#greedy grove

[greedygonazlez65]

I support breast cancer 👚5️⃣

[mageofgoobygrove]

Greedy (ass lol) anon again. Can I still drop in and say hi while commissions are closed?

omg i didn’t even consider my anon pop ins when i close my inbox ☹️ thank you for mentioning it!! AND YES, OF COURSE! i don’t want to limit communication with my anons—(and to be completely honest, i was just going to cut off asks) but i can’t because i would miss you all. so yes yes yes when my inbox is “closed” requests will be off the table but i encourage you and others to send in your notes/greetings when you want :)

[coffinshaped]

RUNNING AROUND YOU IN CIRCLES LIKE AN EXCITED DOG RN!!! I LOVE IT SO MUUUUUUUCH EEEEE!!! THANK YOU FOR ART TRADING WITH MEEEEEEE!!!! >//< HE LOOKS AMAZING!

HELLOOO SAILOR!!!

Got to do an art trade w/ @coffinshaped and draw their ggg oc Sailor!! She’s an absolute sweetie :•}

[kimberbohwrites]

Say Sorry (Rolan x Reader, Rolan Week Celebration)

I was not aware of Rolan week (not on social media in many places hah!) so in observation I combined a few themes into one special story.

Using Day 3 (Fight/Forgiveness) and Day 4 (New Years Day/Party) prompts with a sprinkle of the NSFW add on (trapped together/makeup sex).

It seems right to break my 4 months of writers block and not publishing for Rolan week. Massive credit to @sorceresssundries for beta reading this and giving me feedback/encouragement. HAPPY LAST DAY OF ROLAN WEEK!!!

SAY SORRY

Rolan x Reader

Word Count: 2,788

Explicit, MDNI 18+

Click here to read on Ao3 or continued under the cut

Warning: Smut (but not gratuitous smut), Enemies to Lovers, etc.

“Why are you always such an insufferable arse, Rolan?”

“Why are you such an intolerable busybody?”

Rolan spits the question back without a thought, his clever mind seemingly always ready with a quip or a jab. You groan in frustration, scrubbing your hands on your face with an exasperation that was felt by all around.

It was normal for people to see you and Rolan fighting, you’d been at it since the moment you’d met him in the Druid Grove.

It’s worse than ever now, the constant bickering putting a damper on the celebration going on around you both. You’d returned Rolan’s siblings, Cal and Lia, as well as the other capturing tiefling refugees and Deep Gnomes trapped within Moonrise Towers. It had been no small feat, considering the jail seemed to have been staffed exclusively by high level paladins and spell-casters. Not to mention you were already tired from rescuing Rolan from his own foolish attempt to save his siblings.

There were a few moments you hadn’t been entirely sure that everyone was going to make it back safely. The care of so many falling squarely on your shoulders was a burden you had attempted to manage with grace, but you were overwhelmed and anybody with a keen eye could tell.

It’s not that you’d expected Rolan to be grateful to you for the return of his family — especially after the harsh words he’d had for you when they’d been taken. Or how angry he’d been when you’d sent him back to the Last Light to sober up after the aforementioned foolishness. It would be ridiculous to imagine he was waiting to welcome you back with a warm hug.

You fight back the flush of warmth you feel at the idea of his arms around you, it’s silly, Rolan would sooner put his arms around you to strangle you than to embrace you.

It’s just you had maybe expected him to be, nicer? At least a little. But when you’d returned his siblings he’d curtly thanked you and tossed a pouch of gold coins your way, like you were his hired henchman. After a few drinks to calm down you’d circled back to him, to get a proper thank you and to give him his godsdamned gold back.

He’d had the audacity to taunt you.

“I’ve thank you once already, don’t be greedy”

Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was finally reaching your limit with his arrogance, either way that had been it for you. You just — snapped.

Which brought you back to the matter at hand. The last 20 minutes had been gone by with both of you fighting loudly at the bar, while his siblings could only look on.

“Busybody?! You’d be dead a few times over without me you idiot!!!”

“Idiot!?!?! How dare y— “

“Both of you, stop it right now or you’ll finish this fight at bottom of the lake,” Jahiera’s voice cut through the atmosphere like a keenly honed knife. Her lilting accent was beautiful, but did nothing to soften the steel in her words.

“And Rolan doesn’t even know how to sw-OOF!”

Cal’s joke was cut off with an elbow to the ribs from Lia.

Both of you pause with a jolt as the First Harper rounds on you with a light, menacing glare in her eyes.

“You are ruining the celebration, you can make it up to us by going to the basement for more wine.”

When neither of you move she waves her hand at you with a “go” to let you know she means business. With a flush of embarrassment on both of your faces you head out the side door of the inn as the party resumes behind you. Even your traveling companions seem glad for a break from you and the wizard’s constant bickering.

“She can’t boss me around, I am a wizard” Rolan mutters under his breath (so that Jaheira couldn’t possibly hear him) as his tail swishes with agitation in the night air.

“Let’s just get this over with”

You start forward with a huff, trying to keep a distance from the cantankerous tiefling. Trying not to think about how angry you are with him or how handsome he looks in the soft glow of Last Light Inn.

Handsome?! You try to shake that last thought away. You can’t seem to shake away the sense of excitement you feel though.

After a few minutes in awkward silence you arrive at the basement door, old and covered in sinister looking vines.

Rolan crosses his arms with a gloating smirk as if to say — “well go on, you push it open.”

With a roll of your eyes and a huff you shove at the heavy door trying to ignore the loosening tangle of shadow cursed vines. Feeling some sort of unknown mechanism under the plants, you take pull your hands back and kick the door the rest of the way open.

Taking no chances, you run into the basement quickly, pulling Rolan behind you before the heavy door can swing shut, you don’t want to put your hands on the door again if you can avoid it.

Having made it in quickly enough you allow the door to swing closed behind you both. A loud clanking sound follows the slam of the door, followed by a grating metal sound like old gears turning and finally the thunk of something snapping into place.

“Great, you just let the door lock behind us, didn’t you?!”

With no light in the basement, only Rolan’s hissed frustration lets you know he’s standing right next to you.

Your brain catches up to the moment, processing the feel of the mechanism and the sound the followed the door closing. A nervous flutter fills your chest as you realize that Rolan is right, you’ve locked both of you in a dark basement.

“I didn’t know it was the lock! It just felt creepy!”

“It… felt creepy?!”

“Well I didn’t see you pushing the door open!”

You hear an angry scowl in the dark and the sound familiar sound of dancing lights being cast. The light is so sudden in the heavy dark, that you flinch against the brilliance for just a moment.

“Spooked by a little magic?”

Rolan mocks you lightly with a laugh as he casts the spell up to the ceiling to illuminate the room. Though Rolan’s tone had been harsh, by the spell-light you can see on his face that he is more concerned than angry. You’d been through so much together in the short time you’ve known him, even the slight fluctuations on his face had become easy to read for you.

Before he can catch you looking, you glance away to take in the basement you’ve found yourself locked in. Moving back to the door to give it a hearty pull and push, confirming that the loud sounds you’d heard were in fact, some sort of locking mechanism. The basement is not the worst place in the Shadow Cursed Lands to be trapped with Rolan, but it’s certainly not the best either.

At some point, before the war and the curse, the Last Light must have been a bustling inn. The evidence of that lies in the decaying remnants of casks, crates, and various containers strewn about the place. Cobwebs loom heavy in the corners, cast more ethereal by the gloom that lingered on each strand of spider silk — blurred in the soft light of the simple cantrip.

“Zurgan, I bet she did this on purpose!”

Your past reverie is broken by Rolan cursing and muttering under his breath as he dusts off and tests a few mostly intact crates as chairs.

“You think she knew we’d get locked in the basement?”

“She’s more cunning that you realize”

“See this is your problem, you just don’t trust anyone” You breathe out with a frustrated sigh.

His tail shifts in agitation from where he sits on a crate and you fight the urge to grin.

“I would be more trusting, but how can I possibly trust my so-called hero to come bursting in uninvited when they’re also locked in here with me.”

You stare at him angrily. Rolan’s voice made every one of his cutting remarks that much more frustrating to you. The sound somehow stokes the fires of your anger and something deeper within at the same time, each word laced with taunting, spite, and a fire you couldn’t quite place.

“Fine, next time I’ll just let you die”

It’s not true, you know it’s not. You’re foolish when it comes to saving people and that seems to go doubly so for handsome tieflings.

“What next time? We’ll probably die trapped down here.”

“I guess it will put me out of my misery from having to deal with you any longer”

Rolan jumps up to his feet with a huff and if you thought he was capable of it, you’d swear you’d offended him with your reply. You brush the thought aside and turn your attention back to the door. The vines from the exterior don’t reach inside the darkened basement and you can see that the door is heavy and thick — the wood somehow reinforced with metal bars.

You shove against it again, heaving with all your strength and once again it doesn’t budge.

“Can’t you just magic us out of here or something?”

Rolan sighs in response.

“I used the last of my magic with the lights, I need to rest before taking a crack at it.”

“Wizards” You groan.

“It’s not like I want to spend my evening trapped down here with the most irritating do-gooder in Faerun.”

“Right, because I’m coming out the winner spending my evening with a graceless ass who needs a nap before doing anything helpful!” You shout back at him. Anger now boiling up within you and finally erupting out.

“Just how am I graceless?” The way that Rolan locks in on that — you’ve touched a nerve. Like a sprung coil he lurches up from his makeshift seat, fists clenched in fury. He moves a step closer to you, like he’s holding himself back. Your mind reels in response, the air between you feels charged with a hundred unspoken truths.

Words escape you and in your anger your mouth only opens and closes, but no words are spoken. He searches your eyes with intensity, the kind that has always attracted you to him. Just once, those beautiful golden eyes of his stray down to your mouth and you swear you can see a blush darken his skin. Before too long, you fish the bag of coins out from a pocket within your skirts and toss them back at the man.

The bag hits him square in the chest with a metallic thud and he barely catches it before it hits the ground. He examines it curiously, rubbing at the tender spot left behind by their impact with him.

“Were you raised by wolves?” He sighs, “You’re mad because I paid you for saving my siblings?!”

He takes another step closer to you, his voice raised and proud as he glares down the bridge of his nose. You note the way he squares his shoulders back defiantly.

Your heart is racing in your chest so loud you’re sure he can hear, but you step forward so that only the smallest space separates you both. You can’t tell if you want to kiss or kill him as you look up meeting his gaze.

“I’m not courier, Rolan, I don’t work for you.”

“My mistake, it’s so hard to tell, what with the way you’re always following me around, doing stuff no one asked you to do.”

It all happens so quickly, your hands are on him, bunching up the fabric of his robes as you roughly push him back against the dusty wall.

You open your mouth to tell him off but it never happens. Your eyes meet his and then you’re lurching toward one another — closing that final distance as your mouths meet in a rough kiss.

He groans, almost growls with satisfaction as you meet and you feel it too, like some missing piece has been slotted in to place the moment your lips touched.

Catching his balance against the wall his arms pull you close to him, his hands roam your body hungrily, grabbing and squeezing Your mind reels from a potent mix of anger and lust, this is the last thing you thought would happen this evening and now you can’t stop. He is clearly pleased with this turn of events, his kisses are rough but deep, almost desperate.

You remember how this all got started, you pull yourself away just enough to speak and a small whine escapes the wizard as his eyes, brimming with need, meet yours.

“Say sorry”

You pant it out. Wishing your voice didn’t give away how much you need this, need him.

He grumbles and you feel his tail coil around your leg as he leans toward you again for another kiss.

“No” You command, “Say sorry, Rolan”

As you say it your hand winds around his back to the base of his tail, where you give a small tug when you speak his name.

The effect is immediate.

His breath hitches in his chest as his hips lurch toward yours seeking contact. Anticipating this you pull back, denying him the delicious friction.

“Uh uh Rolan, say it”

“Fine,” It’s immediate and urgent when he finally complies, “I’m sorry, just please, kiss me”

The blaze between you is an inferno as you rush back together, your bodies clinging tight as you kiss. Your hands roam each other’s bodies, dipping under fabric and peeling back what can be removed without breaking their embrace. Little gasps escape you both, swallowed up by the exchange of tongues and air. His skin trembles under your touch, little shudders that let you know it’s been some time since he’s felt this, had this.

Layers of clothing are discarded on to the earthen floor with little care. One of your hands slides down the ridges on his chest with a lovers caress, toward the growing hardness you feel pressing into you.

“Wait” he urges breaking the kiss briefly.

You break away and step back, a look of concern painted across your face.

Before you can speak he reaches out and pulls you close again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his forehead presses against yours. His skin is smooth, except where the ridges of his horns form on his crown.

“Tell me you want this” He sounds almost downcast when he asks.

“I want you, please, Rolan,” Your heart races and you’re too turned on to care about begging.

His tail lashes out in excitement and he moves quickly, flipping your positions against the wall and pressing you back with a kiss.

He drops to his knees before you, his eyes glowing as he holds blazing contact with yours. You can feel his breath on your bare center as he pulls your leg up over his shoulder. His mouth connects and a gasp wracks your body as he drinks you in, licking and sucking with is own desperate groans. The vibrations from his sounds of delight drive you over the edge again and again.

The fight is long gone from your mind, harsh words replaced by bliss and the feeling of his skin against yours.

When he takes you against the wall in the basement, it’s quick and hard. His hips rough against yours as his tongue dances across your body, savoring your skin between kisses and nips. He finishes with a whimper, kissing you so sweetly it’s hard to believe that same mouth was spewing jabs at you not long ago.

You wrap up together on the ground in the discarded cloaks and robes, Rolan holding you tight against him as you catch your breath and await sleep or a rescue.

——

“You’d better get a drink now, there isn’t much wine left,” Jahiera laughs as she claps the shoulder of someone in the tavern. Upstairs the party has continued, people are glad for the break from the bickering.

“Wait, I thought you sent Rolan and Tav to the basement for more wine?” Cal questions, overhearing the Harper and approaching with concern.

“Don’t be silly, there’s no wine in the basement.” She laughs

Cal’s mouth hangs open as he realizes the meaning of her words, beside him Lia can only giggle at the joke.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them out in the morning when they get it out of their system.” Jahiera smiles reassuringly with a wink at Cal before continuing on her way.

—

Rolan Tag List: @schizophrenicdiamond @crowwolf @stuffforthestash @barbwillbrb @reverieblondie @purpleasters-inseptember @cchickki @tsabhira05 @beaneburrito @klea221 @honeybee-bard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @orangekittyenergy @scandistar @detectivesergeant @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @halsinningiswinning @blckvchaos @forget-me-maybe

[ceilidho]

in the cauldron boil and bake

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him. (ON AO3) tags: very nsfw, implied/lightly described violence, dubcon/noncon, noncon spanking, implied cannibalism (just in general, not with the pairing lol); 5.5k

-

He moves at a pace too slow for you to make out with the naked eye, but you feel it creeping through you.

The vision of him appears in a dream first, a premonition. A hulking figure trekking through the woods. You snuggle deeper under the covers and scrunch up your nose in your sleep. In the morning, you go outside to harvest the holly leaves and buttercup and return home dreaming of tender, slow cooked meat. It’s been awhile since you last had a proper meal. When you hang up the laundry to dry, you chew on peppermint cuttings and try not to salivate. 

In the centuries you’ve lived in these woods, travellers have come and gone. You don’t eat every single one that happens to pass by—that would be a surefire way to get your forest branded as bedevilled and a longer route established circumnavigating your grove. You might be hungry, but you’re prudent, careful. Not like some other witches these days, greedy for any morsel that happens to pass in front of them. 

No; you take care of your woods. You have to, if you plan on remaining here for the centuries to come. If a few travellers happen to disappear here and there, that’s simply life. Not everyone can make treacherous journeys. 

You always have a sense of when a traveller is nearby. It’s as though your being is embedded within the forest itself, privy to those who dwell within it. You feel him along the outer regions of the forest, a lone traveller hauling not more than himself and a rucksack filled with the bare essentials. He appears to you in flashes in your dreams, not the full image of him but piecemeal, a shadow obscuring his full face from you. You see only tendons and meat on his bones, a rough hewn strength to his limbs, touch muscle and fat wrapped around his middle.

It makes you giddy to think of him circling ever closer to your spider’s web at the centre of the forest. After him, you won’t be hungry for years. 

Your restless leg acts up the day you know that he’s close enough to approach. All morning, you sit at the little table in your kitchen and rip lavender buds from the stems, black shoes tap-tapping away at the floor. The broom sweeps by itself in the corner, sweeping the dust into a neat pile. When you snap your fingers, it’s brusque, impatient. The broom halts in midair and then clatters against the floorboards. The chair scrapes against the floor as you rise to your feet. 

“Come, come, Asphodel,” you whisper to the black cat curled up on the windowsill, which barely lifts her head enough to blink at you. “No more dallying. Mommy’s hungry.”

In a show of great defiance and disrespect, Asphodel merely meows at you and lays her head back down. Insipid little familiar. 

You go off on your own then, keen to see the travellers with your own eyes. Jowls growing tighter. Robe cinched tight around you and hair pinned back by a thin strand of velvet. The days have just begun to shorten, just begun to exhale frost and rot. The leaves however, by agreement, do not crunch under your feet and give you away. You are a phantom amidst the trees as you flank the lone traveller, following the breadth of him as he traverses past your homestead. 

It’s fortunate that you are not beholden to physics because he is formidable. Broad as a man might be, no less sizable than in your dreams, but much more menacing in the flesh. He too moves quietly in the brush, with a care and precision that you have not seen many humans employ. 

He conceals the lower half of his face with a black piece of fabric, which you had mistaken for shadows. Not so. It is a deliberate concealment, meant to unnerve. Without magic, you might not have approached. 

His size alone isn’t enough to frighten you though. You are two hundred years old and you have eaten men twice his size when you were naught but a babe. 

You step out into the clearing just a few paces from him, halting the man in his tracks. 

“Hello,” you call out tentatively, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “C-can you help me? I think I’ve lost my way.”

At this point in your career, it takes a bit to hide the smile that threatens to break. You are like the spider posing as a fly. The show is half the fun though. 

The man doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem shocked at your presence, arms loose by his sides. It makes your stomach clench, the script flipped a bit. It should be you, loose and limber, and the wayward traveller tense and nonplussed, then eager to help the lost girl. You wait a moment longer for him to respond, but he remains silent, blue eyes unblinking. 

“Can you help me?” you repeat, taking a step closer. The tendrils of your magic slither out of you, snaking across the forest floor towards him. “I’m lost. Can you help me find my way out?” 

Your magic finds his boots in the dirt like mycelium threads, the pulse of him rich and earthen. It makes the saliva pool in your mouth, hunger gnawing at your guts. He will taste so good. Meaty and huge, enough to last you the winter. You take another step closer despite his continued silence, a tad too eager. You only need a moment though, long enough for your magic to take root, to render him febrile and inert. When he collapses to the ground, you will float his body back and rend him limb from limb by your hearth. 

Another step brings you closer to him when your magic suddenly recoils, unwinds from him. You frown. You try sending it back, but your magic shrinks away, an atavistic fear blooming up in you. It does not want near this man. 

A cold sweat breaks out on your neck. The hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. 

The masked man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling. 

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

You trip over your feet scrambling back. Branches from a nearby tree scoop towards you, catching you before you tumble down into the soft dirt. He advances quickly on you, big hand finding now the hatchet strapped to his side and pulling it out, the thing dwarfed in his massive paw. 

“Stay back—stay back—” you hiss, the branches listening to your fear and dragging you away from the man. “Leave—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asks, taunting. Just a twinge of it, as if he can’t help that he has a predilection to mock.

He catches up to you fast enough, the strides of his long legs enough to eat up the distance. When you whip the branches towards him, they stop mere inches from him, giving him ample time to bat them away. The ones that get close enough meet his hatchet, a single cleave enough to sever them from the tree. You don’t feel the tree’s pain, but where his blade meets your magic—a thin coating along the branches, like extended, ghost limbs of your own—it stings. 

“Stay back!” you shriek, heart pumping away ferociously. Your voice comes out like a caterwaul. He’s too close now though, towering over you, the bitter smell of old sweat and musk. Up close, he does not smell like anything you know. He smells sun bleached, the rust of old blood like the blades in your shed after a long season’s hunt. 

“What sort of girl—” he starts, hand fisting in your hair and wrenching your head back, “—ambushes strange men in forests? Do you have a death wish?”

To have him touch you is singularly terrifying. You haven’t been touched in a hundred years, certainly not by a human. His touch sends you skittering back, but he has you trapped in place. Your shoes dig into the dirt when you try to push yourself away, hands pressed against his chest much to your distress. 

“Men can’t kill me,” you hiss, fingers clawing at the hand holding you in place, scratching at him with the little nails that you never bothered to grow out. 

You can’t see the whole of his face, but his expression is undoubtedly unimpressed. “I could kill you easily, girl.”

“I’m not a girl—I’m a witch.”

“A witch is a girl.”

“I eat girls,” you snap, so angry now that spittle drips from your mouth. You shrink back when he wipes it away with a gloved hand. “I eat men like you too. If you are a man.” 

You say that because the way your magic curls away from him has you on edge. Humans may not scare you, but eldritch, ancient monsters do and they hunt little witches like you. Usually not in your own woods, but stranger things have happened. 

“‘Course I’m a man. Look at me.”

He presses the whole length of his body against yours, dragging you so close to him by your hair that you almost rise up onto your toes. He’s solid all the way through, only a bit of give around his middle. There’s something distinctly hard pressing against your low belly. It leaves you flustered, hot under your collar. An unfamiliar heat in your core, legs clenching on nothing. You give in to the instinctive urge to look down, but pressed so close to him, there’s little to see beyond the wideness of his chest, covered by a brown tunic laced up the front. 

“Means nothing. Plenty of things look like other things. I look like a girl but I am not,” you stutter. 

“Were you trying to eat me then, witch girl?” he breathes, amused. You yelp when he gives you a little shake by the hair. 

You flash your teeth at that, hoping he takes that as a threat. You have chewed off flesh far tougher than his. “Still might, human. If you don’t let me go.” 

He stares down at you, eyes giving nothing away. “It’s not every day that a little girl threatens to eat me. Not very nice, you know. I’ve cut down men twice your size for less.”

“You like bloodshed?”

“I trade in bounties; it’s part of the job. But, yes, girl. I like bloodshed.”

It’s not reassuring to hear that when his hands are fast on you. You wish now you hadn’t dreamed of this strange man immune to your magic and left him to his wandering. There are bears in these woods that could have dealt with him for you. 

“I’m—I’m not going to anymore,” you say, quieter now, hands falling back to his chest, trying to shove yourself just the slightest bit away. You don’t move an inch. “I’ll…I can find something else to eat. Just let me go.”

The man widens his stance, feet bracketing yours. In two hundred years, you haven’t felt small. You’ve felt tremendous, expansive, big as the whole forest; monstrous some days even. The most ferocious predator in the woods, the haunting lurching her way through the trees, belly hungry for iron blood and the ripe taste of fear. 

You feel that fear now in your mouth for the first time, sour.

He smiles behind the mask again. “Maybe later. Need to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Maybe the fear hasn’t sunk in all the way because you ask that when he lets go of his hold on your hair and drops his hands to your waist, getting a tight hold there. Twisting you around while he walks you back. 

“You all alone in the forest?” he asks instead of answering you. “Is there a house that I missed? Been here for months and haven’t seen one.”

“Of course, I—I live here.” You don’t want to say more than though, lest you reveal too much about yourself. You’re still wondering whether surviving this ordeal will be as simple as getting away. There’s something savage in his gaze now, the mealy taste in your mouth translating that look like the hunter looking upon the hunted. 

There’s a tree stump that he guides you to, shaded under the canopy. When he tips you over the stump, the breath rushes out of you. The edge is rough against your stomach. You don’t even notice him pulling up the back of your dress until a few seconds later. 

“Wait, hold on—that’s my indoor dress!” you cry out, the front of your dress scraping against the stump and sure to tear. “Let me go—stop it!”

Your drawers are next, slid down your hips while you squirm and wail, feet kicking out behind you. 

“Behave.” It’s punctuated by the sudden sting on your cheek, bottom flaming red by his hand. Pain is such a foreign concept to you that it initially leaves you speechless. 

He props you against the stump with little care for how your knees drag in the dirt and whether your underwear gets dirt on them. He keeps you pinned there with a big hand on the centre of your back. Your shimmying gets you nowhere, only planted farther into the dirt; it only scuffs up your knees and pulls wretched little noises from your throat. 

The terror comes when you’re bare to him and he draws his hand back. You gasp at the first smack, shocked; it’s a broken, stupid sound. At the next smack, you react properly, going into a frenzy, twisting left and right to get away, but helpless under just a fraction of his strength. Your magic does no good for once in your long life either. You feel it sit on the periphery, unsure of what to do because it cannot come close to this strange man for some reason. 

You yelp every time his hand comes down on your bottom. Red fills your vision. Tears do as well. 

“I am going to—” you break off on a yowl, back arching, “—I am going to eat the flesh off your bones for this! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chuckle is bone-chilling, ices you right over. “You oughta at least know the name of the man you’re going to eat. They call me Ghost.”

“I’ll call you—” The caustic name you were about to call him is ripped from your lips by another well-placed smack on your ass. 

You shriek so loud that the birds flee from their perches within the trees. 

The worst part is the way your thighs flex together with every smack. Belly clenching. You can feel slick gathering where it shouldn’t, a high blush splotched across your cheeks as you pray that he doesn’t notice. It doesn’t happen often, only in the week following your cycle when you feel ravenous and flushed, skin prickly and raw until you go outdoors and roll around in the dirt under the moonlight. Always by yourself, of course, naturally. 

Little panting breaths hiccup out of you, your cheeks overflowing with frustrated tears. After the first minute, you simply go limp. There’s nothing else you can do. Even trying to levitate does you no good, it only props your butt up higher into the air since Ghost’s hand on your upper back keeps your chest pressed to the stump. It only seems to amuse him, judging by the hoarse chuckle he lets out. 

Without your broom, the little bit of levitation is more of a party trick than anything—and you haven’t even been to a party in fifty years, not since your coven’s last autumnal gathering. Not that it matters at a time like this. His hand comes down on your butt again and you wail, shoes digging into the ground and kicking up dirt. Your mind goes blank again, thoughts replaced by the looping ow, ow, ow that also falls from your lips.

“Does it hurt, lovie?” Ghost asks, hand coming to rest on your livid cheek. It makes you hiss, turning your head until your cheek is pressed to the stump’s inner rings. His voice is gentle, but mocking, like the voice you use when hacking into a screaming man, asking him if he’d like his hand back while you dangle it in front of him.

“It’s going to hurt so much worse when I dice you into little pieces,” you hiss. He gives a mocking pat to your butt, making you flinch. 

“Learned your lesson yet?”

You keep your gaze stubbornly off to the side. Somehow, it would be worse to look over your shoulder and make eye contact with the strange beast at your back. “If you leave now, I won't sever your limbs from your body and roast your organs from the inside.”

“I take it you haven’t,” he says, another chuckle rumbling out of him. 

His hand comes off your naked rear. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of fabric over fabric, wondering if maybe he’s pulling your underwear back up, but you don’t feel anything. What you feel instead is the sudden heaviness pushed between your thighs, nestled right up against your wet core, so unfamiliar that it makes you jump. You stay put though, held down still by his hand. 

“Put that back,” you say severely. 

He holds it against your sex with his free hand and presses forward, coating himself with your slick. “You’re not in a position to make demands, girl.”

“I’m going to slice every bit of skin off your bones.” Your mouth salivates at the thought, thinking of all the thick, iron-rich blood from someone Ghost’s size. 

Those thoughts disperse again like smoke when he ruts forward, the thick length between his legs gliding through your wetness. It makes you break out into a sweat, keen catching between your teeth, just narrowly bitten back. Ghost makes no effort to suppress his groans. They’re loud, a lustful, masculine pleasure that you’ve heard far off in your woods before—unfortunate couples come to copulate before meeting their end at your hands—but never so close. Never right up in your ear.

“It’s not fair,” you sob, emotional suddenly. “You’re just going to—to do that and then kill me.”

He leans his full weight over you, the rough texture of his shirt catching on the back of your dress. You’re sweating so hard now that the lace embroidery around your collar is thoroughly soaked, clinging to your skin. 

“‘M not gonna kill you. What would I do something like that for?”

You sniff. “It’s what I would do.”

He chuckles again, the sound reverberating through you with him all pressed up against you. It would almost be pleasant if it weren’t for the cock pumping between your thighs. That brings you right back down to earth, mind torn away from the ravens perched in the branches of the tree looming over you, watching you from above. If you were able to pay them any close attention, you’d probably hear them chattering about the position their little witch has found herself in. 

“C’mon now,” Ghost grunts in your ear, hips shifting back. “Be a good little witch and say a little spell—don’t wanna knock you up on the first try.”

You open your mouth to reply and squeal when he rocks back forward, the bulbous tip pressing into you this time. Your toes flex in your shoes, thighs spreading without any prompting from him. You don’t even notice the hand on your upper back travelling to your waist, both of his big hands gripping you there now to hold you in place. There’s no thought of trying to get away, just breathing around the immense stretch from his shaft driving up into you.

“Ooh, no, no—it’s too much,” you squeak, fingers digging into the sides of the stump, the wood cutting into your soft skin. 

It is too much. It doesn’t even feel entirely possible. Even with the wetness leaking from you, his cock only manages to fit a couple inches in you before you’re too tight. 

“You’re doing fine, lovie,” he rasps into your ear, drawing his hips back and then plunging back into you, deeper than before. “See? Not so bad, is it? Gonna take a little more for me, a’right?”

“No—no more,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Can you just—just keep it right there?”

“Yeah? That enough for you?”

Your fingers unlatch from the bark of the tree, trembling when you reach down to wipe them off on your dress before dragging the palm of your hand over your clit. It makes you jump and whine. The skin of your palm is a bit textured from gripping onto the stump, but the friction makes your brain leak right out of your ear. Especially when you push your hips back just a little bit, nervously fucking yourself on his cock.

Ghost laughs and lets go of your hip to bat your hand away, then reaches back around to fit a big hand around your jaw.

He holds your jaw in a single hand, palm supporting your chin. “You ever going to do this again, girl? Go up to strange men in the woods?”

You almost don’t hear him over the blood in your ears. A thick cock spears into you for the first time in your life and the man rutting into you expects coherence? Maybe you babble something into the palm of his hand, but it’s lost to the world when he pulls your knee out to make more room for himself and tips your ass up.

He gives your cheek a solid pat. “C’mon, focus on me, lovie. Tell me what you’re gonna do from now on.”

Your breathing picks up, heavier. When you don’t respond again, he abruptly pulls out and stands up, hauling you up to your feet with him. All of the blood rushes from your head, pooling around your pretty black shoes. Leaves crunch under your feet when he turns the two of you around and sits down on the stump where you’d just been spread over. The hands on your waist turn you to face him and that’s when an inkling of struggle works its way back into your veins. 

You hiss and snarl when he lifts you to straddle his thighs, particularly when you see the brutish, ruddy cock jutting out from his trousers. Ghost seems more amused than anything at your little attempts to escape, clutching you closer to him until your chests are pressed tight together, making it all the more intimate. All the more real. 

“Quit fussing.” You jump at the sharp slap he delivers to your ass. 

“Going to curse your whole lineage—” you grit out, wincing when he draws you back down over his length, cunt fluttering at the stretch. You can’t help dropping your forehead to his chest, shoulder hitched with a frustrated cry. 

His groan makes you seize up, a hot flash darting through you. “Don’t be like that, lovie. Might be yours too.”

A haze passes over you when firm hands lift you up off his cock and plop you back down, emptying you of any thoughts like you’d tipped your head and all the water had poured out. 

The worst is the way your body betrays you. Each time he shoves his fat cock into your cunt, a whine rattles out of you, snatched from your chest. Robbed from you. The nearby leaves rustle and swirl up into the air with an artificial wind, magic singing their edges. He reaches so much deeper inside of you like this, splayed on his lap, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life because it takes every bit of energy in your body to merely take his cock into you. 

Your knees scrape against the uneven wood every time he drags you back down. They’ll probably be scraped raw by the end of it; you’ll need to tearfully smooth on ointment and wrap thick bandages around them when you get back to the cottage. 

“There we go. Fuckin’ take it—come on,” Ghost grunts, dragging you down onto his length, just using your body how he likes. 

The thick head grinds up against a spot deep inside of you, spongy and sensitive. You feel it all the way up in your throat. Every time his cock rubs against that spot, your nails dig into his shoulders. A violent shudder rips through you because this position also lets him grind your clit down against the root of his cock. 

“Ghost—”

He ducks his covered mouth into the side of your neck. Even through the fabric, you can feel his lips press a firm, closed-mouth kiss there. “Bit more, bit more, love. Better than you thought it’d be, huh? Fuck. Only thing magic about you is this wet pussy. Fuck hiding this from me—gonna ride it twice a day from now on.”

“Never doing this ever again, you beast—”

Ghost bites you through the mask, the pressure dull but real. It says, try keeping it from me.

When you come, it’s sudden and sharp, painful like a cramp in your belly and then a wave of bone-deep pleasure. Ghost wrangles it from you with a thumb on your clit, pumping up into your pussy at the same time. He wrenches it from you like it’s his, like you have no choice but to come for him because he wants it. You press your whole body against him when you come, arms wrapping around his neck like you need him close. Heat unfolding and leaving you limp. No cauldron has ever boiled as hot as your flesh does now. 

He pulls out of you before coming. You watch helplessly as he settles you close enough to keep the heat of your pussy on him and then wraps a firm hand around himself, giving it a few good tugs before a white rope of come spurts from his cock. Right onto your exposed pussy, spilling across your folds. Your mouth drops open on a soft whine as it stripes across your inner thighs and the front of your dress, painting it white. 

His harsh pants ebb into something softer as his cock goes flacid against his thigh. You feel boneless, drained of all your energy. Even your magic only gives a pathetic twitch, the tendrils of it curling back up inside of you where it’s nice and warm. 

Your cunt feels tender, puffy when you reach down and touch it. You flinch when his fingers graze against yours, also feeling around your swollen lips. Ghost knuckles your fingers out of the way and scoops up the mess he left between your thighs, pushing two fingers just past your entrance. You don’t even have the energy to yelp, only wince and mewl.

He shushes you. “Didn’t even come inside. Quit whining.”

His words are belied by the way he scoops more of his come up into you. 

You really don’t like that he follows you home. The march back to your cozy cottage nestled in the middle of the forest feels like a death march, one you might have witnessed in the hundreds of years that you’ve lived here. Worse still because your legs are still wobbly, your sex achy and raw. Still, whenever you pause for a moment or lean against a tree, he nudges you forward with a hand on your back.

“This is unfair,” you snivel, eyes tearing up. “You can’t—this is my forest.”

“The woods don’t belong to anyone, girl,” Ghost counters. 

“Yes, they do. I’ve been…it’s been mine for two hundred years.”

“Of course, lovie.” You can almost hear the roll of his eyes. It makes you grit your teeth. You can’t wait to bury him in the backyard with all the bone mandalas. 

It doesn’t take long for him to settle in, making himself nice and comfortable on your plush couch with the intricate doilies knitted by your grandmother draped along the back. Your poor couch almost collapses under his weight. 

Your cottage is far too small for someone of his size; you built it to accommodate someone of your size, not the behemoth that’s taken up residence in your house. You know that Ghost is more of a man of action than words, but he’s plenty happy to grumble about needing to redo the door to make it big enough for him to come inside without having to duck his head. 

“You aren’t going to touch a single brick of my house.”

“I’ll take apart the whole damned thing if I want.”

You keep trying to lift him up with your magic but it does nothing to him and only tires you out because using magic is exhausting. You’re sweating and panting at the end of your efforts while Ghost just stands in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and a single eyebrow raised. It’s humiliating. You used to be a powerful witch. You still are. 

He lets you yell at him until you’re red in the face and then drags you down for a rough fuck. Arguments with Ghost often end that way—you, sore and satiated in your bed, the window opened to let some fresh air in. Him, spread out next to you and dragging you close, playing absentmindedly with a nipple until you pinch his side. That always gets you a meaner pinch, one that leaves you teary-eyed and hot all over again. 

Magic might not work on him, but he’s still mortal, so you try to work with that. Bear traps by the windows and doors. Hemlock in the soap. Poison in his stew. He’s stealthier than you anticipate though and seems to have a sixth sense for death. 

It’s demeaning and humiliating to be punished for your ‘bad behaviour’ but that’s what he calls it when he passes by the kitchen and catches the stew burping out the telltale skull shaped steam. You’re taken off kitchen duty after that, but the worst part is being trapped under him on the bed with your hands pinned over your head, bottom exposed to him yet again. He laughs a little later on when you squirm around on your hard kitchen chairs because you refuse to sit on his lap.

Sometimes when he has you trapped under him when you’re sleeping—because, of course, he commandeers your bed like it was built for someone his size when truthfully he should be in a bed twice as large—he wakes up to you gnawing at his shoulder and he has to hold you jaw in his hand and rumble out “No biting” before going back to sleep. You stare over his shoulder petulantly, not even bothering to fight the pout. The kettle whispers in the kitchen, fueled by your frustration.

Ghost only lets out a dry, husky laugh. It sends a shiver down your spine. 

Asphodel takes to him like a new favourite thing, winding around his legs while you glare from the other room. Damned familiar. 

You only start to lighten up when your senses tingle one day when you’re out picking berries in the woods and you come back to find him ruthlessly butchering a band of raiders that had been trampling through your woods. He slaughters them methodically, almost bored. Almost like he does this every day. 

You can’t help the way it makes your pussy ache. 

He catches the look in your eye. You’ve been alone for far too long in the woods; everything you feel is laid bare, open for anyone to see. Ghost is just always looking. 

He grins under the mask, blood splattered across the front of his shirt. “Go on, lovie. I’ll be inside in just a few.”

Molten slickness drips from between your thighs. You bite your lip before you slip away, blood growing feverish when you glance back down at the mangled bodies bleeding out in the red-orange leaves. There’s a severed eye that’s rolled off to the side and your stomach gurgles. 

You lick your lip and look up at him from under your eyelashes. “Save me some for supper?”

Ghost’s eyes soften, a sharp contrast from the gore and viscera piled around him. “‘Course, lovie.”

The world seems different with the arrival of him. Cranberries beneath the sycamore, the russet moon on harvest's day, the scent of soldering iron, the laughter woven between your many faces. With him, you feel like the cynosure of all eyes. 

In the twilight hours, he presses a hand to your forehead and laves your belly with his tongue like he might push something back in there. The curtains draw shut and the lights flicker off.

[greedygonazlez65]

THE GHETTO RAISED ME

[forgeofthenine]

Ok but picture this - tiefling tails are ridged, right? Just imagine grinding against their tail, maybe holding horns for stability~ maaaaaaybe we could get some hcs on how the tiefs would cope with this? :3

Tiefling tails are absolutely ridged and more people need to include tail play in their fanfiction! I loved writing this one anon, and I hope you don't mind but I added on some headcanons for Rolan as well :)

NSFW under the cut, all gender neutral and nothing that needs warnings

Tiefling bachelor NSFW tail headcanons

Dammon

This man would cope incredibly well with tail play

Dammon is a slut for any attention you pay to his tail and grinding against it is absolutely going to get him going

It doesn't matter if you guys are clothed or naked, in his bedroom or just in his forge storage room, you only need to ask and he's ready

He's so loud every time you do it, press yourself down on his tail while holding the base of his horns and you will hear the prettiest moans from him

Hands roam over your whole body, Dammon can't keep still

Speaking of not staying still, he will absolutely be hard as a rock and bucking his hips when you guys really get into it

You can make him cum untouched by riding his tail

He praises you so nicely too

"Just like that, making me feel so good baby."

Zevlor

Zevlor is scandalised and horny

"My tail-? You're actually suggesting... Well... I'm not opposed, as such."

He might take a bit more warming up, maybe a bit of making out and heavy petting, but he will also do tail play

You'll find he also gets very into it after a while

It's always done in the utmost privacy (or as close as you can get while on the road)

Your hold is on his horns but his are always on your hips, Zevlor is a gentleman and helps you grind yourself down on him

This man groans, and tips his head back, and looks so pretty-

Keep your hands on his horns, help pull his head back, kiss and suck on his neck

Zevlor just melts under your affections in bed

He won't cum untouched, but this is a definite way to work him up into a bit of a frenzy

Rolan

Put this man in his place

Sit him the hell down and grind on his tail until he's a whimpering little mess underneath you

No one can tell me Rolans horns aren't the perfect shape to hold

He's built for this

It doesn't matter where you are, the grove or Ramaziths tower, pull him off to relative privacy and he's all yours

Like I said, he whimpers

Rolan will whine too

Never quite loses his sass though, if he can't tease with words then he'll nip at your collarbones and shoulders instead

Trust him to tense up his tail randomly so you'll feel it shift against you and falter in your pace

Rolan can cum untouched like this too but he'll never admit it

Instead he prefers to just snark you

"Can't seem to get enough of me, can you darling? Don't be greedy now."

[normal-thoughts-official]

here is the thing

when i started playing bg3, i didn't expect wyll to be so devoted to karlach. her devotion to him is a given; the guy risked his life to save her when they had literally just met. of course he matters so much to her

but wyll matched that same devotion right back, as if she had been the one to save him, even though karlach never really got the chance to do anything of that magnitude back for him

but then i think about it

mizora's punishment plays directly into wyll's worst trauma. to be suddenly branded as demonic, so people will always look at him and see that first. like his father did. like the whole city, everyone who ever knew him, did. no amount of good deeds will ever be enough to compensate for his association with evil; his soul will burn in hell and he will not be welcome anywhere because he's a greedy warlock who made his choice. i don't know if that is actually true, but he certainly thinks it to be, if anything, from his assumption that the people of the grove (whose lives he had just saved, and who had known him for at least a few days as nothing but a kind hero who looked out for them) would be unable to look past his appearance and wouldn't want him near them

and mind, mizora clearly wants wyll to stay isolated. why else would she forbid him from explaining the circumstances of his pact? what could she possibly gain from that, other than making sure he can never dispel the notion that he made a deal with the devil simply for power?

so it makes sense that that, more even than the non-consensual body modification, was the punishment. to put his warlock status on display, so that people would immediately be offput by him - and even if they aren't, he will be sure they are

his own father couldn't stand to look at him, and that was back when he had just lost an eye

but the first thing karlach tells him is this:

"Thank you for seeing me for who I really am. And... I think I can see you for who you really are, too. A hero"

obviously, it's common sense for her to see him like this after he just saved her life at great, and at the time unknown, personal cost. but it would also have been common sense for his father to know that the son he himself raised and who's nothing if not a paragon of kindness and duty wouldn't just decide to sell his soul for power out of the blue one fine day. or that, if he keeps trying to say something but can't, then there might be more to the story. for fuck's sake, he lost an eye. and yet, ulder didn't. wyll's association with the demonic was enough to dispel everything about his personhood, his values, and his actions. and now said association was branded, quite literally, on his forehead

and karlach's suffered so much at the hands of devils. just like with the other tieflings, he expects her to be unsettled by him, at the very least

but then she says that she looks at him and sees only a hero. the man who saved her. the man who cared enough to listen and do what was right. the man who sacrificed something for her, who had to make a choice no one should have to make

he had saved an entire city when he first made the pact, and yet not one soul in it was able to see that. see him

but karlach did

karlach does

and not only that. not only is she the first person in perhaps his whole life to put more weight to wyll's personhood and actions than to mizora's; but she knew he needed to hear that. she says it like someone who's trying to offer a comfort in a hopeless situation, which is exactly what she's doing. she knows that he is afraid of being rejected

and of course she does

she is the one who comes closest to fully understanding him.

can you imagine being wyll and seeing karlach's story play out in dizzyingly rapid succession in your mind? had a pretty good, happy life, then in the span of one day everything changed when she was associated with the demonic. she lost everything and everyone she ever had. from then on, she only knew one thing: to fight. no rest and no friends and no breaks, just endless, senseless fighting. her body was changed against her will. she hadn't been touched in a positive way in ten years. even fucking mizora was there

that's his story, too

sure, he might not have been literally unable to touch people, but neither was karlach when she was in hell. he's been completely alone except for mizora for the last seven years, at least in the ways that matter. nothing in his life was constant, except for the fighting and the humiliation at a devil's hand. and the loneliness

of course he thinks it's a trick. it hits too close to home

and of course he can't help but listen anyway. because wyll is nothing if not compassionate, and he's just watched a tldr of his own pain inflicted on someone else

so when karlach says that she still sees him as himself first?

he is reminded that she gets it

for the first time in seven years, he is not alone, and he is understood

of course he would do anything to keep her in his life, just as she would

in a way, she did save him, too.

(slightly late meta submission for @thekindredcollective's wyllstravaganza2024, day 19: bond)

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 2

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,482 words

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

As you pace back and forth in your room, your mind reels. 

The group had been to Moonrise. They watched Ketheric Thorm take an axe to the throat like it was nothing more than a splinter, and then use it to split a goblin clean in half. The mental image terrifies you, but it's not the main thing occupying your thoughts. 

The tiefling hostages are alive. Danis, Lakrissa; Lia and Cal. 

You've not seen Rolan since he stormed off. You want to talk to him. You want to tell him that Cal and Lia are okay, want to promise him you'll save them even if it costs you your life. 

You want to kiss him again. 

It's ridiculous, in all honesty. You're pretty certain that he hates your guts, but it doesn't stop you pining for him. You realise somewhat reluctantly that you've been pining for him since you parted ways at the grove, and if anything that makes the knowledge of his eventual rejection sting more. Of course he doesn't feel the same way. How could he? He considers you the reason his siblings are lost to him. 

You clench your jaw. You're going to get them back, one way or another. All three of them deserve the future that awaits them in Baldur's Gate. 

As you finish donning your armour, you glance longingly at the bed in the centre of the room. Maybe at some point you'll finally get a full night's sleep. 

Somehow, you doubt it. 

You stare at the back of his head, sat at the bar once again, as you all get ready to leave. A rush of relief fills you to see him safe. A rush of joy fills you to see he's drinking water, not wine. 

He doesn't look up, but that's fine. 

The next time he sees you, his siblings will be safe. You'll make sure of it. 

~~~

All of your friend's sordid descriptions of Moonrise pale in comparison to the real thing. 

On the walk over, Astarion had likened it to "a foetid corpse that even I wouldn't sink my teeth into". While his analysis came the closest, even that didn't truly capture the depths of the building's nauseating atmosphere and stench. As you stand at the base of the structure, staring up at the impossible height of it, Karlach leans over to speak to you. 

"We managed to convince them that we're true souls, but they want to meet you before they give us any more information."

You nod wordlessly. It's another show of your group's trust in you, that they mentioned you even when you weren't present. They've clearly sold you to the cultists as their leader. The thought makes your insides twist. 

Gale cuts in, "Thorm wanted us to bring you straight to Z'rell - I believe she's his commander? I recommend you be on your guard. From the brief glimpse we got of her, she appears rather ruthless."

Karlach nods seriously, "complete mega-bitch."

Astarion lets out a giggle beside you, "goodness, darling, I couldn't have put it more eloquently myself."

You snort at that, and Karlach's face splits into a grin. The group looks at you expectantly. 

You take a deep breath. "Right. If we're going to sell this you three are going to have to be quiet, if you need to tell me something do it through tadpole-mail." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk tap to your temple. The three of them nod, and Karlach mimes zipping her lips shut. 

You continue. "I'll talk to Z'rell, find out what we need to know about the artefact that's keeping Ketheric immortal, and then we'll go round to the docks and enter into the prison from the back. We're here for information and the hostages, nothing else. Don't get greedy." You pause. "That was aimed at you, Astarion. Keep your pilfering hands to yourself."

He sighs dramatically, "oh, if I must."

~~~

Listening to Zrell speak is difficult when you're trying not to choke on the smell of decay and death. It seems to seep through the very brick of the tower, festering between the mortar and filling your pores. You're not sure how successfully you're keeping your disgust off your face, but if Z'rell notices your discomfort she doesn't comment on it. 

"You came here to answer the Absolute's call." She says, and her voice is laced with mirth. "Let's see what you're made of."

All of a sudden she's communing with your tadpole, and you can feel her poking through your brain and the thoughts within it. Panic rises within you as you realise that she's trying to discern if you're truly faithful to the Absolute, and you know you have only a moment before she sees into the depths of your thoughts. 

You latch onto the first thing you can think of. 

As you shape the image of Rolan's face in your mind, you remind yourself of the anticipation in the moments before your lips met, and the rush of euphoria and excitement as you finally kissed him. You focus on the emotion in his eyes as he waited for your reaction, the blush on his cheeks, the shine on his lips. You can almost feel his hands tracing over your hips, slipping through your hair, and in your mind you're settling your weight back into his lap. 

Then the thoughts drift further. Watching his magic display at the party, the sound of his laugh as you traipsed through the shadows, the way his brow furrows when he scowls. The sunshine yellow of his irises and the shiver that goes through you whenever his gaze falls onto you, the dusting of freckles along his cheeks, the smooth scarlet length of his neck and how beautiful it would look covered in hickeys. 

When Z'rell retreats from your mind, she barks out a harsh series of laughs, and for a moment you're terrified. She's seen straight through you, she knows what you're here to do. Your hand slides to grip the handle of your blade where it rests on your back. 

"A refugee from Elturel?" She can hardly get the words out around her laughter. "Gods, what a pathetic little creature. And a wizard, no less! Don't tell me you're actually in love with that sad excuse for a man." She leans forward and runs a hand down your arm, a coquettish grin on her face. "A pretty thing like you? I can think of far more worthy conquests."

You feel bile rise in your throat at her words, both her blatant advances and her mischaracterisation of Rolan, but you swallow it down. Instead, you let out a fake, flirty laugh, and shoot her a half-hearted wink. 

This seems to satisfy her, and she launches into an explanation of the relic that Thorm needs - the one that you know grants his immortality - and directs you to the mausoleum. 

When you're finally outside again, away from the stifling air of Z'rell's atmosphere, your companions say nothing. The weight of her words hangs over you. 

'Love' she'd said. Is that what it is? 

Do you love Rolan? 

You're not completely sure you're ready to think about that. 

~~~

The battle in the prison is more draining than you'd hoped. You're only still upright thanks to a well thrown healing potion from Astarion, which had landed at your feet and splashed up your calves. 

The boat rocks on the water and the paddles propel you forward on their own accord, moved by Gale's magic rather than any physical effort. Karlach has the end of a bandage clamped between her teeth as she wraps a cut on her upper arm, and Astarion (despite his initial reluctance) is rationing out the remainders of your healing brews between the ex-hostages. A group of deep-gnomes had also been held captive below the tower, so the boat is cramped and your medical supplies aren't stretching as far as you'd hoped, but everyone is alive. 

You can't quite believe it. You feel like you're not even in your body. 

That may have something to do with the blood loss, in fairness. You'll worry about that later. 

As the boat starts to pull into the dock, you hear a loud cheer from the coastline, and for a moment you don't even think about the horrors of Moonrise towers. You watch Cal and Lia scan the shore for Rolan, and lean over to them both. 

"He's probably inside, waiting at the bar. That's where he was when we left."

Lia gives you a friendly smile, which morphs into something like amusement. "That sounds about right. He's not the type for heroic welcomes."

You nod and chuckle. There's a pause before she speaks again. 

"Is he... He's okay, right?"

"He is." You pause. "I'm sure he'll be less than pleased that it was me that got you guys out, but he'll be thankful to see you. He's been worried."

Lia smirks, and there's a knowing edge to it that unsettles you somewhat. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to give you his thanks."

Cal snorts, before covering his mouth and nose with a hand and turning away, trying in vain to make his guffaw sound like a cough. You narrow your eyes at the pair of them in suspicion and Lia laughs. You're beginning to understand Rolan's perpetual exasperation with them both. They've been out of mortal danger for all of 5 minutes and they're already teasing him, and he's not even seen them yet. 

Actually, scratch that. You realise as Lia looks at you that they're not teasing him, they're teasing you.

You try to think of something smart to say, but come up blank. Instead, you blush, and mutter sheepishly. "Am I that obvious?"

Cal snickers, and Lia breaks into a wide grin. "It wouldn't be obvious if he was anyone else," she starts, "but you have to be daft or smitten to enjoy Rolan's company. You're definitely not daft."

Cal cuts in, "oh I don't know, she might be. She did just break us out of prison."

You laugh at that, "in my defence, that was a group effort."

Any reply they might have had is cut off by the boat shuddering as it connects with the shore. 

Lia claps you on the shoulder, "for what it's worth, Tav, I think he's sweet on you." Before you can ask her to elaborate, she's clambering out of the skiff and tugging Cal out behind her. 

That flutter of hope flickers back into your chest.

As you step from the boat, Bex grabs you in a tight embrace. She sobs into you and whispers repeated thanks and prayers. You don't catch most of them, you just hold her. When she breaks away your shoulder is damp, and she lunges at Danis as soon as he steps onto the shore. They fall to their knees in a heap as they clutch one another desperately. 

You're showered in adulation from every direction; you lose count of how many hugs and handshakes you're given. There's a deep weariness settling through your bones that gives you only enough vigour to respond positively without considering your words. You're completely on autopilot. 

You finally make it back through the doors of the inn, and you're more than ready to collapse in your bed. You feel like you could sleep for an age. 

A loud, clipped admonishment shoots through the air, and you turn to face it. 

It's Lia. She looks surprisingly pissed off for someone who was so pleased just ten minutes ago. You sigh inwardly and resign yourself to the fact that you should intervene. 

"We're all safe, Rolan - that's what matters!" It’s Cal talking when you approach. 

Rolan is opening his mouth to speak, and you're reasonably sure by the expression on his face that whatever he plans on saying isn't particularly polite. You cut him off before he has the chance. 

"Rolan was in a bad state without you two."

His jaw snaps shut as his eyes dart to you, and he hesitates over his words. 

"I was just... overwhelmed. It doesn't matter."

Lia's eyes soften, and she takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. We should've been here."

"No -" Rolan is quick in his response this time. His tone is gentle. "- no, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry."

Cal turns to you, and there's a soft smile on his face. 

"Thank you, Tav. For saving me, and the two idiots." He tilts his head in their direction as he says it. 

Lia nods, then turns to Rolan, a teasing grin on her face. "Anything to add, Rolan?"

He scowls at her, but as he turns to look as you his expression smooths out, and a faint blush rises to his cheeks. 

"I've... lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise. And you helped me anyway." His voice is uncharacteristically apologetic. "You didn't deserve that - I'm sorry. And... thank you."

The look the two of you share is charged, and there's so much you want to say. You pause for too long though, and Rolan clears his throat. 

"You went out of your way to help us, it's only right you get something in return." His tone is matter-of-fact as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pouch, and you can tell it's gold without looking inside. He takes your hand and turns your palm upwards, places the bag in your hand, and curls your fingers around it. His own hand stays wrapped around yours for a moment, and he glances up at you through his lashes, suddenly bashful. 

His words are quiet, meant just for you. "Here. I hope it helps."

You try to refuse - try to say anything at all - but before you have the chance he's pushing the bag towards you and loosening his grip. You're left standing there, staring at him, the pouch clutched to your chest. His tail flicks behind him. 

The silence lingers, and Lia clears her throat to break it. "Stay and have a drink with us Tav? The least we can do is pour you a decent pint."

It's tempting, but you shake your head, shaking yourself from your stupor simultaneously. "As lovely as that sounds, I'm completely exhausted. There's not enough blood left in my body right now for me to risk booze, I'll be more ale than ichor." 

Rolan's face twists at that, "you're hurt?"

You can only shrug, though the movement feels sluggish. "Par for the course of this hero business, funnily enough. I don't think I've been anything but hurt since I fell out of that nautiloid."

He frowns, "surely your group has healers? Potions?"

"Well," you nod, then shrug again, "Shadowheart and Halsin are healers, but their magic is better spent on you lot. And we're fresh out of potions right now, I'm going to go on the scrounge for some in the morning." Rolan looks distinctly unimpressed, so you shoot him a smile that you hope is comforting. "It's fine, really. I have a bed waiting for me upstairs which has been calling for me since yesterday. I'll feel right as rain after a few hours of rest."

This doesn't seem to placate him, and he shakes his head before standing from his chair decisively. "Absolutely not. I know some basic healing spells and I keep a few spare potions in my pack. I'll tend you - I insist." The last past comes briskly as you open your mouth to protest, and you close it again. He can clearly tell you're brewing an argument, and intercedes before you can fully form it. "Just let me look after you. Please?"

His echo of your own words stirs something in your chest, which feels a bit like he's cheating to be honest, and you find you haven't got the energy nor inclination to argue. 

"Fine, but only if I get to lay down. My head is pounding."

He nods, "fine by me, which room is yours? I'll come find you."

You tilt your head upwards, "first door at the top of the stairs, I'll leave it unlocked."

He nods again. "I'll be with you momentarily, then."

It's at that moment that you notice the absolute shit-eating grins that the twins are wearing, and you feel yourself flush. Cal winks at you, which sends Lia into hysterics, and Rolan turns on her sharply.

"What?!" His tail is raised and flicks sharply, in a movement you can tell denotes his irritation, but it just makes Lia laugh more. You turn away briskly before he can see the blush rising on your face and take the stairs two at a time. You hear Cal cackle and Rolan whisper-shouting his complaints at the pair of them as you shut the door and lean your back against it. 

You let yourself catch your breath, then take three long strides forwards til you're right at the edge of the bed, and unceremoniously fall face first into the mattress. 

~~~

You're roused to consciousness by a light series of knocks against the door, and you manage to wrench your eyes open just as Rolan walks in. 

He smiles, "sorry to disturb."

"Not at all, come on in."

He steps further into the room and clicks the door shut behind him. You smile to yourself as a thought crosses your mind, and mutter it quietly. 

"'The fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door.'"

He quirks an eyebrow with a smirk, "poetry, Tav? You better not be trying to seduce me."

You snort, "please, with 'The Raven'? Rather a grim method of seduction, don't you think? I'm sure I could think of something more suited, if you insist." 

His face flushes. "That won't be necessary." 

The laugh you let out is incredibly unattractive, but you don't have enough energy to care. You realise you're staring at him over your shoulder where you're planted face-down on the bed, so you roll onto your back and sit up to face him better. 

"'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming...'" You trail off and laugh again. "Yeah, no, it's definitely not the most charming of poems. I'll have to come up with something better."

He smiles, his light flush unmoving, "oh, I don't know, that bit was almost sweet, if you ignore the original context."

You smile wide at that, and Gods, this feels so easy with him. So comfortable. You'd been so sure he'd hate you, but sitting here now looking at him, you can't imagine why. 

He clears his throat, and tilts his head towards the bed. "May I?" You nod, and he seats himself next to you. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted. Drained. A little lightheaded, if I'm being truthful. Feels like my bones have turned to jelly."

He frowns, "well that's far from ideal. Does anywhere in particular hurt? I'd like to make sure you're not actively bleeding out on me."

You shake your head, though the action makes your eyes blur, "just my head, really. Well, and my whole body aches, but that's no different than usual. I had been bleeding out, I think, but Astarion threw a potion and that staunched it."

He huffs. "Right. Where were you bleeding out from?"

You blink. "Oh, sorry. My side, under my ribs. Big sword."

He nods. "Do you mind lifting your shirt slightly? I just want to make sure the wound is closed properly."

You nod, and as you curl your fingers around the hem of your shirt he drops his various supplies between you both. There's a collection of healing salves, as well as a mundane first-aid kit. 

He notices you looking. "Healing magic isn't a particular proficiency of mine. For anything small I figured we could make do the old fashioned way."

It makes your heart clench a bit, the tenderness and thoughtfulness he's extending towards you, so you nod dumbly instead of saying anything. You lift your shirt to expose your waist to him. 

He sucks in a breath, and a look at his face tells you the wound is definitely not staunched. 

"That bad, huh?"

To his credit, he does a good job of steeling his features into something neutral. He also does a good job of stealthily avoiding the question. "Nothing that can't be fixed. Do you mind if I...?"

He gestures towards you with his hands, and once again you're mute as you nod. He places his fingers gently against the sore skin around the cut and you flinch. He responds with a sympathetic grimace. 

"Sorry, I just need to check how deep it is. The spell will be more effective if I know how far it needs to penetrate." You brace yourself as he touches the wound again, and he nods to himself as he inspects it. "It's a clean cut which means it shouldn't be too difficult to heal. What exactly happened?"

You wince again, though it's not from pain this time. You don't particularly want to go into the details with him; it's certain to upset him. He looks at you expectantly though, and his gentle touch on your skin is clouding your thoughts a little. You sigh. 

"One of the guards. He lunged at Cal while his back was turned." Rolan's eyes widen. You shrug noncommittally, hoping to ease his concern. "I jumped in to stop it, so it caught me instead."

Rolan just stares at you, blinking. 

"I..." He keeps staring at you. "You... You leapt in front of a blade to protect my brother?"

You wince again, making a sucking noise with your teeth. "... Sorry?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes, lines appearing on his forehead. "I don't know whether I should punch you or kiss you."

You feel your heart leap, and you let a coy smirk dance across your lips, "if you're taking suggestions, I certainly have a preference."

He huffs out a laugh, and opens his eyes to look at you again. You can tell he's trying to look frustrated, but there's a shadow of a smile on his face. "Gods, you would, wouldn't you? I've never known you to not have an opinion on something."

His reaction emboldens you, "I have several opinions on the matter, in fact. Are you taking suggestions? I can give you an extensive list."

There's a cocky grin on his features now, and he leans in til his breath is ghosting over your face. Just as you think he's about to kiss you, he speaks instead. 

"I thanked you once already. Don't be greedy."

The tone he utters the words in is low and gravelly, teasing in a way that's absolutely maddening, and you shudder involuntarily as he leans away from you. He looks very proud of himself. 

You roll your eyes. "Whatever, you tease. Hurry up and fix me, will you?"

His gaze falls back to your wound at that, and his face drops. He trails a finger featherlight around the cut, which sends a shiver through you, and when he speaks his tone is serious again. 

"Thank you, Tav. Truly. My family and I are eternally in your debt. Cal and Lia..." His eyes go slightly misty. "They're everything to me. I'm sorry you were injured, but I'm so deeply thankful for your help."

It's such a painfully genuine comment, and the only thing that feels right in the moment that follows is to rest your hand atop his free one where it rests on his knee. You don't say anything, but you don't think you need to. 

He clears his throat. "Right, I'm going to cast the spell now, if you're ready? It might sting due to the wound's depth, but I'll try to be careful."

You nod, "I trust you."

An emotion you can't quite place flickers across his eyes, and you squeeze his hand gently before withdrawing. He grabs your hand before it gets very far, though, and flushes as he places it on his knee. He pointedly avoids your eye contact as he laces his fingers with yours. 

"I... I can do it one handed."

You've absolutely not known him long enough for your heart to flutter the way it does, but you find you don't care very much. You squeeze his hand and shoot him a smile, before gesturing down at your abdomen.  

"Go ahead, I'm ready."

You feel his magic dance along your skin and you gasp at the sensation. It's somehow cool and warm simultaneously, and it tingles as your flesh knits together. The feeling is different to when the others heal you. Shadowheart's magic feels like being bathed in a warm light, Halsin's feels like blades of grass tickling your dermis. Rolan's healing magic feels more like a soft breeze blowing through an open window; it feels like the particles you can see in the air when the light hits at a particular angle. It's gentle and homely, like being wrapped up in a tender embrace, and it reminds you of the soothing voice someone might use to comfort a child. 

All too soon the feeling subsides, and you realise that your eyes have fallen shut. You open them slowly, blinking in the light of the room, and find Rolan already looking at you. His face is open and unguarded, and his eyes flicker across your features as though he's trying to memorise them. When he speaks, it's in a low whisper, as if the very air around the pair of you is fragile. 

"... How do you feel?"

You consider his question. You take in the lingering fluttering sensation of his dissipating magic, the feeling of his fingers laced through yours, the exposed expression he wears as his eyes dance over you. You're not quite sure what to say. 

So instead you say nothing, and you lean forward and press your lips into his. 

His mouth is pliant under yours, his lips satin smooth. You feel rather than hear his intake of breath as you make contact with him, and his grip on your hand tightens minutely. It's a tender, fleeting thing, the kiss you give him, and when you pull away you can't help the goofy smile that spreads across your face. 

"Far better, now." 

He scoffs, but there's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before, and he's leaning back in. There's no hurry to his movements as he parts your lips, and you sink into the feeling of his mouth against yours. When you separate again, he's wearing a beaming grin that matches your own. 

"As lovely as this is," the hand that isn't gripping yours comes up to caress your cheek, "I'd like to finish healing you. Is there anywhere else that hurts?"

You shake your head, then hesitate as the movement makes your skull throb. "Well... I have a pounding headache."

He chuckles, and both of his hands come up to the base of your neck as he leans into your space. He threads his fingers upwards through the hair there, the rest of your locks cascading over his forearms, and you shiver and let your eyes flutter shut as the hum of his magic washes over you once more. He scratches his nails lightly against your scalp and you let out a contented moan. Another soft laugh escapes him and you feel his breath against your cheek, which makes you shudder. 

When his magic recedes again, your head feels warm and fuzzy, and you lean into his touch to encourage him not to let go. 

"Don't fall asleep on me, Tav, I need to make sure you're fully healed."

You shake your head and plant your face into his neck, and Gods, his skin is so soft and warm. When he starts to chastise you again, you tilt your head and place soft open mouth kisses against his skin, and now he's the one shivering under your touch.

"Tav..." His tone is low, and you feel it in your chest. You hum in response which makes him shudder, and you feel his neck bob as he swallows heavily. "Tav, you need to rest."

You lift your face away from his skin, just enough to speak. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shivers again, and his fingers tighten their grip in your hair. "I should think you know the answer to that already."

You giggle, and reward his honesty with a light suck of the soft skin. He groans fully at that, and you feel the noise travel directly south. You can't help but pull the skin between your teeth and tease it gently.

"Gods," it's more of a breath than a word, "Tav, I- Can I kiss you? Please?"

You sit up and kiss him and he moans into your mouth as you slide your tongue against his. It's a maddening kiss, slow despite the underlying heat to both of your actions. Rolan's the one to break it, to your immense chagrin. You try to lean back in but he holds you at arms length by your shoulders. 

"Tav." His voice is chiding, the tone reminiscent of the one you might use to chastise a cat that won't stop bringing you vole. "I'm not finished healing you."

The groan you let out is fairly childish, but whatever. It makes him laugh. 

"Come on, I seem to remember you saying you wanted to lay down."

He eases you back til your head rests on the pillows. They're soft and downy, and Rolan's touch on your skin as he positions you on them is so light that you feel goosebumps raise on your skin. He sits facing you, one leg drawn up onto the mattress. 

"Gods, Tav, you look exhausted. When was the last time you had a proper rest?" 

You laugh at that, which probably isn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Never?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose again, before looking back at you. "Okay, I'm going to use a general healing spell over your whole body, to hopefully ease some of your aches and pains. It'll close up any small wounds and then you can actually sleep."

When you nod, his hands come to hover above you and the staticy feeling of his magic reaches out to you as he connects with the weave. His hands trail over your body without touching you, making their way across your whole form, and by the time he's finished you feel like you're surrounded by a cloud. He's gotten rid of aches you didn't even know you had. 

You only realise you're half asleep when you register the gentle touch of his hand on your cheek, so barely there that you could be imagining it, before you feel the bed dip as he moves to stand. You reach a hand out and grab at him blindly, catching the edge of his robe. It makes him pause, and you blink your eyes open. 

"Stay."

The look that spreads across his face is so raw and full of emotion that you almost feel like you should close your eyes to give him privacy. There's a softness to his gaze you've never seen on him before, and he swallows thickly and gives one small nod. You shuffle over enough to make room for him, and he unbuckles the silver gorget he wears over his robes, placing it gently on the small table next to the bed. You expect him to lay down then, but he stands for another moment hesitating, before eventually bringing his hands to the sash that holds his robes together. The flush that rises to your cheeks makes your whole face warm, and you watch his fingers (he has beautiful hands) as they untie the laces and drag the robe off his shoulders, so that he's left just in his plain undershirt and baggy trousers. 

You're pretty sure you've never been this turned on from seeing someone wearing clothes, but there's something about seeing Rolan in casual dress rather than his wizarding attire that ignites a fire low in your gut. He takes a moment to toe off his boots, and just as he goes to get in bed he pauses. 

"Is this definitely what you want? I don't want to intrude on your rest."

You'd roll your eyes if you had enough energy, but instead you pat the bed beside you. He chuckles and finally clambers onto the mattress. He keeps a respectful distance, lying on his back with one hand folded onto his chest and his ankles crossed over each other. His other hand brushes against the back of your own where it rests between you. 

~~~

[sorcerous-caress]

Yandere Wyll headcanons

[Soft yandere, Toxic protective Wyll, jealousy, possessiveness, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

Bedtime stories of love at first sight that his father used to tell him after tucking him in was something he thought he outgrow.

Yet on that day as he hopped down the grove's gate and faced the goblins, meeting your eyes amidst the battlefield felt like an arrow struck his heart.

A feeling he can't explain.

Wyll was hyperaware of your presence during the whole fight, of your safety. Casting a spell on the nearby goblin that might have taken you by suprise, completely ignoring the fact he was surrounded by a dozen of them himself.

In the aftermath, it almost hurt him to retreat back inside the grove, to leave you all alone out there.

He wanted to go and check on you, to ask your name at least.

But the tieflings urged him back, declaring him their hero as he smiled politely at the kids running up to him.

Please come back, he thought, please follow him.

It must be fate, and when you walked inside the grove and spoke to him, he was sure of it.

Your name sounded pleasent on his lips, and when you called him the blade of frontier he thought he might trip and make a fool of himself.

One thing led to another and he found himself back at your camp.

Much to his dismay, there were other tents placed Besides your own.

Even his reaction surprised him, why did his lungs burn at the idea of someone else staying near you as you slept? Why does his heart ache at the idea that he wasn't the first person you called back to camp.

The eventual meeting with the devil he was hunting ensures, and you're there by his side during it.

But you're looking at the devil with concerned eyes instead of disgust, you're lowering your weapon and asking if she's okay.

You ask for her name just like you asked for his.

Something ugly twists inside his stomach.

He takes over the conversation, steers it back to the purpose it once held before.

But you stop him, talk him out of it, and like any fool smitten in love, he can't refuse you.

Part of him is aware that he did the right thing, that your words rung true at the end, Karlach is no devil.

And as he pays the price for his change of heart that night, you still face him the next morning.

Still as handsome, you tell him.

You don't look at him with disgust, you don't prod at his horns and you don't avoid eye contact with his abyssal eye.

It really must be fate, for someone as kind hearted as you to cross paths with him.

He stays by your side that night, nods off to sleep with his head resting against your shoulder.

From that day on, he stays by your side and on your team.

Every attempt at getting him to go back to camp is met with refusal, you can only bring two other companions, the third will always be Wyll.

The world is too dangerous, the people are too greedy. He can't let someone take advantage of you, he can't let you out of his sight.

He shows off his power more in front of you, plays the heroic role with more flourish, targets the enemies that target you.

The other companions make a comment or two about how he seems to be inseparable from you, Wyll takes it in stride and plays it cool, yet never denies it.

Somehow each attempt they make at getting closer to you gets interrupted by some way or the other.

That time Gale attempts to share the weave with you, Scratch suddenly runs to you, your favourite boot in his mouth with chew marks and you completely lose focus and go after him.

That night Astarion invites you to the forest, it suddenly starts raining and it's too damp and muddy to do anything on the ground.

When Shadowheart called you to split a bottle, a cat jumps out of the bush and nearly makes her stumble off of the small cliff into the lake, both of you immediately make it back to camp.

As Wyll dismisses the familiar he summoned, he can't help but feel guilty and ashamed by his actions.

Just because he's not in a hurry to share his bed with you, doesn't mean that the other companions deserve it because they're easy.

Not to mention, you did promise him to dance with him eventually, did you not?

[khywren]

「 Garden of Eden : Chapter 3 」

summary: "It's been days since you last fed on me; you must be positively starving." She flashes him a sweet, tempting smile.

A single white fang gleams from beneath Astarion's lips as he runs his tongue over his teeth and takes Tav's chin delicately in his hand. He doesn't care who may be watching.

"You've no idea," he croons softly. "Do lead the way, darling."

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ MDNI status: 6/10 tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, drunk sex, smut, toxic coping mechanisms, depictions of violence/abuse, hurt/comfort, mild angst, frenemies to lovers, word count: 3k spoiler warning: full story will contain spoilers for all 3 acts of the game.

a/n: chapters will be posted individually. crossposted from AO3. links to other chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ]

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The night after Tav and her companions defeat the last threats plaguing the Emerald Grove, the tieflings throw them a party in their camp.

There is plenty of dancing, singing, and other merriment, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.

Well, almost everyone.

As Tav finishes another dance around the fire, her face flushed and her body warm from the wine and the exertion, she realizes that she hasn't seen Astarion all night. He's certainly not one to be the life of the party, but it still feels strange that he has receded so far into the background.

She figured he would enjoy being lavished with attention and praise, even if it meant having to accept that he had participated in something selfless for the good of others.

At last she spots him, nestled in the shadows near his tent, a bottle of wine in hand. He takes another swig, the look of disgust with whatever he's drinking clearly etched across his face announcing his discontent.

"Astarion! There you are." Tav practically bounds over to him, light on her feet and hopelessly drunk on more than a few glasses of wine.

She's feeling especially bold this evening. It's been several days since Astarion last fed on her, but that night in the blighted village has been on her mind ever since. 

There is, of course, the desire for him to bite her again - she won't deny that. But beyond that, she can't help but be greedy for more of him.

Astarion regards her with a look of condescension. "Well, I see that someone is enjoying themselves."

Tav frowns at him. "You're not? Relax a little. We're heroes, we should be celebrating!"

She gives him a playful shove and grins, but he remains impassive even as he sighs and runs a hand through his hair and takes another drink of wine.

"Heroes." The word is laced with venom. "We massacred a horde of goblins to save a pack of tieflings who are now free to go meet their doom somewhere less scenic," he says flatly, shrugging off Tav's look of concern.

"I would hardly call that heroic. At least they could have brought us better wine for our troubles."

Tav can't help but laugh at him, how he punctuates everything with that sardonic sense of humor.

"Ooh, how melodramatic," she teases him, making a face. "The wine may be terrible, but it gets the job done. Isn't that all that matters?"

Astarion cocks a brow and shakes his head. "My dear Tav," he replies, "you can't tell me that you seriously enjoy poisoning yourself with this..."

He casts a scathing glance at the bottle in his hand and swirls the liquid inside. "This swill."

Tav rolls her eyes. "It's not that bad!" 

She locks eyes with him now, and maybe it's the alcohol that's deluding her, but she swears that he's looking at her the same way he did that first night in the woods, exuding enough predatory hunger to send a shiver of want down her spine.

Tav knows that she wants him; their previous rendezvous only sufficed to ignite a deep yearning for more of him, all of him. The way he pressed his body against her, the little noises he made while feasting on her... and the way he looked at her after the deed was done - surely she's not imagining that he wants her as much as she wants him.

Above all else, she wants to feel more than his fangs inside of her.

She leans close to him now, her voice barely above a whisper as she makes her move.

"But, well, if you don't find the party suited to your refined tastes, might I offer another suggestion?"

A smirk slowly spreads across Astarion's face. "I'm listening."

Tav feels emboldened and seizes on his interest. She's so close to him now that he can feel the heat radiating off of her even though they aren't quite touching. Anyone who so much as glances in their direction would hardly have to struggle to guess the nature of their conversation.

"We could always enjoy one another's company somewhere more... secluded," Tav continues. Astarion is watching her with rapt attention, his eyes locked on the column of her throat as she sweeps her hair to the side to expose her neck to him. The puncture marks have mostly healed, but there is a faint vestige of where he last bit her.

Tav's voice takes on a low, seductive tone, her speech only slurred slightly by the effects of the wine she's drunk.

"It's been days since you last fed on me; you must be positively starving." She flashes him a sweet, tempting smile.

A single white fang gleams from beneath Astarion's lips as he runs his tongue over his teeth and takes Tav's chin delicately in his hand. He doesn't care who may be watching.

"You've no idea," he croons softly. "Do lead the way, darling."

                                      ━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━

After several minutes of charged silence, they emerge into an open clearing ringed by a copse of trees. It's secluded, intimate.

Tav tries to hide her eagerness as she begins to unbutton her shirt, her nervous fingers fumbling with the button clasps giving her away completely. As she exhales a shaky breath, she lets her shirt fall open; the fabric hangs loosely around her shoulders and her torso, barely concealing her breasts.

She's playing coy with him, but he doesn't mind. It's nothing if not an opportunity to steer the evening to its foregone conclusion.

Tav finds her back pressed against the trunk of the nearest towering oak tree, the bark biting into her through the thin fabric of her shirt. Astarion dips his head low, an open hand splayed over her bare stomach.

He's dangerously close to kissing her again, and Tav's breath hitches as her mouth falls open ever so slightly.

It's all too easy, Astarion thinks.

His lips graze the column of her throat as he peppers kisses down her neck, enjoying the way she tenses beneath him. Her blood thrums at her pulse point, and he can hear the way her heart thunders like a bird trapped in her ribcage.

"Hmmm..." he murmurs against Tav's neck, the low rumble of his voice sending tendrils of heat to pool low in her belly.

"You offered so sweetly to let me feed from you again, but I get the feeling you're keeping something from me. Is that truly all you want?"

Tav whimpers as Astarion trails his fingertips across her stomach, up and up and up before he cups her bare breast in the palm of his hand, purposely tracing the pad of his thumb over her nipple.

"I..." She hesitates for a moment before deciding the whole charade is rather foolish.

"No," she admits, leaning greedily into his touch.

"Hmm, I thought not," he remarks slyly. She can feel his fangs pressed against her neck, and she instinctively turns her head to offer him better access, but he doesn't bite her.

He's so masterfully building the anticipation within her, and her body feels like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Tell me," Astarion says, "what's the real reason you brought me all the way out here?" He slides his leg between her thighs and Tav inhales a sharp breath, the friction just enough to leave her desperate for more. It's all she can do to not roll her hips against him.

"Do I really need to say it?" she protests stubbornly. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Astarion clicks his tongue impatiently. "Certainly," he muses, "but I do so wish to hear you say it anyway - how much you want me. How long you've been thinking about this since the last night we shared together."

Damn him, she thinks vaguely. He's using her desperation to his advantage, bending her to his every whim, but she's become too shameless to care.

"Fuck," she breathes, "You already know how badly I want you. If you don't hurry up and fuck me already, I'll find someone else to satisfy me."

"No you won't," he murmurs, calling her bluff. When he presses his mouth against hers, she kisses him fiercely, her fingers in his hair, tugging on the roots.

"Careful," he growls, biting down on her bottom lip as he pushes her firmly into the tree bark. When he slides his hands beneath her legs, coaxing her, she happily jumps up, throwing her legs around his waist. Her shirt comes off easily as Astarion carries her further into the clearing and presses her into the grass, where she lays exposed beneath him.

"Shall we finish what we started last time?" The myriad reds in his eyes shimmer in the starlight that filters through the thin canopy of leaves, and Tav cannot help but to stare at him in reverence.

"Yes," she whispers. "Gods, yes. Don't make me wait any longer."

Astarion is happy to oblige her, hooking his fingers beneath her pants and underwear. Tav lifts her hips to accommodate him, and he quickly sheds the rest of her clothing, pausing only briefly to admire the full expanse of her body.

"You are simply stunning, love," he praises her, gently nudging her thighs open with his knee. He wastes little time unlacing his own trousers, and when he slips his cock free, Tav stares, open-mouthed and wanting.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Tav needs no reminder.

"Please," she rasps, her throat dry. "Please, Astarion. I want to feel you inside me."

"Good girl."

Astarion guides the head of his cock through her folds and presses the head against her entrance, finding her absolutely soaking wet with her need for him. He slips inside her with a single thrust, and she throws her head back, his name a cry on her lips.

With his hands braced on her hips, Astarion fucks into her tight wet heat, spurred on by Tav's breathy little moans and the way she writhes beneath him, rolling her hips languidly against his own with every thrust.

He sets an easy pace, finding it a simple task to please her. She's so drunk on him, and on the wine, that she has become perfectly pliant and receptive to even his lightest touch.

His mind begins to drift, as it typically does, his body moving of its own accord and out of habit.

Tav must notice the almost imperceptible change in his movements, however, and before long she cranes her neck to look at him, the distant look on his face causing her more than a little alarm.

"A-Astarion," she asks, snapping him from his reverie, "is something wr-"

He shushes her with a single finger upon her lips, forbidding the question he knows she's going to ask. The mask must have slipped - only for a moment, but long enough that Tav had seen enough to start to wonder.

He can't have her thinking too much about this, not now. He needs her to fall for the pretty lies and the sweet nothings he whispers tenderly to her to wrap her tightly around his finger. It's the only way this will work as he's planned it.

Instead, Astarion wills himself to keep going, to let instinct take over and to do what he's done a hundred times over. It's mechanical. Easy. He tells himself that whatever nascent affection he feels towards her is of no consequence.

"Let me take care of you, love," he says, his voice low and husky. "You need only to enjoy yourself." 

His words are a soothing balm to the concern that is clearly etched across Tav's face, and when he slides a finger between the apex of her thighs and teases her swollen clit, her protests die in her throat. A sharp cry tears itself from her lips and Tav arches her back, tipping her head back once again. She grasps desperately for purchase in the grass, her fingers digging into the dirt as though she might otherwise be cast adrift.

He feels so, so good inside of her, every perfect inch of his cock stretching and filling her so completely. It's almost as if she was made specifically for him and him alone.

Between the hand between her legs and the steady rhythm of Astarion's hips as he thrusts into her, Tav knows she won't last much longer. The alcohol and her lust for him have clouded her judgment beyond the point of no return, and she can hardly remember what it was that seemed to be bothering her to begin with.

And as long as he keeps making her feel this good, she no longer cares.

"Astarion... Astarion, please," she moans his name in ragged breaths as though she's reciting a prayer, as though her body is a divine offering for him to use as he sees fit. Her entire body feels as taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

It's everything she thought this moment might be.

"That's it, Tav," Astarion croons, bending low over her to whisper into her ear, all the while applying that delicious pressure to her clit as he relentlessly fucks her closer to the edge. Each thrust has him bottoming out inside of her, and the slap of their skin at the place where they are joined is an exquisite melody.

"Come for me," he growls through grit teeth. "I want you to show me how good it feels to be fucked like this."

This is all too common ground for Astarion, a path he's walked more times than he can count. And oh, she's being so good for him, yielding to him so effortlessly as he knew she would. 

He tells himself that's why it feels as good as it does, not because he cares for her but because she's given herself over so easily. He lets himself believe the lie, because to do otherwise would unravel everything, and he is already broken enough without another hairline fracture across his cold, dead heart.

The low edge of his voice and the sultry command he gives Tav is all she needs, and she loses herself completely, crying out in pleasure as she comes hard on his cock and the waves of her orgasm wash over her like a ferocious tide. Astarion groans as he feels her tightening around him and follows her shortly after, spilling his seed inside her with a few erratic thrusts.

As the intensity of her orgasm begins to subside, Tav finds her clarity slowly returning, and she brings herself to look up at Astarion as he disentangles himself from her and sits back in the grass.

Although he seems satisfied upon her initial glance, the longer she looks at him, the more she can tell that there is something simmering just beneath the surface. The line of his mouth is set thin, his eyes focused on something in the distance. 

If Tav had to describe it, he looks haunted, his body present while his mind is leagues away. She knows she's staring again, but he hasn't seemed to notice and she can't take her eyes off of him.

Tav's chest tightens and she reaches for her shirt, pulling it over her body to stave off the chill that settles into her bones. She gathers herself up in an attempt to stay warm. A frown knits her brows together as she calls out to him.

"Astarion?" she presses again, quiet and cautious. "What's troubling you?"

Astarion turns to offer her a look over his shoulder, his expression troubling. He's smiling softly, but Tav swears she's never seen him look so sad.

"Hmm?" He tips his head thoughtfully to the side. "Oh, no. It's nothing, dear. You've simply given me so much to think about. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

He says the last part in his characteristically flirtatious manner, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he doesn't fully mean it.

She wants to know what he's hiding - because he so obviously is hiding something - but it's as if he's erected an iron wall between them, and she doesn't want to upset him any further. So she merely nods, hoisting herself to her feet and quietly dressing.

A thought suddenly occurs to her now.

"You didn't feed on me," Tav reminds him, reaching to unbutton her nightshirt again.

Astarion holds out his hand and shakes his head. "Don't worry, there are plenty of beasts in these woods. Just don't let the druid know; he would be very cross with me if he knew that I was snacking on his friends."

"All right," Tav says, almost sullenly. "If that's what you wish."

After tucking her feet back into her boots, she bids Astarion good night, and makes herself presentable before heading back to camp. By the time she returns, the evening's celebrations have wound down, and a lone figure sits beside the fire, admiring the stars.

She recognizes Halsin's broad shoulders and solid frame as she approaches the fire, and he smiles kindly at her.

"Something is weighing heavily on your mind," he says omnisciently. "Come, sit with me for a spell. Perhaps I can be of some help. It is the least that I can offer after everything you and your companions have done for the grove." He pats the spot beside him and moves over to give her room to join him.

Tav feels her cheeks warm beneath Halsin's blatant observation. "It's that obvious?" She laughs nervously but sits beside him nevertheless.

"I am well-versed in matters of the heart," Halsin says simply, turning to face her. "It is written on your face as plain as day."

He falls silent now, bidding her to voice her worries to him.

Tav hesitates for a moment, uncertain how much she wishes to divulge, but there is a comforting air about Halisn that makes her feel naturally at ease with him.

She tells him what she can.

[bloodwrittenballad]

Sleepover Confessions | Abby Anderson x Reader

Summary: The sleepover take a turn when Abby makes a shocking confession

Warnings: Smut, oral (abby receiving) fingering (abby receiving) sub!abby (speaking my truth) hair pulling (just a lil, to spice things up) cheating (abby cheats on owen, i do not condone doing this but it’s just for the fic. but also fuck that guy) this is not proofread, we die like joel miller men. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI, or you will be golfed 🏌️‍♀️ ALSO this is my first piece i’ve written in a hot minute, please be kind. i love feedback

Fuck, this is so messed up. You thought to yourself, as you all but buried yourself alive inside of Abby’s dripping wet pussy, her moans only encouraging you further as you stuck not one but two fingers knuckle deep. The sounds coming from her cunt and mouth were divine, but not messed up enough to stop.

You continued your brutal pace on her pussy, tongue sliding and diving into every delicious crevice it could find, all while your fingers sped in and out like it was your life’s mission. Abby sobbed and swore, her bare chest heaving up and down as she drove fast toward her orgasm. Tears slid down her red cheeks, and her pussy continued leaking, to which you gobbled up.

“More, more, please!” Abby panted, her greedy hand reaching down to where you sat in between her legs, thighs shaking and clenching around your head while she searched for a life line. Eventually she found it, in a fistful of your hair. The pull on your scalp wasn’t an unwelcome sensation, but certainly a surprise.

Moaning against Abby’s cunt, she squealed at the feeling, spurring you on further. Your free hand had reached up to grip the top of her thigh for support, continuing to bop and grove your head between her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you drunkenly giggled along to Abby’s confession. “So you mean to tell me, that you and Owen, the couple that’s always going at it like fucking rabbits, don’t do oral?” You couldn’t help but laugh more at the way Abby’s cheeks grew red, her head ducking down as she swirled the bottle of beer in her hand. She then shook her head,

“Well, no, it’s not really that.” Abby spoke, “I give Owen head all the time, he just…” Abby trailed off, almost like she was embarrassed as she turned her head away from the burning like you were giving her.

“He just what?” you ask, not liking where you knew that was going. Her response was so quiet, you almost didn’t here it, but when she said those words. Those damned words, “he’s never eaten me out.” Oh, you saw red. You’ve been in her shoes before, more times than you’d like to admit, wasting your time on people who didn’t care about your pleasure.

Hearing that Abby was going through the same thing made you burn with anger for her, and towards that meatheaded boyfriend of hers. You and Owen always had a rocky relationship, right from the start. You’d been Abby’s best friend since forever, and when Owen joined the picture, things changed.

Not by much, Abby was your best friend and always would be, but of course she wanted to spend time with her boyfriend and you never got in the way of that. However that was until it started to feel like Owen was always purposely trying to pull Abby from you, taking her off to god knows where for hours on end, even when you and her had made set plans.

It pissed you right the fuck off, each time he’d tag along or just straight up steal her away from you, so much so that it caused countless arguments and near physical fights whenever you confronted him. Maybe that’s why you started to feel less guilty about tongue fucking his girl, right there on his bed. After all, you were just showing her what real pleasure felt like and catching up on all the lost time he took from you.

So maybe in the end, this wasn’t so messed up. After all, Abby seemed to be fucking loving it. She was writhing around, getting tangled up in the bedsheets like her soul was being expelled from her body. The fleshy walls of her cunt squeezed around your fingers as you continued to lick and fuck Abby for all she’s worth. “F-fuck!” She moaned, you smirked at how pathetic she sounded and she could feel the curve of your lips, almost like you were mocking her.

But fuck, with how good she felt right now, Abby didn’t care if you were mocking her or not. “I-I’m, f-fuck I’m so close!” she whined, her strong thighs squeezing around your head, the pressure made your whole world spin. “Oh yeah, baby?” You asked in a slightly teasing, sultry voice. “You gonna come for me?” Abby nodded wildly, her hair like a halo on the bedding she rested on, a strangled moan of “yes! yes! gonna come just for you, please, please, please!”

Your eyes, already blown wide with lust, only darkened further as you dedicate your entire body and soul to finishing what you started. Adding a third finger and applying a special extra attention to her clit, you worked hard and endlessly, fucking Abby over the edge. Her breathing got caught in her throat as her juices splashed against your face, her moans coming out choked and just desperate as when you first started. Your fingers and tongue slowed in their pace, letting the roller coaster she was on slow in its tracks, before fully releasing yourself from her fully.

You crawled up on the bed, the realization of what you both had truly done setting in, but even then you found it hard to care. Abby deserved someone who truly cared about her, cared about her needs…

The two of you, both sweaty and panting, sat in otherwise silence as you tried to contemplate what to make of this situation. However, it didn’t last long, as Abby had seemingly was thinking of exactly what you had been just mere seconds ago as she spoke, “I’m gonna break up with Owen.” This confession, was much more shocking than the last.

“What?” Surprise in your voice, the confidence you felt before when you were talking her throughout the entirety of fucking her was now gone. Yeah sure, you didn’t like Owen and you certainly didn’t like him with Abby, but if they broke up and word got around that is because of you? Fuck, all hell would break loose.

“I-” Abby started, clearing her throat. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually. Things between us have just been… I dunno, they’ve just been off. I think a lot of it has to do with my grieving process over my dad, but also…” Abby trailed off once more.

“But what, Abs? What’d he do?” You reached your hand over to grab her hand, holding it gently. Abby scoffed a laugh, “why do you assume it was him that did something?” She quirked an eyebrow at you, “because, Abby, it’s Owen. He’s always doing something fucking stupid, he is a man, after all.”

Abby barked a loud laugh at that, and agreed with you nonetheless. You smiled and laughed with her, but calmed down enough to tell her to spill and finish what she was saying. Abby turner seriously again as she said, “I think he has a thing for Mel,” she answered honestly. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, like, a lot of extra time together. Plus, I’ve seen the way he looks at her, it’s hard to miss.” Abby breathed out, not too seemingly torn.

“Oh, Abby,” you began to rub her shoulder in comfort, but she grabbed your hands in hers and looked you in the eyes. “It’s okay,” she reassured. “I started to make peace with it a while ago, and well… tonight I think really solidified how I feel. Both for him and for… you.”

You couldn’t help the gasp you made, as you starred at your best friend. Here you thought tonight was just going to be a one night thing, hell, you thought this might’ve even been the end of your friendship. You feared that once Abby came down from her high that she’d regret everything and never want to see you again, but it was in fact the opposite.

Emotions overcame the two of you, and before either of you fully knew it, your lips collided in a messy kiss. You still tasted like Abby, her tongue sliding over your lips as she savored the essence of herself. And, just like how quickly things escalated earlier, they did again. Only now, it was Abby who was fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

[ceilidho]

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him (part 1)

-

He moves at a pace too slow for you to make out with the naked eye, but you feel it creeping through you.

The vision of him appears in a dream first, a premonition. A hulking figure trekking through the woods. You snuggle deeper under the covers and scrunch up your nose in your sleep. In the morning, you go outside to harvest the holly leaves and buttercup and return home dreaming of tender, slow cooked meat. It’s been awhile since you last had a proper meal. When you hang up the laundry to dry, you chew on peppermint cuttings and try not to salivate. 

In the centuries you’ve lived in these woods, travellers have come and gone. You don’t eat every single one that happens to pass by—that would be a surefire way to get your forest branded as bedevilled and a longer route established circumnavigating your grove. You might be hungry, but you’re prudent, careful. Not like some other witches these days, greedy for any morsel that happens to pass in front of them. 

No; you take care of your woods. You have to, if you plan on remaining here for the centuries to come. If a few travellers happen to disappear here and there, that’s simply life. Not everyone can make treacherous journeys. 

You always have a sense of when a traveller is nearby. It’s as though your being is embedded within the forest itself, privy to those who dwell within it. You feel him along the outer regions of the forest, a lone traveller hauling not more than himself and a rucksack filled with the bare essentials. He appears to you in flashes in your dreams, not the full image of him but piecemeal, a shadow obscuring his full face from you. You see only tendons and meat on his bones, a rough hewn strength to his limbs, touch muscle and fat wrapped around his middle.

It makes you giddy to think of him circling ever closer to your spider’s web at the centre of the forest. After him, you won’t be hungry for years. 

Your restless leg acts up the day you know that he’s close enough to approach. All morning, you sit at the little table in your kitchen and rip lavender buds from the stems, black shoes tap-tapping away at the floor. The broom sweeps by itself in the corner, sweeping the dust into a neat pile. When you snap your fingers, it’s brusque, impatient. The broom halts in midair and then clatters against the floorboards. The chair scrapes against the floor as you rise to your feet. 

“Come, come, Asphodel,” you whisper to the black cat curled up on the windowsill, which barely lifts her head enough to blink at you. “No more dallying. Mommy’s hungry.”

In a show of great defiance and disrespect, Asphodel merely meows at you and lays her head back down. Insipid little familiar. 

You go off on your own then, keen to see the travellers with your own eyes. Jowls growing tighter. Robe cinched tight around you and hair pinned back by a thin strand of velvet. The days have just begun to shorten, just begun to exhale frost and rot. The leaves however, by agreement, do not crunch under your feet and give you away. You are a phantom amidst the trees as you flank the lone traveller, following the breadth of him as he traversed past your homestead. 

It’s fortunate that you are not beholden to physics because he is formidable. Broad as a man might be, no less sizable than in your dreams, but much more menacing in the flesh. He too moves quietly in the brush, with a care and precision that you have not seen many humans employ. 

He conceals the lower half of his face with a black piece of fabric, which you had mistaken for shadows. Not so. It is a deliberate concealment, meant to unnerve. Without magic, you might not have approached. 

His size alone isn’t enough to frighten you though. You are two hundred years old and you have eaten men twice his size when you were naught but a babe. 

You step out into the clearing just a few paces from him, halting the man in his tracks. 

“Hello,” you call out tentatively, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “C-can you help me? I think I’ve lost my way.”

At this point in your career, it takes a bit to hide the smile that threatens to break. You are like the spider posing as a fly. The show is half the fun though. 

The man doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem shocked at your presence, arms loose by his sides. It makes your stomach clench, the script flipped a bit. It should be you, loose and limber, and the wayward traveller tense and nonplussed, then eager to help the lost girl. You wait a moment longer for him to respond, but he remains silent, blue eyes unblinking. 

“Can you help me?” you repeat, taking a step closer. The tendrils of your magic slither out of you, snaking across the forest floor towards him. “I’m lost. Can you help me find my way out?” 

Your magic finds his boots in the dirt like mycelium threads, the pulse of him rich and earthen. It makes the saliva pool in your mouth, hunger gnawing at your guts. He will taste so good. Meaty and huge, enough to last you the winter. You take another step closer despite his continued silence, a tad too eager. You only need a moment though, long enough for your magic to take root, to render him febrile and inert. When he collapses to the ground, you will float his body back and rend him limb from limb by your hearth. 

Another step brings you closer to him when your magic suddenly recoils, unwinds from him. You frown. You try sending it back, but your magic shrinks away, an atavistic fear blooming up in you. It does not want near this man. 

A cold sweat breaks out on your neck. The hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. 

The hooded man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling. 

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

[greedygonazlez65]

you’d think I’m dolph the way I’m on dis paper chase

[stromuprisahat]

If Zoya is so stupid and useless, why was she chosen as one of the Darkling's main people?

Where?

Because in books, she was strong, yet ordinary Squaller. Perhaps promising, but hardly highly ranking, no matter what she likes to believe.

“You look amazing, Zoya! How are you?” gushed Marie. “We missed you so much!” squealed Nadia. “I missed you, too,” Zoya said. “It’s so good to be back at the Little Palace. You can’t imagine how busy the Darkling’s kept me. But I’m being rude. I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

What stings, is that everyone knows it. It shows, when Zoya attacks Alina. If she were SOMEONE by herself, wouldn't at least one person note that?

to Ivan “... Please tell me you were there when he [the Darkling] told Zoya she’d be leaving Os Alta.” “I was.” “And?” I urge as we head down the hill to the birch grove. I’m a greedy thing, but how can I be expected to resist this gossip? Ivan shrugs, scowling. “He just made it clear that she’s replaceable and Starkov isn’t.”

The Tailor

Marie rolled her eyes. “She can’t bear the idea of anyone being the Darkling’s favorite.” I laughed and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I’m hardly his favorite.” “Of course you are. Zoya’s powerful, but she’s just another Squaller. You’re the Sun Summoner.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

She's rash, and to lead or bear considerable amount of responsibility, she'd need to unlearn that, start thinking about others and most importantly about impact of her (in)action. It might be why she was stationed near the Fold. I've theorised about it a few months back- it's the ideal position for her. She's (partly) answerable for the skiff and people on it, but danger comes in predictable form of volcra. It's the perfect place to learn what she's lacking.

She's barely out of school, she lacks experience- why would the Darkling give her important position, when he has hundreds of people to choose from? What's "main" about the person, who's driving a skiff?

Now where did the notion she's the Darkling's super special girl come from?

“Zoya Nazyalensky, who was one of the Darkling’s most favored soldiers.”

Yuri Vedenen; King of Scars- Chapter 9

That's an information coming from religious fanatic, several years after the Darkling's death AND merry application of current regime's propaganda.

Have you ever noticed how there's not a single mention of Ivan post-his death? We don't even know his surname. Aside from him, there's not one (1) named Grisha from his side.

It's easy to be remembered as the favourite, when you erase existence of anyone else.

Even in her memories, she's among the promising ones, yet not favoured, not hand-picked.

“... I was the youngest of the group and so proud to be chosen to go. I was half in love with him already. I lived for the rare moments he appeared at the school.” She shook her head. “I was the best, and I wanted him to see that … The older Grisha were all in contention for the amplifier. It was up to them to track the tigers and see who would earn the right to the kill. ...”

King of Scars- Chapter 27

The interest is one-sided, Zoya draws the Darkling's attention by stealing three amplifiers from other Grisha, her recklessness and short-sightedness, not her capability.

The closest we get to some sort of recognition, is in Aleksander's chapter in RoW, when he points out her deficiencies and admits some of it made her work hard.

And if Zoya ever learned to harness the power she’d been given? She was still vulnerable, still malleable. Her anger made her easy to control. When this war was done and the casualties counted, she might once more be in need of a shepherd. She had been one of his best students and soldiers, her envy and her rage driving her to train and fight harder than any of her peers. And then she’d turned on him.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 26

I have one (rather big) objection- Zoya has never been a good soldier. She failed twice on rather important occasions- the amplifier and Alina incidents-, proving her self-control is lacking. That rage he's for some reason praising here, makes her dangerous to those peers she's trying to outdo.

But hey- he barely crawled back from the dead, his mental skills won't be at their best- why would he plan to manipulate Zoya without a single mention of Juris? The Saint isn't gonna disappear any time soon (if ever), and he's hardly Aleksander's fan.