#minthara doesn't strike me as the type to just lay down about it

[kittlesandbugs]

34. …to pretend. with Riley x Ricardo or Nox x Minthara or Nox x Gortash (whatever sparks joy) please 👀 (no pressure and right there with you in the writing drought) -wayhavenots

OKAY. I wrote this two weeks ago and immediately hated it, but I reread it and I like it better now aldskfjoasdufj anyway. Writer block hard lol.

BG3: Bold maneuvers Pairing: Nox/Minthara Warnings: Canon-typical psychic manipulation games Word Count: 588 Prompt: Kiss to pretend, for Nox/Minthara. Set uhhhhh some indeterminate time post Bhaalspawn Control ending

“To you,” she says, raising a glass of blood red wine in toast. 

Smiling and inclining your head in a humility you haven't really felt since you took control of the Crown, you raise your own glass. 

“To us,” you echo, the clink echoing in your almost unnaturally quiet chamber. “And those that remain.” A swiftly dwindling number. 

She's watching closely, though she tries not to appear that way. She tries to do many things in small attempts to thwart your Authority, to test the limitless boundaries of your perception. She's forgotten how impossible it is to hide from the Netherbrain, with its spawn in her skull, without the Emperor's meddling powers. You've allowed her to have her little games out of some malingering sentiment. 

But that's made her bolder. It's led to this. A soporific in your wine. A thin blade waiting quietly beneath the pillow next to yours. A plot to finally put an end to your madness, though you can't remember your mind having ever been clearer. 

It's a shame, what you have to do. You'll miss this. Her sharp mind, her cunning wit, her claws leaving fresh marks in your back as she takes you. But you've made the mistake of not taking a sentimental threat seriously once before, and it nearly cost you everything. 

Would it have come to this with Gortash, when your plan's finally reached their inevitable and irreconcilable divide?

You only mime taking the drink, letting it but stain your lips and tongue. It doesn't take more than a little nudge of her tadpole to secure the certainty in her mind that you drank deeply and suspect nothing. 

She smiles, sharp and beautiful and real, her baleful blood red eyes glittering like rubies in the torchlight as she approaches. You smile back much the same, teeth stained just as red. Her hand reaches up to knot in your hair, and you let her pull you down into a kiss. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, tasting the poisoned wine. Her mind practically purrs with satisfaction as she moans softly into the kiss. 

You sway a little as she draws back, letting her think what she wants. She smiles again and gives you a push back towards the bed. 

“I want you,” her lips say. Dead, her mind whispers, but there are no secrets to be had from her worm. 

You let your body stumble back, falling onto the duvet with a soft whumph of air. You slide back towards the headboard, the action so familiar it may as well be instinct. She follows on all fours like a cat stalking its prey until she comes to a rest straddling your hips. 

You feel that familiar warmth stirring in your groin. Settling into the pillow, you exhale a long slow wistful breath at what will no longer be. She mistakes it for exhaustion, and you close your eyes. 

“You seem tired,” she comments softly, cool nimble hands tracing up your scarred abdomen to unknot the lacings of your breast band. 

You hum a noncommittal and feel yourself relax, despite the danger looming over you. It's as fleetingly ephemeral as her desire to see you gored in these sheets will be. 

“I am," you admit just as quietly as she peels the fabric back from your breast, placing a kiss over your heart.

“Then you should rest, ustnor.” 

The dagger slides against the satin sheets as she settles above you. And as the cold blade also kisses your breast, you seize control.