Pomni crammed the key’s metal teeth into the lock and turned her hand clockwise. She leaned forward just a touch, listening desperately for a ‘click’ — but of course, just like the nine-hundred and ninety-nine attempts that came before, the stubborn door simply refused to accept her offering. 

So Pomni stared. And smiled. 

Slowly and silently, she stood, squirming grin blooming into a wide, razor-toothed smile. She turned to face the nearest pile of keys, filled her chest with a patient, hearty breath…

…and drove her foot into the metallic mound with all the force her skinny little legs could muster. 

“Pomni!” Ragatha shouted. Hundreds of keys clinked and clanked as they skated across the marble floor. “Really?!”

“This is it, isn’t it?! My greatest fear?!” Pomni shouted, “Isn’t it!?”

“Pomni!”

“Trapped with no way out, taunted by an exit just out of reach, forced to perform pointess, tedious tasks until I go insane?!” 

With every word that Pomni spoke, Ragatha’s furrowed brow disappeared to make room for a look of grave concern. “Hey! Are you listening to me?!”

“The same thing, over and over, never changing…” Clutching her head, Pomni let out a laugh, strained and dry, “As if I’m not already living that nightmare every single day!?”

“Pomni, stop it! You’re scaring me!” Ragatha finally raised her voice. Acting on instinct, she reached out to touch Pomni’s arm — but the doll’s fragile skin punished her with another gut-wrenching tear. Pain warped the doll’s face as she crumpled forward.

That brought Pomni’s breakdown to a screeching halt. “Ragatha!” snapping herself out of it, the jester immediately scrambled to Ragatha’s side, eyes pleading forgiveness. “I-I’m sorry! I was just… I didn’t mean to—” she clenched her fists, grunting in frustration, “Are you okay!?”

“Are you?!” Ragatha snatched Pomni’s shoulders. Her face was brutally stern. “You are freaking. Me. Out! Tell me what’s going on! Right now!”

Pomni swallowed. She tried to answer — she really, truly tried, yet no words came to her blanking mind.

Ragatha frowned. “Y-You’re doing it. You’re acting just like the others. Just like him.” 

“H-Him…?” 

“Tell me the truth. Back in the dining room, when you were squeezing my arm, did you...” Ragatha’s voice wavered, “Were you…?”

Pomni’s pupils were the size of pins. Buried memories — of her bedroom, of the forest, of the mansion’s dining room — swarmed like locusts through her mind. She could practically feel the blood freezing over in her veins again, feel the despair grabbing hold, feel her whole body rebelling against her, transforming against her will into a mindless, violent beast. 

“...abstracting?” Pomni tore away, arms coiled tightly around herself. Her strong voice was stuffy and rigid, “I-Is that what you’re too scared to say?”

Ragatha’s eyes softened in an instant. “Oh, no. No, no, no! I didn’t mean to—” she winced, holding her arms out as far as they would go. She was this close to tearing open another wound. “Just…come here.”

“Wh…What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha said, “Come on. Let me hold you...”

Pomni looked the other way, still hugging herself. She tried her best to look disgusted, to pretend to be angry, to act indifferent. “P-Put your arms down. You’ll hurt yourself…!”

“I don’t care.” Ragatha’s wavering smile held true, bending just slightly under the weight of her pain. “It hurts so much more to watch you cry, Pomni.”

“I’m not crying!” Pomni’s voice cracked, widening gaze sweeping across Ragatha’s arms. Her trembling arms weren’t helping her case. “I’m just…”

“...Just what, Sunshine?”

Sunshine. Pomni’s eyes were wet. She blinked away the unwanted sensation, shaking her head all the while — but it was no use. Ragatha really was the nicest person she’d ever met. “...R-Ragatha?” 

“Yes…?”

“Why do you keep calling me that…?”

“Calling you what?”

“Sunshine…” Pomni’s lip quivered. She tried with all of her might to quell the storm, but there was little she could do now. A pair of shimmering streams traced the length of her face, and at long last, she cracked, collapsing into Ragatha’s open embrace. 

“Oh, dear…” Ragatha wrapped Pomni up as tight as she could, squeezing the little jester like she would never, ever let go. Even she was trembling now. “Do you like that name?” 

Pomni nodded. 

She felt a lot of feelings. But most of all, she felt loved. So very, very loved. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The ballroom had nary a clock to announce the hour, and the eternal night gleaming through the windows wasn’t much help in telling the time, either. Pomni had no idea how long she’d been venting — just talking, talking, talking through the tears, explaining everything that had happened over the past few days. 

“...and it’s happened three times now.” Pomni spoke softly, at last lifting her head from Ragatha’s chest. However much time had passed, it was enough for her eyes, shocked by the sudden influx of light, to immediately recoil.

She rubbed her eyes, easing them back into the light. “...it just happens. Like a nightmare. My mind starts racing — thinking the same obsessive thoughts, over and over, until the thoughts take control. And I…” Pomni winced, shaking her head. “...w-won’t say anything else.”

Ragatha hummed. She listened quietly, finger tracing winding lines around Pomni’s back. 

“...But every time, I’ve managed to stop it.” Pomni said. She cringed a little at her own words. “Well, I guess that’s obvious...”

“Obvious or not…” Ragatha’s voice was calm and clear, “I’m glad.”

“Glad…?”

“Glad you’re still here.”

“O-Oh!” Pomni perked right up. Almost hypnotized, she stared into those beautiful, mismatched eyes. “Um, th-thanks. Me too...” 

Ragatha giggled. “Sorry to interrupt.” she said adoringly, lightly stroking Pomni’s backside. “You were saying?”

Pomni felt light, absentmindedly curling a lock of red yarn hair around her finger. Never before had she felt so heard, felt what it was like to have someone hanging onto her every word. It felt good.  

“I don't know, Ragatha. When I start to abstract, it’s not easy to bring myself back from the brink, but…” she breathed, “...it’s kind of like what you were saying before.”

“Oh?”

“I try to think of a silver lining. Something that makes me feel safe. Something…”

Ragatha’s thumb shooed away the final, thin teardrop drying on Pomni’s cheek. The ragdoll’s hand felt just like a cloud — softer than anything the jester had ever felt before. “Something…” Ragatha mused, finishing the jester’s thought, “...that makes life worth living?” 

“Yeah…” Pomni welcomed a cautious smile, “Something like that.”  

“Ah-ha!”

Pomni flinched. “H-Huh?!” 

“There she is!” Ragatha snatched the jester’s cheesing cheek and gave it a little wiggle. “There’s my funny girl!” 

Pomni tried her hardest to squirm out of Ragatha’s embrace — but the redhead had her decisively pinned. “Ow! S-Stop it!” she protested — but her sunny laughter only encouraged further torment, “That hurts, you jerk!” 

At last, Ragatha relented. “Sorry, Sunshine. Couldn’t resist.”

Pomni’s first instinct was to do the same thing back — to even the score, so Ragatha could see how it felt — but the woman’s words left her melting, all the way down to her soul.

Sunshine. 

She was putty in the ragdoll’s hands. What in the world was happening? What was this fluttery feeling? Why did her face feel hot enough to burn her fingerprints clean off?

“R-Right! In any case!” Pomni pushed herself off, lest she faint a second time. She could hardly believe how quickly her heart was thumping .“Th-thanks for listening and everything, but…” she glanced around in a panic, “...We should probably get back to it, huh?” 

Ragatha didn’t react right away. “...You’re sure?” She surveyed the endless piles of keys that surrounded them — many of which were now scattered about the floor thanks to Pomni’s most recent tantrum. 

“Of course I’m sure! Wh-Why wouldn’t I be?

“Well, it’s awfully sudden. I don’t mind talking a bit more if you need to! Really — I’d watch paint dry as long as you were next to me. Um! Not to say that listening to you is boring…!”

“It’s fine!” Pomni giggled. “Honest.”

“You’re feeling better?”

Pomni nodded.

“You’re sure?” Ragatha squinted. 

“Yes! I’m sure! We can’t keep stopping like this, Ragatha. We’ve got to get you back to Caine, remember?” 

“I…suppose we can get moving again, if that’s what you want.” Ragatha sighed. She glanced sadly at her freshly-vacant arms. “Just do me a favor, won’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get stuck, try to keep your lid on — for me?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry about that…” Pomni turned, scratching her head. The very moment she caught a glimpse of the piled-up keys, however, her face scrunched up. “This just — this sucks! How did the other members figure this out?!”

“Pomni.” Ragatha groaned. “Breathe.”

“Right. My bad…”

Despite herself, Ragatha still managed to look amused. “Think of it this way, Sweetheart. If the rest of those goofballs can figure this out, then so can we. We just need to put our heads together — think outside of the box.” 

“Outside of the box…” Pomni stepped across the checkered floor, scratching her chin. “Like…maybe what we’re looking for isn’t a literal key?” 

She scanned the ballroom through her pouting gaze. A series of large chandeliers, far grander than the tacky setpiece in her own bedroom, supervised the spacious room from above. On the northern wall was a small stage, complete with chairs, instruments, and music stands for performing musicians. A piano, paired with a small chest, sat at the far end. 

The jester’s mood soured, and not just because of her recent run-in with haunted musical instruments. Keys, keys, keys — what did any of this stuff have to do with keys!? Ragatha desperately needed help, but here she was, stuck in the world’s most contrived escape room. Ugh! Did people in the real world really do this kind of thing for fun? This stupid puzzle—

Suddenly, Pomni perked up. She eyed the piano. 

Piano. Keys. 

Piano! Keys! Of course!

“Ragatha!” Pomni raced to where the other woman was sitting, frantically waving her arms in the air. “Hey, hey!”

“Hm? Did you figure something out?” 

Pomni nodded, smiling broadly. She scooped the ragdoll into her arms, hopped atop the stage, and set her down in one of the chairs arranged neatly across it. All told, she only knocked over three music stands, two metronomes, and one priceless clarinet in the process. 

Pomni turned Ragatha’s chair so that it faced the piano. “Watch this!” she chirped, dashing across the stage. Her fingers pressed down on the piano’s lowest white note, and then the lowest black; the hammered strings within the instrument sang a long, colorful scale as Pomni dragged her digits across all eighty-eight keys. 

Hands clasped in hope, she spun around to check the door — but her face fell when, despite her genius plan, the door remained firmly in place. 

“What? But—” Pomni’s fingers pecked a low Do, a high Re, and the middlemost Mi. “They’re keys! Pianos have keys!” She laid her hands flat on the ivory, and the piano unleashed a dissonant, un-musical scream. “Are you kidding me? How is that not the solution?!”

“No, you’re right!” Ragatha clapped her hands together, “Good thinking, Pomni! You’re definitely onto something!” 

“I…am?” Pomni blushed, “But I already pressed every single key — every one! And that stupid plank of wood still won’t open!”

“Maybe it’s not about pressing one specific key.” Ragatha scratched her chin, “Maybe it’s a special combination. Notes can have letter names —  A, B, C, et cetera — so perhaps they want us to spell a certain word?”

“Ooh! A keyword! That’s good!” Pomni snapped her fingers. She didn’t hesitate to start sniffing out clues for such a solution — and it didn’t take long for the old chest beside the piano to catch her eye. 

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the lock — but, thankfully, it was only for show. Breathing a sigh of relief, Pomni opened the lid. The antique chest was filled to the brim with a series of long, frayed, dust-coated cardboard boxes. 

Curiosity piqued, Pomni opened one and cautiously unfurled the bulky scroll stored inside. A series of small, perfectly-cut holes stretched across the yellowed paper. Some existed in isolation, while others were grouped together into long lines — as if a leaf-munching insect had eaten its way through the fragile material.

Pomni’s tonge prodded the inside of her cheek. “Ragatha? You said you played the…” her gaze flicked aside, “...violin, right?”

“Violoncello.” Ragatha deadpanned. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering — since you’re a musician, do you have any clue what these weird rolls of paper are for? They seem related to the piano somehow, but…”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Ragatha gasped, clasping her hands together. “Those funky bundles of paper are called piano rolls!”

The redhead had responded to Pomni’s question in plain English, but the baffled look on the jester’s face suggested otherwise.  

Ragatha clarified. “Back in the day, these were used to play piano tunes without the need for a human performer. Each one plays a different song when loaded into a player piano.”

“Player piano…?”

“Oh, right. Sorry! That’s a special type of piano that plays itself. I’m not quite sure how it works either. But back to the topic at hand — see those little holes cut into the paper? Each one represents one music note. As the roll slowly unfurls, a sensor reads them and tells the machine which keys to strike.”

“Ohh…” Pomni ran her fingers across the parade of perforations that spanned the scroll. Slowly, she nodded. “...So it’s like a music box?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ragatha beamed. The look on her face as she watched the concept click in Pomni’s head was a painting of pure joy; was it any wonder that she had worked as a teacher prior to her captivity? 

Pomni sighed. She planted an elbow on the old chest and cradled her cheek against her palm. “Your students must have loved you...” 

“Well, I did receive my fair share of apples.” Ragatha shrugged. “Never had to pack a lunch.”

“Wait, seriously…? That’s a real thing?”

“No. Not really.”

A silly smile teased its way onto Pomni’s lips. Heart stumbling, she turned away, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the old chest’s loosened lock. “S-So, um, is there anything else you can tell me…?” 

“Nah — telling is overrated. In my classroom, I always liked to take a hands-on approach.” Ragatha said. She admired the antique instrument seated on the far end of the stage. “There’s a player piano right there. Why don’t you give it a whirl? It’s been a while since I’ve listened to music.”

“S-Sure thing! I’ll find a good one!” Pomni said, eager to please. Just about tearing the lid off of the antique chest, she rifled through its tightly-packed contents with purpose, scrutinizing the faded titles printed on each box. She didn’t recognize a single song, much less any of their long-dead composers, so it was anyone's guess as to what the music would actually sound like. She may as well have just swiped a roll at random — and, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she did. 

Pomni set the bulky scroll inside the automatic piano after a bit of clumsy fumbling — and more than a little help from Ragatha. With the flip of a switch, the paper started spinning, and the premier notes of a lofty, leisurely tune stirred to life beneath the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling. 

Pomni’s fingers drew circles on the mechanical piano’s smooth, wood grain exterior. For a moment, she forgot where she was, utterly fascinated by the simple elegance of the century-old contraption. 

It was funny. The long-forgotten piece it played, humbly subtitled ‘a ragtime two-step’, had set her up to expect something more peppy and up-tempo. As the piano roll steadily unfurled, however, the melodic constellations impressed upon the paper sang a far different tune. 

It was the type of jaunty music one would expect to accompany a silent film, just…polished. Refined. All of the musical tropes of the era were present — the driving bassline, the active, syncopated melody — but the piece’s dignified pace and finely-crafted harmonies would have sounded out of place in a rowdy, turn-of-the-century saloon. 

Here in the ballroom, though, it was right at home — at least, that’s what the haunted furniture seemed to think. 

Looking impressed, Pomni tapped her foot, wholly oblivious to the perplexing scene unfolding behind her. “Not bad...” She grinned, turning to face Ragatha, “To tell you the truth, I actually kind of ohmygodwhat’sgoingon—”

Pomni stumbled backwards, then forwards, then backwards again into Ragatha’s chair. The ballroom’s inanimate denizens — the one-hundred-odd tables and chairs scattered across its marble floor —  moved all on their own, dancing in time with the mellow melody. A backing band of squeaking wood and clinking keys added a percussive flair to the player piano’s charming, just-slightly-detuned sound. 

Ragatha, for her part, was busy cracking up at Pomni’s complete and utter bewilderment. With a quick breath, she managed to compose herself. “Well, when in Rome…” The ghost of a giggle still lingered in her tone as she offered up her hand, “Shall we?”

Pomni let out a mousy squeak. “Huh?” She flinched, head feeling light, dots flitting across her vision, “But—”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg.” Ragatha batted her eyes, “It’s unladylike.”

Pomni blushed. Without a word, she swallowed, shuddering like a frightened animal as she reached for Ragatha’s hand.

Her fingers curled snugly around the ragdoll’s, plush and doughy. Both women’s palms — one big, one small — fit together perfectly.

Pomni slid her other arm behind Ragatha’s back, powerless to stop the nervous little whimpers sneaking out of her as she lifted up the lightweight woman. For a moment, their faces were close enough to feel each other’s warmth — and it took every ounce of restraint Pomni had to resist asking: ‘Can I please kiss you?’.

With a brief, peppy fanfare, the music transitioned to a new section; the enchanted furniture, as if controlled by a single mind, adapted its routine in perfect sync. 

“I, um…” Pomni’s knees trembled. This stupid furniture was making her look bad. “I don’t really know how to dance…” She winced at the thought, and then at the sight of Ragatha’s grave injuries, “And even if I did, how are we supposed to—”

“Shh.” Ragatha’s thumb glided across the back of Pomni’s hand. “Just…hold me.”

Pomni exhaled. 

Holding her dolly close, the jester closed her eyes, synchronizing her trembling breaths with every other downbeat. Her foot matched the two-step’s gentle pulse, and before she knew it, her whole body was swaying to the rhythm.

Ragatha nestled her head against Pomni’s chest; a blissful sigh escaped her shuddering smile. The tension in her body dissipated note-by-note, phrase-by-phrase, as her darling rocked her back and forth, here and there, to and fro. 

Back and forth they went. Pomni held her plain little ragdolly as tight as she could, finger tracing zig-zags across the curves of her fleece-soft figure. She adored the sound of her peaceful breathing, the way her hands cradled each other as she lay in her arms, all of her happy little fidgets as her body responded to the music. 

Here and there they swayed. Pomni’s desperate eyes wandered to Ragatha’s lips, plush and glossy. Her heart was glowing, but just beyond, a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before, opened up within her. It begged to be filled, and pained her to resist.

Swing, swing. To and fro. Ragatha was weightless in her arms. The whole wide world, and everything in it, was wonderful. Just wonderful. 

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm.” It took Ragatha a moment to respond. She jostled herself as if she’d just been woken from a deep, restful slumber. “What is it, Sunshine?” She said, keeping her eyes closed. 

Pomni swallowed a shuddering breath. “Do you remember the day before yesterday? When we were trying to film the new intro?”

“That was quite a day.” Ragatha cracked a smile. She nestled herself closer, basking in the rhythm of each gentle sway.  “I didn’t know you could scream so loud. Zooble, either.”

“Yeah…” Pomni tittered. “When you were showing me the way to my room, I remember feeling so exhausted, so frustrated. I didn’t understand why all of this was happening to me. What I did wrong to end up trapped here. I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But…”

“But…?”

“But you were still kind to me.”

Ragatha giggled. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me too much credit. You might hate to hear this, but you’re awfully cute when you get all worked up. If I’m being honest, the hardest part was not eating you up.”

“Cute...” Pomni felt butterflies. Her rocking slowed down, falling out of sync with the beat of the music. “That’s what you said about my hat hair. Remember?”

“I do! And I stand by it.”

The social contract of conversation required Pomni to respond with a laugh, or a ‘that’s funny’, or even a small, near-imperceptible exhale of breath — but instead, she simply stood there, thinking, utterly silent. And when she did get around to opening her mouth at last, her voice took on a noticeably different tone. 

“R-Ragatha…?” 

“Yes?” Ragatha’s mouth curled slightly — and not in the good direction. “Is everything alright? You sound like you have a frog in your throat.”

“Do you—” Pomni swallowed, “D-Do you remember what we talked about before? About…” she took in a shaky breath, “...something to live for…?”

Ragatha’s eyes flashed open with a jolt. The doll palmed the wet spot on her cheek, and flinched again when another droplet pelted her face. “P-Pomni! Are you—” she stammered, “Why are you crying?!”

“Because…!” Pomni’s face crinkled up, “B-Because, if you hadn’t said that…” she gulped down a long, shaky breath, “...if you had listened to me that day, if you had just left alone like I said…”

“Pomni…?”

The young woman’s tear-studded chin curled inward, coming to rest against her heaving chest. “... If it wasn’t for you, Ragatha, I don’t know if I would still be here…”

The old piano roll reached its end with no pomp or circumstance; the haunted furniture took a final bow, shuffling back to their places as the two-steps’s final chord faded away. 

A century of stillness stretched between the jester and the ragdoll. 

Ragatha pressed her hand to her lips. Pomni couldn’t blame her for her silence. What could Ragatha possibly say? Pomni didn’t know, and, given Ragatha’s flat, stunned gaze, it seemed the ragdoll was equally lost. 

“R-Ragatha…? I don’t know how else to say this…” Pomni’s whole body felt twice as heavy. Her body was a paradox, sweltering beneath overwhelming heat and flinching away from wisps of unbearable cold. “I think I, u-um—” 

Enough was enough. At long last, the two hearts spoke as one, crackling voices intertwined in an impromptu duet. 

“I’m sorry, but…!” the jester squeaked.

“That’s it!” the ragdoll gasped, “I can’t take this anymore — I’m just going to say it!” 

Together, they forced out the exact same words: “Can I please just kiss you?!”

…And time slowed to a crawl. 

Each woman was the other’s reflection, looking back from the other side of the proverbial water. Ragatha stared, at a loss for words, gawking mouth twisting into a little half-smile. Pomni stared back, eyes aglow, wearing the world’s dumbest grin without a care in the world. 

Smiles became snorts, snorts turned into giggles, and giggles bloomed into fits of gut-busting laughter. Pomni’s tears flowed still, but their wet, winding trails framed a face brightened by hope. “Did that just happen?!”

Ragatha giggled, pawing at her face. If she felt any pain — and she certainly did — it didn’t show. “Well?” she remarked at last, “I’m waiting.”

“Um…!” Pomni frantically nodded. “Right! O-Of course!” A bead of sweat traveled down her brow as relief gave way to worry.

She hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was doing. 

Pomni’s stance bent backward at a curious angle. Ignoring the added strain on her back, she swallowed, tilted her face closer to Ragatha’s, and then…locked up. For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there, knees chattering, staring into Ragatha’s eyes with a vacant, absolutely petrified expression.

“...Uh, Pomni?” Ragatha blinked. The moment was ruined. It was horribly, terribly, soul-crushingly awkward. “What are you doing?”

“K-Kissing you! Obviously!” Pomni shifted around, forcing a shuddering smile. “I’m just, um, y-you see—” 

“Is this how you usually do it?”

“Um, no. Not really…!” a beet-red Pomni shook her head, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really, um…” her voice shriveled further with every word, “...I’ve haven’t exactly done this before…”

“Pomni!”

“Wh-What?! Is that bad?!”

“Goodness gracious. What am I going to do with you?” Ragatha playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, you already lifted me up. That’s a…start? I suppose? Look, just tilt your head for me.”

“Oh! Sure!” Pomni did — with gusto. “Is this good?”

“No! Not that much!”

Pomni let out a soft little whine. “O-Okay! Sorry!” 

“There. That’s better.” Ragatha’s yearning gaze closed the distance, “Next, close your eyes...”

“Like this?”

“Well, yes — there’s only one way to do it.” 

“Oh! Right…”

“God, you’re cute...” Ragatha filled her chest with a long, savoring breath, “...Now hurry up and kiss me.”

Pomni’s pounding heart was due to give out any second now. This couldn’t be real. Was this really happening? What had she gotten herself into!?

Slowly but surely, she moved her lips closer, closer, closer, until she could feel the warmth of Ragatha’s hushed breaths on her face. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot with every burst of humid heat — but she’d come too far to quit now.

Carefully, very carefully, she—

“Ugh! Fine, then — I’ll do it!” Huffing just like a princess, Ragatha seized Pomni’s tunic, pulled her in, and pressed her lips against hers. She shuddered, squealing with joy as their souls linked at last. 

Pomni’s eyes were wide, her belly flat, her face a bluish hue as every last gasp of air was suddenly forced out of her chest. Sharply, she breathed in again, and a familiar scent stirred her heart like a siren song:

Strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain.

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[amywritesthings]

the better strategy. / astarion x tav

summary: After successfully saving Druid Grove, Astarion has one goal in mind: secure his safety. His strategy? Seduce Tav. But what if that plan goes horribly wrong and he falls for his own game? pairing: astarion x tav (female, she/her) word count: 3.9k tags: act one spoilers, non-sexual intimacy, hand kink/hand holding, astarion's pov, miscommunications, allusions to astarion's past, selûne worshipper!tav // mature for thematic elements

part one. / part three. | masterlist.

PART TWO: THE REPRISE.

.

He can still feel the tickle of moving fingertips when he flexes his hand.

It’s positively psychotic, to think an undead runaway such as himself truly, and willingly, spent an entire night sitting side by side with a cleric of Selûne — a goddamn messenger of a moon goddess whose never earned more than a spit to her worshipping plaque in Baldur's Gate from him.

Not only sitting side by side, however, no.

They were stargazing.

They were stargazing and holding hands, for fuck’s sake.

Like the wretched gentleman he’d been mesmerized into becoming overnight, Astarion walked the little wood elf back to her tent once the wee hours of the morning crawled near. He sent her off and bid her goodnight like a caller — like a godsdamn suitor vying for her affection.

Then they parted ways, and Astarion was left alone to lay in his tent where he spent the morning hours staring at the peak of his tent with a confusion he hadn’t felt in…

Well, ever.

They were supposed to have sex.

He was supposed to give it to her so damned good that she’d stay by his side and only his side. 

He was supposed to secure his safety within this group as they traveled from the grove to the Githyanki creche, to the Underdark, and beyond.

Seduction was the only thing he was good for. It was the only thing he was good at. Yet he got rejected, twice, without it ever feeling like a rejection at all.

Because Tav still wanted to sit with him, right?

She still wanted to talk his ear off about Selûne  this and the moon that, right?

And he allowed her to trace the lines of his palm without questioning her intent, good or bad, and stayed against his better judgment — right?

She chose him that night. She never strayed to another tent.

(He stayed up to make sure.)

So what the fuck does it mean when he’s stuck at the back of the party listening to Gale drabble on about magic while the self-appointed Mama K plays personal bodyguard and Wyll strolls leisurely at the front with Tav?

That’s supposed to be him.

Astarion is meant to be the one to influence Tav. Astarion is meant to advise her on what to do and what to avoid in these ghastly ruins. Astarion is meant to steer her in a direction that will keep them both safe — because she’s the only one who can keep him from going back.

Yet it’s Wyll who’s charmed her, made her laugh with his Blade of Frontiers glory stories, while Karlach makes sure that not a singular hair falls out of place as the two women walk elbow-to-shoulder across a shadow-infested bridge.

They’re a pack of wolves vying for her affection — even Lae’zel has exceptionally warmed up to the wood elf upon their perilous endeavors to a sacred Githyanki creche. 

Each person has been touched by the cleric and wants her approval, her affections, but he has one thing on Saint Tav that the rest do not:

Her blood.

Her very life essence flows through his veins because she has willingly, consensually, offered her neck to him — a decision that cannot be made lightly, not for the living, not when he held his truth from her for so long.

Yet every morning she arrives like clockwork to his tent, bringing pleasantries and whatever vile breakfast Gale has made for camp. She asks him about sleep — he doesn’t have the courage to tell her he’s never slept so peacefully in his undead life. She asks him how he’s feeling — he doesn’t know how to answer that honestly.

Then comes her offer, and what lowly little spawn would ever say no?

(You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.)

He still doesn’t know why she does it.

Nonetheless, Astarion will play up the charm and leer like she’s the most delectable thing in Sword Coast — because Gods, with a track record of one living person under his belt, nothing tastes quite like her.

Nothing probably ever will.

(My sweet, there is nothing I’d like more.)

Tav has a bleeding heart, but surely she must know that the benefits of this arrangement are purely one-sided. If he’s not fucking her, then what the hell can he give her? Extra protection in battle, maybe. Extra coin from pick-pocketing and lock-picking, sure.

But there is nothing — he is nothing.

At the very least, Astarion has tried to make the experience of drinking her blood as painless as possible. 

When Cazador bit him, it hurt. Brazingly so. 

The vampire spawn never wants Tav to know such discomfort.

He likes when her hand holds his bicep, squeezing at the first pinch when teeth breaches skin. He likes feeling that grip lessen, relax, when he flicks his tongue over the wounds as an apology. I’ve got you.

In a way, it’s twistedly romantic.

People have always romanticized a vampire’s bite. Perhaps he’s simply romanticizing Tav.

He found cradling her head helps eliminate the strain in her muscles. And, if he uses his free hand to hold her hip, then Tav makes gentle noises in his ear — he likes those the most.

A suppressed whimper not of pain or disgust, but a misplaced euphoria.

Sometimes he’ll find himself threading his fingers through her thick locks, testing the softness — it’s always feather-light. Sometimes he’ll leave her hip and press a palm to the juncture of her neck and jawline and glide his thumb along her chin, too much of a coward to touch her lips.

And sometimes — Gods, more than sometimes — his stomach will sour at the notion Tav only allows him to feed from her body out of some heroic obligation, a dubious consenting victim bared raw to a bloodthirsty monster that she may considerably fear.

But what does it matter? This is about his survival, not hers.

(It must matter, deep down, because he’s fallen into the habit of waiting with his lips against her neck to ask one make-or-break question: are you sure?  

Nothing is sweeter, nothing is more divine, than her breathy response: I’m sure.)

By now, most of their party is aware of the most interesting deal. It didn’t take long for Gale to look sickened and for Shadowheart to appear intrigued by such a proposal. The consensus fell to a unanimous one: as long as it wasn’t one of their necks, then it didn’t matter what the hells was happening after the sun went down.

Because Tav said she trusts him. So they, in turn, trust Tav.

Yet somehow, even with the leg up on the rest of these idiots, Astarion finds himself in the bloody back of the pack while Gale absently flips through his book of helpful (see: incredibly unhelpful) spells, occupying his brain with anything other than his goddess.

“Here.”

Tav’s voice makes both men stir from their own worlds to look at her as she points to a seemingly untainted alcove. 

“According to Halsin’s instructions, Moonrise Towers isn’t far. We shall rest for the night, get our bearings, then soldier on in the morning.”

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Karlach groans, flopping instantly onto a tree stump. “My poor feet. They’re ready to fall off.”

“Do you need help with your tent, Tav?” Wyll asks Tav as he leans closer to her side, causing the cleric to look into his eyes.

The man smiles at her, clearly meaning it in a helpful way, but—

“No need!”

Astarion calls, holding up a flamboyant finger as he glides through the thick of their companions. 

“I’m sure the magic men are better suited at securing a protective perimeter with our stock of torches. Surely we’ll need to use plenty of them to ward off any pesky problems in this dire hellscape.”

He’s quick to grab Tav’s pack before Wyll can even touch it. 

“Go on,” he ushers with a disgusted sneer, “go do magic things. I’ve got this.”

This, as it appears, is a grave miscalculation on his part. The entire party stops and stares with varying degrees of confusion at Astarion’s sudden bout of helpfulness. Even Lae’zel, who couldn’t be bothered with any of their drama, has a deeper scowl than usual.

When Astarion looks around the pack, however, his attention falls on Tav’s rounded eyes that stare back at him.

The cleric’s lips part in that funny way when she’s at a loss for words, straddling kindness and honesty, and Astarion cannot help but feel smug about it.

Yes, he murmurs in his mind’s eye, as if the tadpole will relay his thoughts. Look at me. Only me. See how useful I am to you, darling.

“You’ve got this?” Shadowheart breaks the tension, souring the mood.

“Magic men?” Gale adds with a deep frown.

“We don’t even do the same things,” Wyll murmurs, brows knit as he turns to Gale to deliberate.

“Last I recall, it took hours for you to pitch your tent,” Shadowheart adds, squinting in a way that’s downright annoying to the vampire — trying to figure out where his niceties derive. “Are the days of the Grove so far behind us already?”

“Your attempts were most pitiful,” Lae’zel quips, upper lip twitching at her passive agreement with the Shar cleric to her right.

“Astarion.”

There — Tav’s voice cuts through all the noise, and the vampire focuses on it. Revels in it, that she lets go of her pack so that he may swing the strap heavily over his shoulder. The vampire refuses to let it fall, gripping tightly to the handle as Tav addresses everyone with her eyes.

Thinking.

Always thinking. Always assessing. Always trying to do the thing that makes everyone happy.

“You don’t have to,” she murmurs, and suddenly his good mood goes to waste. 

Right. She’d rather Wyll help her. She’s not obsessed with him as much as he’d—

“But I want to,” he blurts quietly, and her expression softens.

The effect of his feigned selflessness is instantaneous, and he blinks his crimson eyes several times to comprehend.

Is this how he wins the game? Not by fucking her until she can’t walk — that will come eventually, he’s sure of it — but by simply… doing what she perceives as the nice thing?

Oh, he could vomit.

It’s such a fairytale approach, and he is in no part a prince.

Regardless, Tav smiles and turns her chin towards Wyll. “Astarion has the right idea. I trust you and Gale to secure the perimeter of camp while the rest of us set up the tents. Would you like us to take care of yours while you’re busy?”

What?

He didn’t offer to fucking touch Gale’s tent—

“You’re lovely to do so,” Wyll tells her, genuine in his gratitude, “but we’ll take care of ours once we return. Thank you, Tav.”

Gale, still speechless in his confusion, slowly follows the warlock when Wyll presses his palm to the wizard’s shoulder and guides him towards the perimeter.

The moon lantern’s glow makes it easy to track everyone in this eternal darkness, but Astarion isn’t watching or caring whether they make it to the banks safely.

Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Karlach go about their own business, choosing to situate their own tents. It’s only when he realizes how elaborate this shit is — the tapestries, the poles, the… maddening holes they need to spear into the dirt — does he regret his impulsive decision.

“Something on your mind, Astarion?” Tav finally asks, screwing some poles together with a suppressed smile. “I thought you hated setting these up.”

“Yes, well,” the vampire relents, picking up a metal pole with a grimace at the packed dirt touching his palm, “Wyll felt the need to keep you all to himself the entire way here.”

“I wouldn’t agree with that version of events,” the wood elf replies, clearly amused as she bends over to wriggle the pole in the dirt. “Karlach was right beside me and—”

“Stop.”

Tav blinks, the worry spreading instantly. Is she always this nervous to displease others?

“What did I—”

Astarion holds out his palm, brow quirked. “I said I’d help.”

She looks lovely bent at the hips like this, her travel-worn hair cascading over her shoulder. Usually he’s ready to stare at the neck that will be at his mercy in just a few short hours. Instead he’s so hellbent on staring at all of her, the complete image of her, as she assesses.

Then she relents.

Tav gives him the pole, and Astarion gets to work. It’s miserable — the tapping of dirt, the prodding to see where it will take best, the shoving and the turning and everything in-between. He utterly loathes the feeling of perspiration on his skin, but he knows Wyll wouldn’t complain.

When did he start to care so fucking much about what the bloody warlock would do?

The wood elf crosses her arms over her chest, watching for a spell, before dropping her knees. “Wait, you didn’t loop—”

“I was getting to that,” he hotly argues, waving her hand away, and she giggles.

Gods above, she fucking giggles. He’s almost two centuries older than her yet he feels no older than when he was given immortality when she laughs like that.

“I believe you,” Tav tells him, patting him on the shoulder before leaving to start work on the back half of the tent.

Astarion takes a moment to watch her leave, to get engrossed in her task, her laughter echoing in his mind.

He’s losing his touch.

“I figured I spend so many of my nights with you,” Tav starts again, turning her chin to watch as they prepare her tent for the evening, “that it would be wise to check in with the others.”

Is that her version of an apology, for ignoring him? Astarion snorts. “Is that what we do? Spend the nights together?”

“In our way,” she replies, securing the back corner of the tent. She moves towards the west end of it, disappearing behind fabric.

Astarion freely rolls his eyes when she’s out of view. “I visit, my dear. I have yet to spend.”

“Then would you like to?”

The rogue question from the cleric almost has the man fucking up his stringed knot.

He lurches forward, briefly, crimson eyes wide and…

His stomach leaps into his throat, partially with relief and mostly with dread.

Did she just suggest what he thinks she suggested?

He’s grateful for the obscurity from the tent, allowing his facial expressions to run through the motions of what Tav may in fact offer at this moment: the one thing he’s been trying to get her to agree to, to want, to desire, since they met.

Him.

His company. His words. His… body.

He sharply inhales through his nose and smirks, sauntering towards the west of the tent. The pale elf peers around the fabric to see her staring back at him with a bright, warm smile.

“You wish to share this evening?” he purrs.

Tav gives a one-shoulder shrug, securing her pole to the ground. (How the hells did she finish these tasks so fast? He’s not even started on the final corner.) “It would be easier than pitching two tents, is it not? We’re only here for the night, and you were nice enough to—”

“No need for an explanation, darling,” Astarion cuts off, expression darkening. “I will see you and your delicious little self tonight.”

He doesn’t remember finishing the final anchors of her tent.

He doesn’t remember whatever they spoke about between her proposition and the midnight hour.

He doesn’t remember Gale and Wyll returning, the camp eating their remnants of a dinner, before promptly falling asleep without ever questioning Astarion’s lack of shelter.

Astarion crawls into himself to scheme, plan, prepare — she’s finally admitted she wants him in her tent after dark not just to feed, but to share.

To stay with her. 

He wasn’t born yesterday. He knows what this will lead to.

Then why is he so fucking sad that he’ll have to deceive her, toy with her, become everything she’s ever wanted — when this is what he’s wanted, too?

They near Baldur’s Gate with every passing sunrise. Cazador’s palace will be just over the Shadowlands and into the horizon of the Lower City. He’s already wasted so much time in uncertainty — he cannot afford to lose now.

Yet when he opens the flap to Tav’s tent, anticipating her trousers to be on the floor or her gaze to be hungry, he’s met with… well, with a woman sipping wine alone on her bedroll, not the least bit fazed by his entrance.

“Hi,” Tav greets, all smiles and no seduction.

Astarion clears his throat, remembering to close the flap behind him. “Hi.”

(Smooth. So fucking smooth.)

Tav pats a seat beside her, and Astarion lamely sits down beside her. He ought to be ravishing her. He ought to be pushing her shoulders down, finding out whether she loves dirty talk or sweet nothings or—

“I didn’t really wish to sleep alone tonight.”

Blinking twice, the vampire turns his chin belated to the cleric who watches the front of her tent like a hawk. The smaller wood elf shifts in her seat, drawing in a slow inhale as if to…

He can sense she’s nervous, but not about what he’s so used to.

"It's embarrassing, I know," she admits, fidgeting with her fingers. "Though I suppose no one else will know it."

"They're all asleep," he coos. "I checked. Your secrets are safe with me. Speak freely, darling."

(Nothing is safe with me, he wants to scream.)

Tav scrunches her nose, nodding. Agreeing, somehow.

"Well, it's just that I don't... this place, it's so... I can't help but feel... fear."

“You’re afraid of the Shadowlands?” he bluntly asks, squinting with accusation.

Tav, bless her soft heart, shrugs. The string front of her tunic loosens with the movement. “I know my goddess is somewhere, not so much far as she is near, but it’s so… bleak. You can hardly see the moon out here.” 

She turns to look his way, all rounded eyes and parted lips, and if he had a heart? It would break for her.

With each passing second, her bravery and wisdom diminishes, stripping her of her armor until she’s laid bare beside him.

“I’ve never been away from my goddess since my vow to her, not once. Not even when I woke up on the ship with the mind flayers and the tadpoles. But it is dark out here, and I feel… consumed, by it.”

Tav frowns, searching his face for answers the vampire does not have. He looks just as in the dark as she feels. His own lips part to mirror hers, uncertain of how to proceed.

“It is terrifying without Selûne. I am terrified without Selûne. But if I cannot have my goddess here to protect me, then at least I have you near."

The wood elf has a funny way of rendering him speechless.

Time and time again, he proves to her that he is not trustworthy — that he is not noble like the Duke’s son, or honorable like the tiefling that escaped Avernus, or bold like the Githyanki who defied her own queen’s will.

He will use her and throw her away when the time comes to keep running.

Right?

“I could be…”

His voice is but a croak. Astarion is surprised to hear it in the quiet of the night as they stare at one another. Tav’s eyes round, inquisitive, and he clears his throat.

“I could be nearer, if you’d like.”

This is the moment he has to take the reins; to kiss her, to devour her, to push her onto her back and make her sing his name for all of their companions to hear.

 — but he cannot.

Tav tilts her chin just so, asking without speaking, before Astarion takes the plunge.

His arm closest to her lifts off of his side, held out to invite her in. He’s seen people in taverns do this in times of need, in times of grief, when he’d stalk the lonely ones at the demand of his master. He’s seen the act of comfort with bodies outside of sex, but he isn’t quite sure if this is how it works.

Tav pauses, brows knit for just a second, before she speaks five words he’s never thought another person could ask someone as vile as him:

“Are you alright with that?”

She knows — knows what he’s done, what he’s been subjected to, under Cazador’s spell. 

Agency is something of a fairytale for vampire spawn. Quite frankly, even with the tadpole lodged in his head, it still is.

But she asks anyway.

When Astarion nods, forcing his body to comply with her question, Tav slides close to his side and rests her temple against his chest. She fits so perfectly against him, even if she still keeps a triangle of space between them at the hip.

His arm remains outstretched, uncertain what to do. He can feel himself panic — fearful he may blow this, that he may say something out of turn, that he may suggest the wrong things — but the sensation of the back of her hand gently resting on the top of his thigh expels all anguish.

It’s an offer.

A beckoning, against all better judgment.

Thickly Astarion swallows and reaches for her palm. Their hands glide together, smooth and cold and soft.

How is she always so soft?

“Thank you,” she murmurs against his tunic, and Astarion doesn’t respond. Can’t, not when he wants to scream and yell and tell her all of the wicked things he planned to do tonight, and every other night, since the tiefling party.

All he can do is relent — his arm finally wraps timidly around her shoulders, pulling the scent of her hair closer to his nose.

He rests the lower half of his face against the crown of her head, breathing her in, as his eyes stare at a corner of the tent he didn’t properly secure.

“Better?” he murmurs into her hair, too afraid to say anything more.

Her body relaxes into his arm, his torso, and he can feel it — her fear, her anxieties, melt with such a simple gesture.

She nods wordlessly, cheek pressed against his shirt, and folds her slender fingers over his.

After a half hour, he feels it: the way her body slumps heavier against his, back expanding and contracting against the length of his arm.

Asleep.

Tav, for some unfathomable reason, feels safe enough to sleep beside a vampire spawn.

Beside him.

Jaw clenched, Astarion forces himself to keep watch on that fragile little corner of her tent.

To stay completely still for hours, so as to not wake the wood elf gently snoring at his side.

To remain right here, with her, until sunrise.

[galebrainrot2024]

Dad!Gale AU Bakes a Cake for You (Gender Neutral)

This is some good, old fashioned fluff at the request of a Redditor! Enjoy! Read on Ao3 Summary: AU Professor!Gale and you have a daughter, and he and your daughter Ruby (short for Rhubarb - yes, I love the name, whatever sue me :P) are whipping up a delicious surprise for your birthday. Gender Neutral You!Professor

Gale groaned as the tiny arms and body wrapped over him, shaking him by the shoulders. The sun and birdsong swept through the cracked window, the final dustings of sleep evaporating with the trill of Ruby’s high-pitched voice. His daughter’s wide, brown eyes peaked down at him expectantly and a soft smile curled his lips and he kept his eyes shut. 

So much for sleeping in. It was a fools errand, really, believing he would be able to with an excitable four year old when you had promised a sweet, delicious treat. Gale took the day off of work, and you left a few hours earlier for your own lecturers. 

Ruby frowned, shaking him again. “Wake up! Wake UP, daddy! It’s mommy’s birthday please! You promised! Cake! CAKE!” Ruby insisted, demanded even, her bottom lip quivering. Gale promised that for your birthday today they would bake a cake, something Gale typically did on his own. This time, he’d pass the tradition to his daughter. 

Tara slinked in the doorway, her eyes locked on Ruby. Despite the almost past four years of Ruby’s life, Tara was not yet used the wild, loud menace of a human who now perturbed her usual quiet. Gale laughed and turned onto his stomach, pulling her against his chest as she squealed. 

“Good morning, peanut,” he cooed, warmth flooding him. She looked so much like you it took his breath away. Gale suspended her in the air for a moment, the piercing sound of her giggles sending Tara into the next room. 

“No tickles! No airplane! CAKE! C A K E!” Ruby laughed, the sound melodic and infectious as she kicked her feet and squirmed. 

“Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain Ms. Dekarios. I’m up, I’m up.” Gale lowered her onto the bed next to him and he watched her shimmy confidently off the bed and landed on her butt with a thud. He bit his lip to stifle a laugh and, ever unbothered, Ruby shot up and ran for the kitchen squealing with excitement. 

** 

“Steady, you can do it,” Gale said gently as his hands cupped around Ruby’s, the measuring cup wobbling in her tiny fingers. Flour was everywhere. On the counters, in Gale’s hair, in his beard. On Tara, to her chagrin. Ruby’s face was streaked with it - but Gale was insistent on building her confidence, in allowing her to make the mistakes he felt he was never allowed to. Ruby’s tongue stuck out with concentration as she poured the flour into the sifter. “Very good, I see how you poured the flour in almost all by yourself! You should be so proud! Look at you go!” 

Ruby clapped with delight, sending flour flying everywhere again and she giggled. “Thanks, daddy,” she said happily and swung her legs in the seat that was too big. “What next?” 

“Now,” Gale said, gesturing for her to bring her hand to the sifter’s handle, “You start churning - you see how the flour is getting smaller as it goes through this mesh?” He said, pointing to the fine particles that dispersed from the opposite end and into the bowl. Although Ruby was still young, Gale wanted to explain everything in painstaking detail to her, to help her understand and make meaning with the world around her. 

“This is going to make our cake lighter. It adds air so that it will be easier to mix the rest of our ingredients.” He noted her frown, it taking her a moment to figure out how to turn the sifter steadily so the flour stayed in the bowl. Ruby huffed with impatience, a low whine threatening to escape her lips. “Ah, remember what we do when we feel frustrated? Take a deep breath,” Gale closed his eyes and breathed deeply, peeking one eye open to see her mimicking him. He released his breath and she did, too and he smiled encouragingly, “Go on, you can do this peanut.” 

Ruby’s face beamed once she mastered the perilous sifter, the joyous rapture of a new concept understood by her fresh young mind still so marvelous to Gale. Watching Ruby discover the world soothed his soul in ways he didn’t know he needed. Her eagerness and thirst for knowing, understanding, and how innocently she interacted with the world reinforced his realization of how magnificent mortal life was. Godhood could never compare to this. 

“There,” Gale said with pride, the unbaked cake now wobbling in the pan, the oven prepared. “It’s ready for baking! Do you want to help me put it in the oven? BUT - we have to remember the edges of the oven are hot.” 

Ruby bounced excitedly, trying to take the pan from Gale’s hands and he held it up, his eye brows raising a bit, “What did I say? I need to make sure you heard me because I want to make sure you’re safe and don’t get hurt. If you touch the sides it will burn your skin, okay?” 

“OKAY,” she said, sticking out her tongue impatiently. “Please! I’ll be safe! Promise!” Gale grimaced and handed her the cake, biting the inside of his cheek as to not correct her as she walked with imbalance and went to place the cake on the rack in the oven. He in took his breath sharply as her small hands got dangerously close to the sides and he heard her squeal. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He said with abrupt concern and she threw her hands up, successful. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he shut the over door, ruffling her hair. 

“Yes! The air was hot. It surprised me!” 

Gale tried not to roll his eyes and laugh, and said internally: if only I had mentioned that the oven would be hot. It was all out of love, though - an intense, overwhelming love he had for his daughter, that he had for you. 

“How long?” Ruby asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Hm...” Gale rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “About… 30 minutes.” Ruby blanched and threatened to whine again but Gale gave her a warning look. Ruby bit her lip and took a breath. 

“I know. Be patient.” 

Gale smiled. “Exactly. We can be patient. Besides, while it cooks we have to make the decorations lest you forgot?” Ruby’s eyes widened somehow more and a contagious grin spread across her cheeks. 

“I forgot about the decorations!”

Gale laughed and sat at the table, pulling her into his lap. “Hm, I had a feeling that would happen. Now,” he said, pulling the ingredients for the icing closer to them. “First, the icing - we want a few different consistencies for our icing, some for piping and some for flooding.”

“What is consis- consistence- sincinsentcy.” As Ruby’s tongue struggled with the word Gale pulled her tightly to his chest and kissed her cheek. 

“Consistency, my love. Good try! You’ll get it if you keep practicing. Once we make it, we can choose the different colors how does that sound?”  

*** 

Gale and Ruby stood proudly in the Kitchen when you arrived home. “Happy birthday!!” Ruby squealed and ran towards your open arms and you gripped her in a hug. Gale watched you with pure adoration and love, snickering a bit as he watched your eyes widen, looking at the interesting looking cake. He shrugged and saw you laugh as he walked towards you.  

“Happy birthday, my love,” Gale said while giving you an almost too-passionate kiss. 

“EWWWWW,” Ruby squirmed, her face twisting despite her giggling. “Yuckie!” 

Your eyebrows raise and you smile, “Oh? Yuckie is it?” And then you showered Ruby in kisses to her giggling protests. 

“No tickling! Cake, CAKE!!!” Ruby flailed like a fish and pointed wildly to the counter. Gale smiled and heard your breath catch as you looked upon their creation, biting down on your lip. 

“Oh my! How beautiful is this! Did you help daddy make this?” Ruby nodded enthusiastically and Gale rested his arm on your lower back, kissing your shoulder as he let out a soft ‘mhm.’ 

It looked like a toddlers fever dream and Gale smirked, knowing you’d think the marshmallow, icing, and chocolate decoration would be far too sweet. It looked like a rainbow unicorn threw up everywhere. Still, Gale could feel how you swelled, almost overcome with emotion. The excitement and glee Ruby shook with made Gale and you both beam with pride. 

“Thank you, peanut -“ you said, putting her down and kiss her forehead, “This was a perfect birthday surprise. I love you.” You looked at Gale then, both of you overwhelmed with gratitude for your beautifully simple mortal life. 

[miradelletarot]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…And what if you don’t?”

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

[secret-smut-sideblog]

What Lies Between

Gale x F! Tav

( @avabjorna36 this one's for youuu )

18+ enclosed space trope, teasing, grinding, dry humping, dirty talk, whimpering, pleading, subGale/domTav, brat dom, praise kink, breast worship (f!), cowgirl, p-in-v, some aftercare and tenderness, porn w/o plot

After a magical misfire, Tav and Gale are trapped tight between stone. Weeks of sexual tension between sorcerer and wizard come to a head...

Masterlist

-

"Gale, come on." Tav sighed, aggravation sharp in her weary tone. "I'm tired."

"Our friends are assuredly and diligently near to freeing us." His voice stayed steady in its usual educated canter. "There's no need to get any closer."

Through a mishap in sigil transportation, they had teleported to a thin space behind a crypt wall. Fallen beams had pinned her to stand above him in an awkward straddle. It had been nearly half an hour, and her thighs burned terribly. He was already situated in a seated lean against fallen stone as his breath tickled against her clavicle. She just wanted to sit.

"You're being ridiculous." She huffed, pressing her hands flat to the stone around his head. "My legs are on fire, Gale. Just let me sit on your lap."

"I'd rather you didn't if it's all the same to you."

"I'm shocked." She bit. "It's only the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I'm claustrophobic."

She snorted a laugh.

"No, you're not. You'd have been hyperventilating twenty minutes ago."

Her calves gave another shock of taut painful tingling.

"For fucks sake, I'm sitting down." She growled.

"No! Wait-"

Her knees fell forward, releasing a deep sigh as her thighs finally stretched. The warm of his lap filled under her pleasantly. Except...

A ridge of hard pressed against her center.

Gale hissed shaky breaths through teeth as her eyes rose slowly, smiling devilishly in the dark.

"You're hard." She purred.

"Don't be crass." He huffed, the slight breathlessness in his voice undermining his reprimanding. "It's a natural reaction, involuntary at that. I'd ask you to have the decency to ignore it."

"Uh-huh."

The slightest slide of her hips forward made him gasp.

"Stop wiggling about!" He snapped.

"Why?" She smiled.

"Just... stop moving."

She rocked her hips an inch or two. Delighting in the shudder of his breath.

"Knock it off." He tried to growl, but another rock of her hips pulled a small whimper from his chest. "I'm serious!"

She maintained a terribly slow wave, grinding agonizing pleasure into him. Smiling ear to ear.

"Why don't you grab my hips if you want me to stop?" She hushed into the well of his ear.

"Grab my fucking hips. Come on." She breathed. The tremble in his breath only widened her wicked smile.

She licked a flat line up the curve of his ear, panting a wanton breath into it.

He moaned deep in his chest. His hips started to meet hers in time.

"There you go." She purred, voice heavy with praise. "Good boy."

His whole body shuddered. A strangled moan caught in his throat.

"Such a good boy." She continued as she wove her hand into his hair, voice dripping with honey. "Such a good lap for me to fuck."

His hands shot out to brace against stone. Breath a heaving labor against her chest. His cock harder than stone against the soak between her legs.

Her free hand trailed down his chest, then traveled the small distance to hers. Untying her robe at the waist.

She shrugged the fabric off her shoulders, her breasts free to the chill crypt air. Pebbled in cold and deep arousal.

"My nipples are so hard for you." She moaned, leading his wide hand to cup the mound. Urging his thumb over her sensitive peak. "Don't you want to play with them?"

"Yes- Gods..." He groaned as his other palm gathered her opposite breast. Cupping and kneading both breasts with hungry hands. Rubbing her nipples with fast swipes of the pads of his thumbs.

She mewled, her head fallen back in pleasure. Hips canting faster into him.

"Fuck..." He groaned through a throat thick with arousal. Flicking her peaks with his thumbs.

She shuddered, her hazy eyes struggling to focus on him in the dark.

"Get your cock out." She commanded.

He rushed under her, rearranging fabric fervently. The pillar pressed against her soaked cunt with eager twitches, leaking against her lower belly.

"Such a good boy." She praised, sliding her cunt against his cock as he hissed a curse. "You like being directed, don't you?"

He nodded dumbly, staring up at her. Eyes so sweet and wide as his hands gripped into the fat of her hips.

"Do you want to be inside me, sweetheart?" She played with his hair, pushing her words through pursed lips.

"Please..." His voice came out warbled.

"Oh, I like when you ask nicely." She smiled. "Can you feel how much I like it? How soaked my cunt is against your cock?"

"Oh Gods-" He finally cracked, his pleas coming out like a man begging for his life. "Please, please, I need to be inside you! I need to fuck you so fucking bad! PLEASE!"

She sighed in deep satisfaction, lining him up below her. Descending in one full stroke, enveloping him entirely inside her.

He cried out as his head fell back sharply. His body tremored in pleasure beneath her as his cock jolted inside her.

Her own moan fell from her lips, rocking her hips into him near involuntarily. She hadn't expected him to be so thick, hitting all the toe curling spots inside her.

"You feel so good." She breathed, weaving her fingers back into his long hair as she began her ride. Directing his head to her breast firmly. "Suck my tits while I ride you."

He melted into a strangled moan, cupping her ribs with bruising fingertips. His warm wet mouth enveloped a peak, slurping enthusiastically with a messy tongue.

She shuddered hard, her cunt fluttering around him. The stroke of his cock inside her rose her eyes into her skull. Picking up speed, her hips drove into him. The squelching of her sex and their joined moaning and gasping a salacious chorus.

She was teetering at the edge already. Her orgasm pressed tighter and tighter in her pelvis, threatening to spill over the floodgates at any moment. His voracious mouth suckling and popping her nipples and the pleasure pressed deep into her walls left her a lust driven beast.

He nibbled down on her abused nipple, tweaking the other between his long fingers.

She cried out as the sharp of it fully broke the dam.

White hot pleasure jolted out through her in unfolding waves. Cunt clenching like a fist.

Gale moaned loudly into her saliva coated breasts. Mouth rising to bite and suck at her throat with animal fervor.

She rode out her pleasure with stuttered hips and lost breath, body jolting with aftershock. Truly impressed with his discipline to not cum.

"Do you want to cum, sweet boy?" She asked like sugar melting on a tongue. Hips still grinding up and down. His cut moans helpless to the rhythm of her ride. "You've been so good. So patient."

He nodded fervently against her throat, his eyes clenched shut tight. Panting hard into the curve of her jaw. "I've been good." He moaned in a near whine.

"Yes, you have." She agreed through a smile. Pulling his head back to stare down into his watery eyes, cupping his face in both hands.

He stared back up with slack awe, eyes soft and pleading.

"So sweet." She kissed his forehead tenderly.

Whispering against it.

"Cum."

He cried out under her, rushing his mouth up to hers to strangle himself in a messy kiss. Body tensed into a bow, buckling and writhing beneath her like a thrashing fish pulled from the sea. Flooding her full, all hitching muscle and smothered begging. Entirely lost to the unmaking of unbearable pleasure.

She gave him a moment to gather his breath, bracing her forearms on the stone around his head. Receiving the confused rhythm of his delirious kisses with a smile.

"Better?" She whispered.

"Huh...?" He mumbled, eyes struggling to focus on her.

"Nothing, beautiful." She smiled wide.

His lower lip trembled. Eyes finding hers again misty with tears.

"Hey, it's okay." She hushed. Kissing both of his cheeks. "Just take a breath."

He followed her instruction, training his chest full and empty with building determination.

"Good." She smiled, finally pulling off of him. He gave a guttural groan as she unsheathed him. Their joined cum ran down her thighs.

Retying her robe with little ceremony, she felt his gaze on her. Seeking.

"We'll be out soon. I think I hear them, actually." She encouraged, hearing distant movement of stone and calling of names.

"We're here!" She shouted with cupped hands.

She smiled at Karlach's muffled cheer.

Gale's focused stare never left her.

"Are you okay?" She creased her brows in concern.

He grasped the back of her head and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Forceful in a way she had never felt from him.

She moaned, a sweet little bleat, into the heat of it. Arms pressed to her chest, the backs of her fingers curled into her clavicle. Suddenly, soft and warm to his demands.

He pulled away with his hand cupping her jaw, staring down with intensity powerful enough to part the sea.

She stared back dumbfounded with gently parted lips.

"Come to my bed tonight." He commanded in a quiet voice.

"Okay." She whispered breathless.

He smiled as the wall behind them started to crack.

"Good girl."

~