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tumbleweed-run · 1 year

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(18+, Explicit) Kinktober 2023 Day 7: virginity

“There you are, I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,” Gale tried to make sound light, a little joke between the two of you but you could hear the undercurrent of tension in his words.

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly, letting your hand rest on his shoulder as you sat. “I got caught up asking Wyll something.”

That was a lie, and one you felt a little guilty telling him, but the real reason you were delayed was a bit more embarrassing. You’d been sitting by the fire going over conversations in your head. Or rather, how to have a very specific conversation. One you still weren’t exactly sure how to approach.

The truth of the matter was, physically you were a virgin. Even though you’d had mind-blowing, life-changing, astral sex with Gale just before fighting Ketheric your body was still very much the virgin it had been before that night.

Gale, of course, didn’t know that fact. It wasn’t something you advertised to potential suitors.

It wasn’t that you were some prudish untouchable. You’d had your fair share of odd groping as a teen (and adult) and were intimately familiar with your own body. You’d just never had actual sex using your body.

That was an odd distinction to have to make.

You weren’t ashamed of it, it was just something that didn’t happen. Some people never had the opportunity to try certain foods or go certain places, you’d never had the opportunity to have sex. Or rather, you had the chance a few times, but the partners were decidedly less than ideal.

You realized that keeping this fact from Gale was becoming increasingly like keeping a secret. You needed to tell him, and you needed to do it before he decided to take advantage of the relative quiet of the journey from the Shadowlands to Baldur’s Gate.

“You seem quiet,” Gale prodded, bumping his shoulder into yours.

“A lot on my mind,” you admitted vaguely. You bumped your shoulder into his but stayed there, leaning into his warmth.

Gale hummed in agreement. “It’s odd this calm before the proverbial storm.”

You felt him press a kiss into your hair.

“I need to tell you something, but you can’t make a big deal about it,” you said eventually after allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment.

You felt Gale’s body stiffen, no doubt anticipating the worst kind of confession. Though at this point you weren’t sure what Gale would consider the the worst.

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” He said very neutrally.

You took a deep breath and sat up right, giving yourself the space for this. “Just to be clear, that night, our bodies weren’t actually… involved.” You were hopeful maybe you were wrong and you’d just missed all the awkwardness because you’re mind was literally somewhere else.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gale’s head cock to the side. “Ah no, they weren’t,” he agreed, unknowingly dashing your hopes, “it looks a bit strange to an outsider, I admit, but alas our corporeal selves were exactly where we left them.”

“Why?” He tacked on after a pause.

“Well, that would mean that I’m still technically a virgin.” You made your admission rather quickly, words bumping into one another as you spat it out, hoping to get this odd conversation out of the way.

Gale was unusually quiet and when you finally turned your head to look at him you saw about a thousand emotions cross his face.

“You’re a…” he trailed off.

You waited.

“Virgin?” his voice had risen almost comically.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“But you’re-”

“Yes, I know how old I am,” you interrupted rolling your eyes at him.

“You mean you’ve never…?” Another incomplete sentence from your usually verbose wizard.

“That would be what that means, yes,” you confirmed… again.

You sighed and turned your body so you could look at Gale easily. “It’s not that I’m some innocent. I’ve had the odd kissing session in a dark room, its just never gone any farther. Not to mention I’m concerningly familiar with my own hand and also that one odd pillow in my…”

You trailed off as you watched Gale’s eyes darken. He cleared his throat and shifted. Idly you wondered which of those revelations had affected him so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded almost hurt.

“It never came up,” you admitted, “first, you were at risk of blowing us all up and then we ended up having sex astrally. I would have told you if we’d been… physically involved,” you assured him, fighting with yourself as to how exactly word things.

Gale seemed to absorb this information with acceptance. “Well I guess that means my plans for tonight are off the table.”

“What? Why?” You sounded genuinely alarmed, surprising even yourself.

Gale smiled a small, exasperated thing. “My love, I can’t have you bedded properly for the first time in some wood in the middle of nowhere.”

“You absolutely can,” you insisted.

He chuckled and took your hand. Normally you would have seen a similar move as patronizing but there was nothing but love and adoration shining from Gale’s eyes. “We can be together astrally, again.”

“No,” you huffed pulling your hand away, growing frustrated. This wasn’t why you’d told him. “I want you,” you insisted, “I want you, for real. Here.”

Gale shook his head again, “but you deserve-”

“Gale,” you moved up onto your knees so you could hold his face between your hands, “this is about what I want. And what I want is your actual physical cock inside of me, here in this clearing. Tonight, preferably.”

Whatever Gale had been expecting, that confession wasn’t it. His mouth dropped open.

“Are you sure?” He asked eventually.

You nodded, vigorously, “yes.”

“Then I will give you what you want.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Gale gathered an arm around your waist and laid backward, pulling you with him. You laid across his chest, eagerly allowing yourself to get lost in kissing him.

You shifted, slotting your body between his legs. Gale groaned when your thighs brushed against his cock, already half-hard. Taking advantage, you pressed your tongue between his lips. His hands slid down your back to your ass, cupping it he pulled you up and closer.

“How many young lads did you lead into dark corners, only to leave them with their hopes dashed?” Gale teased when you two finally separated for air.

You laughed. “I never said I left them unfulfilled.”

Gale shook his head with an amused smile. “I assure you every lad who left without bedding you was unfulfilled in some regard.”

“I think,” you smoothed a hand against his chest, “you think too highly of me.”

“Not possible,” Gale reassured. His expression changed as you watched, from playful to something more sincere.

“What have you done with others?” He asked all of a sudden.

Now, you felt you might be a little offended. “Gale, I wasn’t saying that-”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand cocks in your mouth. Confused, perhaps, but I want to know specifically what has been done to you that hasn’t come from your own hand… or pillow I suppose.”

“Oh,” you felt a little sheepish now.

With out warning his hands slid to your thighs and he lifted you, pulling your legs apart, forcing you to straddle him. You could feel his cock pressing against your core. You fought down the urge to grind against it.

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth?” Gale asked then.

You shook your head, a warmth crawling down your neck at the thought.

“Their fingers?” He continued.

Again, you shook your head. “Twice I've had someone’s hand down my pants,” you admitted, “but it was awkward and they never really did much.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” Gale mused, “boys tend not to think beyond their own needs.”

“And men are any different?” You challenged.

Gale’s eyes darkened as he looked at you now. “Not all, but this one, yes. Your needs are mine.” He rolled his hips up then, grinding his cock against you.

“Oh,” the sound felt like it was punched out of you. Happily, you rocked your hips back down against him.

Gale’s hands went to your hips, holding you from doing anything further. You tried to roll them again and frowned when he wouldn’t let you.

“I promise I will pay as much attention to your pretty cunt as you can stand,” he started, “but I need you to promise you’ll stop me if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

There was an edge to his final words, and you knew anything less than an agreement that he’d leave you untouched.

“I promise,” you repeated.

“Good girl,” He rewarded, his words shooting straight to your core. You absolutely did not look at him in an attempt to hide that knowledge from him. His chuckle let you know it had been unsuccessful.

He released your hips and you ground down on him once more.

In a testament to Gale’s self-control, or perhaps his determination, his hands moved to the ties of your trousers. When he’d finished opening them, he rolled you both so he was above you. He sat back on his legs and slid backward before working to shimmy your bottoms off before discarding them in a pile nearby.

He gently pushed your legs and you laid back, allowing him to bend your knees. He gently pushed at them so they dropped to the side. You shivered both from the complete exposure of the position he’d put you in and also from missing his warmth on you.

“Fingers or mouth?” Gale asked, hands sliding down your thighs, ever closer to where you truly wanted them.

“I believe I said cock,” you retorted.

A light pinch was delivered to your thigh and you jumped, startled but not actually in pain. “Soon,” Gale promised, “for now, though, those are your options.”

“Mouth,” you answered with almost no hesitation.

Above you, Gale smiled, apparently pleased with your answer. “Do you want anything? A pillow,” he asked rather than doing what you’d asked for.

“I want,” you answered a bit snappier than you’d meant, “for you to touch me.”

“Some day, I will have you without risk of interruption.” Gale wasn’t really talking to you it seemed. Still, you wondered what he meant by that. You hoped something wicked.

All thoughts left your mind when you felt his fingers spread you open even further. You were about to remind him you’d said mouth, unable to resist the urge to push against whatever side of him you were seeing, when you felt his breath hot against you. That urge fled, just as quickly as your thoughts.

You cried out when he swiped his tongue between your folds. Quickly you pulled your arm across your mouth, aware the camp wasn’t too far off. Gale didn’t seem at all concerned though as he began tracing maddening paths with the tip of his tongue.

Somehow he was touching you where you wanted and yet seeming to avoid it all together. A growl ripped out of you in frustration and you tried to slide down closer to his mouth. An arm flew across your hips quickly, preventing you from moving anywhere. You were about to say something, beg even, when his tongue finally found your clit. You cried out, free hand threading itself in Gale’s hair. If you couldn’t move closer to him, you could at least pin him to you. He didn’t seem too bothered by this thought, tracing his tongue down you again, this time pressing it inside of you.

“Shit,” you cursed hips ineffectively trying to grind down again.

Gale, in some act of benevolence or maybe because he was enjoying your reactions, move his arm from across your hips. He instead pushed his hand under your ass forcing you to tilt your hips up towards him. He moved his attention back to your clit. You felt the walls of your pussy begin pulsing around nothing and you whimpered.

“Fingers,” you gasped, pulling your arm from your face.

Gale either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you. A few more seconds of attention to your clit and then his teeth gently nipped against it.

“Fuck,” you cried out as your orgasm hit, once again pulling Gale against you. You couldn’t help but shamelessly grind against his face as you came.

He stayed there, tongue licking broad stripes up and down your center until you stilled. Only then did he gently disentangle your hands from his hair and sit up.

He knelt between your still-spread legs, a hand gently cupping your cunt. He was watching you closely, pleased with whatever he saw he gently began kneading against you.

“Will you fuck me now?” You asked unable to help the way your hips chase up at the contact.

He shook his head. Briefly, you were mesmerized by the way his beard, glistening with your wetness, reflected the light.

“Why not?” You whined, which wasn’t exactly how you’d meant to say that.

Gale chuckled before leaning over you to press a kiss on your lips. You could smell yourself on him, taste it even when he pulled away. Far from being turned off by that fact you found yourself wanting to kiss him again.

“Fingers, first,” he said and demonstratively slipped a finger beneath your folds to press against your entrance.��

He easily pressed the finger into you, finding no resistance when he did. Gently he began pressing it in and out, every time he ground the heel of his palm against your clit until your hips were rolling with his movement.

His eyes never left your face when he began pressing a second finger into you. You nodded, trying to pull them deeper but he only continued pressing the new digit into at a slow pace.

“Gods,” you moaned when his fingers were pressed into you completely.

“Not quite,” he answered with a wry smile.

You were quickly distracted when you realized he was refusing to move his fingers in you. He was just grinding his hand to your clit, and while it felt amazing it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Gale,” you whined rolling your hips in an effort to get some movement inside of you.

That was his aim, apparently. Gale held his hand still and allowed you to fuck yourself on his fingers. You grew brazen, chasing after the grinding sensation as well with a roll of your hips. He watched you with a scrutiny that had your body flushing. Gradually you realized he had begun gently scissoring his fingers inside of you, pressing you open wider each time you pulled away from them.

His fingers were thick and you felt yourself clench around them at the thought of what he’d (hopefully) be replacing them with. You realized, in a passing thought, that you’d struggle to watch his spell casting in a normal way ever again.

You felt another orgasm building and with great effort stilled your own hips.

“Please,” you groaned out, “I want you inside me. Please, I’m ready,” you were shamelessly begging.

“Yes,” Gale agreed before finally thrust his fingers in and out of you a few times and then with drawing them entirely.

He was quick about removing his own trousers. His cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach, in the moonlight you could make out a bead of precum on the tip.

Your mouth watered.

Gale didn’t allow your thought to wander any further before settling between your legs. One hand hooked around the back of a thigh and hiked up your leg against him.

“Tell me if this hurts, despite what you’ve heard it doesn’t have to,” he said leaning over you, bracing himself with his free arm.

You would rather die, you realized as you nodded a lie to him.

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, but he didn’t move any further. It appeared he’d also put you in a position where he could keep you from pushing down on it. You wondered if it was forethought or simply a coincidence.

When he pressed inside your head collapsed fully against the ground. He was certainly bigger than anything that had been inside you before, his thick fingers included. Painstakingly Gale began pressing into you. His movements were slow and controlled, making sure to keep you immobile. The sensation was uncomfortable but not painful as he stretched you even further.

You couldn’t help but be grateful, now, for his refusal to fuck you immediately.

When he bottomed out, hips pinned against yours, he groaned head dropping forward. You felt the muscle of his thigh tremble against yours. You were secretly pleased as he struggled to maintain his composure.

You tried to wait him out, trust him as he had only thought of you so far, but your patience only extended so far. Experimentally you clenched around his cock.

“Shit,” he groaned, hips stuttering as he restrained a thrust.

“Please,” you whispered once again fluttering around him, “please.”

Gale pulled out only a little before slowly thrusting into you. It wasn’t much but your eyes rolled back.

He kept it that way, small shallow thrusts until there was almost no resistance when he did. Then, he began working back further before thrusting into you. He was grunting with each thrust, head hanging low so his forehead was resting against your chest.

“Gale,” you whined unable to take the coddling much longer.

It seemed his restraint was hanging on by a thread because his hips snapped up against yours, much harder than any previous movement.

“Yes,” you cried out in response.

Gale began truly fucking you then. He was mumbling something against you but the sound of your skin slapping against one another was drowning him out. Your own hips were moving now, too, the hand on your thigh had loosed so he was not longer holding you still.

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice strained, finally loud enough for you to hear.

You were able to slide a hand between the two of you. Instead of touching yourself right away you pushed your finger further down enjoying the sensation of the slide of his cock in and out of you.

Abruptly Gale pushed up so he was sitting back on his knees. Both hands sliding under your hips in order to tilt you up so he never slid fully from inside of you.

“Now, please,” he groaned out and you realized he was holding back his own orgasm.

Hurriedly you found your clit with your fingers, this new position making it easier. You rubbed quickly and efficiently in a way you’d long learned would bring you off.

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” Gale babbled above you. “Come for me, I want to see your face this time.”

It was his words more than your fingers that pushed you over the edge. You whimpered and he began thrusting harder as you squeezed around him.

Gale came with a shout, eyes screwing shut. He pinned your hips together once more as he spilled inside of you. He rode out his own orgasm like that, hips rolling slightly with each pulse. Once he was done, Gale gently lowered your hips back to the ground, allowing himself to slip out of you.

You extended your hand up to him and when he took it you pulled him down against your chest.

“Next time I think I want to ride you,” you told him after a moment of quiet.

Gale laughed before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss.

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 2023 virginity

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year

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WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day.

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too.

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready.

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care.

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.”

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth.

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another.

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.”

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?”

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head.

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.”

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.”

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side.

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation.

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely.

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye.

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought.

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of.

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears.

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?”

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break.

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want.

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow.

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right.

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations.

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed.

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so.

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.”

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty.

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan.

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together.

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment.

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else.

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?”

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears.

“Good. Then our destinations align.”

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?”

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over.

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation.

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years.

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head.

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need.

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him.

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.”

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s.

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin.

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine.

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes.

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind.

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed.

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership.

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.”

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal.

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him.

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head.

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in.

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want.

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is.

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible.

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin.

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him.

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away.

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward.

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor.

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh.

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.”

“The cheekiest.”

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries.

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step.

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him.

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan.

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay.

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs.

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this.

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh.

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.”

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves.

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it.

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke.

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh.

“Oh really?”

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away.

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss.

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit.

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him.

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?”

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance.

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind.

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay.

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again.

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut.

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it.

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.”

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you.

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter.

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips.

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub.

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#where's your patience?#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 6 months

Text

Fall for Me | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit NSFW18+

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3 Word Count: 8,048

Title: Fall for Me - Sleep Token

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 during Act 2. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge as Astarion realizes there's a depth to his feelings that he's been trying to deny. Tags: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character.

Author Note: Well…this got a bit out of hand. It started as me wanting to write about the moment Astarion realizes he's in deeper than he thought with this relationship, then morphed into me wanting to explore his headspace while being intimate, and then just devolved into absolute filth. I have no excuses. This fic precedes another of my fics called "Faint of Heart," which can be found on my account.

Astarion woke to a cold and suffocating darkness. A scent of wet decay hung in the air, eerily familiar, and all around him the silence screamed.

The night was distinctly void of the mundane sounds that had become commonplace during their journey. Even as they trekked through the Shadowlands towards Moonrise Towers, their nights usually bristled with distant howls and the whispers of skeletal trees as their limbs tangled and clacked in the wind. Now, however, there was nothing but a heavy and stifling quiet that set his nerves on edge. An anxious sense of wrongness stirred in his gut as he tried to get his bearings.

Where was he? Last he remembered, their group bedded down on the outskirts of an abandoned town called Reithwin. They intended to explore the decrepit buildings and shadowed ruins the next day as they pushed towards Moonrise.

Astarion sat up and blinked into the clawing darkness, squinting as if that would somehow bring the world around him into focus. Even with his darkvision, nothing manifested except the ever-expanding gloom all around him.

He ran a hand across the damp floor and shivered against the deep chill that engulfed him. He cast about for his belongings but found none, only a cracked tile floor slick with mildew and grime.

He heard a metallic clatter in the darkness as he shifted around and suddenly tuned in to a weight around his right ankle. An icy dread began to rise in his throat like bile as he hesitantly reached out and touched the shackle, fastened tight.

No…

Panic shot through his heart like a stake and his mouth went dry. He realized with a vile shock why he recognized the scent of old rot which saturated the air. It was the smell of stale rat blood mixed with years of filth and dirt.

He was back in the kennels. Back in Cazador’s grasp.

The realization nearly made him vomit as terror and confusion twisted in his stomach. Astarion hadn’t needed to breathe in over 200 years, and yet that didn’t stop his chest from tightening nor his lungs from seizing. Panic swept through him. He tried to gulp down air as a constricted and choking feeling pressed over him. Eyes wild, Astarion desperately tried to catch sight of something…anything in the relentless gloom.

How? Why? What in the hells had happened?

His mind wheeled, fueled by a horrifying sense of upheaval. He didn’t recall being attacked, but that didn’t change the situation he now found himself in.

He had to get out. He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t happen. This wasn’t right.

Except…it was. Because this was how his life had always been. He’d never escape. Never be free. Cazador would always find a way to drag him back. His master would never let go. He would always find Astarion, no matter how far he ran.

Thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Cazador’s fourth rule burned in Astarion’s mind, haunting and vicious. He stifled a sob, swallowing it back down and gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. He needed to figure out what had happened, because if he was here then…

Eli…

His stomach lurched as a fresh wave of dread nearly choked him. Where was Eli? If Cazador had been able to seize Astarion, had he taken her, as well? Guilt flooded his mind as it raced, trying to piece together some sequence of events that made sense. None of it seemed logical, but he was too panicked to dwell on the irrational nature of it all.

If Cazador had Eli…

But Cazador didn’t know, he couldn’t know…how Astarion felt about her. Hells, Astarion didn’t even understand his own emotions when it came to Eli. She was…something to him. More than nothing, so much more than nothing.

If Cazador had her…if he turned her…hurt her… Gods, what had Astarion done? He’d put a target on her, and of course Cazador would find her and take her. Because that was what he did. He destroyed anything that brought Astarion even a moment of happiness. How could he have been so stupid?

“Eli?” Astarion called quietly into the darkness, unable to mask the distress that clawed at his throat.

The voice that answered struck him numb with fear.

“Foolish boy. How easy it was to deceive your weak mind.” The cruel mockery in Cazador’s voice caused Astarion to flinch as if he’d been hit.

“What did you do with her?” Astarion hissed through bared teeth, dreading the answer.

“Nothing. Because she is nothing.” Cazador’s voice reverberated in the darkness as if he were everywhere at once.

Astarion didn’t understand whatever game his master was playing, and so he remained silent; shivering, though not as much from the cold as the trepidation.

“You’ve always possessed such a feeble mind, so easy to bend and break,” the voice bit from the shadows. “Did you honestly believe you’d escaped? That you’d been abducted? I planted such an absurd fantasy in your head that I had my doubts as to whether you would believe it. But your incompetence never ceases to entertain.”

Astarion’s eyes went wide and he froze like a prey animal that had only just sensed a trap. A slow, creeping horror slithered up his spine at the thought of what Cazador was insinuating.

“None of it was real, you pathetic little wretch. You’ve been here, the whole time, trapped in an illusion of my design.”

Astarion was going to be sick.

“I thought it was time to pull back the curtain, before you got too attached. To remind you that you are mine, and that will never change. Because who would want something as miserable as you?”

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to breathe, and yet he couldn’t. His throat burned with bile that came up from his churning stomach. Hot tears seared the corners of his eyes and his brain felt as if it were on fire.

It hadn’t been real… None of it… He’d never be free…

You are mine.

_______________________________

Astarion gasped awake, as if he were a man drowning who’d finally come up for air.

His chest heaved as sweat cooled against his skin in the night air. He rolled onto his side, coughing as the memory of vomit receded. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped at the ones that had already trailed down his face.

Sitting up, Astarion shivered as the nightmare withdrew, glancing around his darkened tent anxiously as the ghost of Cazador loomed in his mind. He was alone, and though night in the Shadowlands was grim, it was not nearly as oppressive as the darkness in his dream.

A feeble hazy moonlight leaked through the murky tree canopy outside, casting a dim sheen through the pitch of night. Shadows bobbed and weaved on the walls of his tent, cast by drooping and swaying trees. The snarl of an animal sounded somewhere far off in the distance, and Astarion sighed as he tried to settle himself.

His nightmares were dipping into parts of himself he’d rather not acknowledge, preying on fears he wasn’t ready to face. He frowned, stomach knotting as residual feelings of fear and loss flashed through his mind like grease catching alight in a cook pan. He ran a hand through his white curls, recalling the anguish he’d felt in the depths of his dream. He’d felt so small. So fearful and alone. It made him restless.

Astarion stood and exited his tent, stepping into the chill of the night. Their campfire had burned to embers, the light barely able to cut through the murky darkness. The hour was either exceptionally late or achingly early, and the camp was still. Astarion was the only creature stirring in the gloom.

Memories, unbidden, jerked into his mind. Nights spent lurking in silent shadows, looking for a hapless target to bring back to the mansion. The endlessness of his putrid life was the only thing he thought lay before him. More decades of pain, torture and misery. The uncaring hopelessness of it all crushing every scrap of faith and every desperate prayer he had within until all that remained was a broken shell. Unfeeling and brittle.

He hated how wretched and pathetic he’d been. Used up and miserable. He never wanted to feel that way again. And so he fled from those memories, seeking distraction and solace, until he came to stand at the entrance to Eli’s tent.

Astarion paused just outside the mouth of the tent, apprehension twisting in his gut. He was being silly and foolish, he knew. Eli was fine. She’d be asleep in her bedroll and Astarion would feel like an idiot who’d allowed himself to get worked up over a godsdamn nightmare.

Gently, he pulled back the curtain that hung across the tent mouth and peered inside. As predicted, Eli was fast asleep with her back to the entrance. Astarion watched her shoulder rise and fall slowly as she breathed and felt the gnawing tension inside himself loosen its grip, just a bit.

Stupid. This was stupid. He was stupid. Gods, he wanted to hold her…

He wanted her to look at him like he meant something, like he was worth something. He wanted to lose himself in her, like that first night when they’d created their own pocket of nowhere. Free from Cazador and all of his miseries, free from the pain and the fear. Just them, wrapped up in hushed whispers and sweat and lust…and something else. Something different and needy and fragile. Something he’d never felt with anyone else.

“Astarion?” Eli’s voice pulled him back into the world and he blinked, focusing on her as she turned over to face him.

Of course she was awake. Eli’s sleep had become even more restless and fleeting since the night she’d woken him in a panic and he’d had to restrain her. He’d watched over her as she writhed, witnessing her loss of control as the thing within clawed for the surface. It had reminded him of how Cazador would wrest control of his spawn, forcing them to do as he commanded without resistance. He’d realized then that he feared losing her. That he cared and desperately wanted her to overcome whatever this monster was.

He was struggling with the realization, but that didn’t make the truth of it any less real.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Astarion spoke quietly, shaking his head as if that would rid his mind of its cluttered thoughts. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Without pausing to dissuade himself, he crawled forward into Eli’s tent and sat next to her bedroll. He had allocated absolutely zero thoughts to what he would say or do next, but that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him these days. Things had been working out for him so far, so why shift strategy?

Eli sat up and watched him curiously. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, waving off the concern that was growing in her eyes. “I’ve just been unable to sleep, what with Gale one tent over and snoring like an ogre with swamp lung. So, considering our current arrangement, I thought I might share your tent for the remainder of the night.”

Astarion’s words flowed with well-practiced ease and charm, as if he hadn’t just made that entire excuse up on the spot. He smirked at Eli, who was still fixing him with a skeptical stare, and fought down the sudden anxiety that was rising in his chest and urging him to back out of the tent.

Eli had become rather versed in reading Astarion and it was something he had not quite come to terms with yet. On one hand, it stroked the egotistical part of him that desired attention and affirmation to have someone so attentive to him that they could peak behind the pomp and bluster he so often put forth. On the other hand, he felt as if a part of him was at risk of being snatched away or trapped if someone was able to pull back the roguish mask he’d so carefully crafted. He felt unbalanced, oscillating between moments of vulnerability with Eli and moments where he slammed his walls back in place.

A part of him wanted to tell her why he was really there. That the thought of her, the thought of them, not being real had shaken him to the point where he physically needed to see her. Just to put his mind at ease. He didn’t understand it, himself; the feeling that had driven him to seek her out after he woke. And so he kept his mouth shut and didn’t elaborate, fearing that Eli may think him rather pitiful.

Eli continued to watch Astarion, dubious yet silent, before she sighed and shrugged. “Alright then. If you don’t want to tell me what’s really going on, that’s fine,” she said, then patted the space next to her on the bedroll. “You’re always welcome, you know.”

Astarion felt a strange pang of…disappointment twist in his chest. He’d honestly expected Eli to press further for an explanation that wasn’t clearly pulled out of his ass. But she didn’t. It was disarming.

He moved to her side and situated himself as Eli laid back down. She watched him for a moment as he fluffed a pillow and settled, then she closed her eyes with a deep breath and said nothing more.

“Thank you,” Astarion said quietly as his eyes danced across her restful face.

He felt a sense of unease, unused to having his boundaries respected in such a way. Eli had never been the sort to prod at him for explanations, or to prod at anyone, for that matter. As someone with their own menagerie of secrets and internalized darkness, she tended to allow others the leeway to decide how much or how little they wanted to share. Still, they’d been…indulging in one another rather frequently these days, and Astarion was realizing that while their nights together were a lot of fun, he wanted something…more.

The problem was he hadn’t any idea what that “more” was. And gods did it frighten him. The last thing he wanted to do was give someone else control over him, not after he’d so recently regained a taste of freedom. Over the past 200 years, every relationship he’d ever been involved in had been nothing more than a means to an end with Astarion either playing the role of manipulator or the one being manipulated. Attachments were leverage, giving someone a hook they were able to dig their claws into in order to gain ground. Isolating himself from connecting with others was how he had survived.

And yet, as he watched Eli drift back into sleep, his eyes found her hand resting near her pillow. A longing came over him and, carefully, he reached out tentative and slow until his fingers brushed gently against her own, quietly connecting. Questioning.

Eli’s eyes opened, sleepy but curious. She watched his fingers lightly caressing her own, and with a small smile took his hand and tenderly wove her fingers in between his. Moments like this, made up of soft touches and careful affections, were becoming more common between them. And the intimacy of these moments never ceased to fascinate Astarion.

To Astarion, intimacy had always involved passion and lust. It was created in the pressed spaces between fervent bodies as they worked one another towards ecstasy. It was fleeting and vanished just as quickly as it emerged.

This, however…this was different. This was calm and soothing, and it lingered almost like a promise. Always available to be restoked and explored.

“I…” Astarion began, hesitating for only a second before he steeled himself and pressed on. “I dreamed I was back at the mansion. Back under Cazador’s control.” The name was spoken on the edge of a growl, his red eyes fixed on their joined hands.

He paused, thinking through what to say next, and Eli allowed him the silence to collect his thoughts and continue. “He mocked me,” Astarion spat. “Saying that all this was an illusion. That I hadn’t escaped. That you were an illusion.”

He glanced cautiously to her face, and when his eyes met hers, he found understanding there.

“Well, you came to the right tent,” Eli smiled, voice playful though not dismissive. “I’m something of an expert on nightmares. We can even compare notes, if you like.”

She squeezed his hand lightly and repeated his words from the night when he’d kept vigil over her as she fought against the dark madness within herself. It was unexpectedly touching and Astarion felt something twist where his dead heart was.

“As for whether or not I’m an illusion,” Eli said as she propped herself up on her elbows, slinking closer to him, eyes locked in to his own. “We can thoroughly investigate that claim, if you’d like,” she whispered, a sly question lingering in her gaze.

Astarion smirked, rising and leaning in to close the space between them. He untangled his fingers from her own and placed his hands on her shoulders, fulling intending to roll her to her back and ravish her while she squirmed beneath him. Astarion had come to Eli’s tent with no expectations beyond wanting her close, but he certainly wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to get even closer. They were good together. Really. Fucking. Good. And already desire was clouding over his mind as he bent to capture her mouth with his own. He had tasted her many times before, and yet every time they came together after a prolonged absence it felt fresh and raw. Rejuvenating and wild.

In all of his time as a thrall to his master, Astarion had never bedded the same person twice. Every night was a new conquest, new prey for him to stalk and tease until he’d gathered just enough information to get him through the evening and to get his target back to the mansion. The encounters always played out very tactically on his end as he gathered just enough surface-level drivel to ensure his quarry was seduced into the trap. Once Cazador came for his prize, Astarion would never see the poor wretches again, and that was fine by him.

With Eli, though, it was so different. There had been nothing tactical about any of it after that first night, and even during. The ecstasy of freedom, of choosing to give of himself rather than being forced, was intoxicating. They would explore one another, finding comfort in both familiarity and discovery, honing in on the things that drove the other mad and had them coming undone in the throes of rapture. They were becoming known to one another, intimately and completely. Perfecting and exploring and discovering every time they were together.

It was both enthralling and terrifying, being known like that. Being laid bare as Eli unraveled him just a bit further every time, uncovering parts of himself that had been left dormant and untouched for so long.

The anticipation of it all was already causing a firm swell to build below the waistline of his trousers as he pressed into the kiss. His tongue darted and teased at her lips, gently prodding between them and beckoning her closer. One of his hands had slipped to the small of her back as the other pressed into her shoulder, gently guiding her so that he could tuck Eli below him and crawl on top.

Eli, however, seemed to have other plans in mind and resisted his direction, pushing back into him and maneuvering the both of them until he was on his back with her legs straddling his waist. She never broke the kiss, rocking forward on her knees as she took his hand from her back and pinned it to the ground above his head, her fingers lacing in between his own. He growled into the kiss and playfully ghosted a fang over her bottom lip, causing her to hum needfully into his mouth.

And then her lips were gone, leaving only the hot impression of longing against his own as Eli trailed her lips from the corner of his mouth to the shell of his ear. Her breath was tantalizingly warm, brushing against the sensitive skin there, causing a shiver to course down his spine before it pulsated up into his firming dick. His free hand came to rest on her hip and he fingered mindlessly at the hem of her pants. He wanted her to sit back onto his groin so he could roll his hips up into her and rut his straining cock in between her legs. Hells, he wanted to be free of their clothes so he could sheathe himself inside her warmth and watch her ride him while he speared her over and over as she screamed his name until her throat was raw.

But then all thoughts and wants were lost to a white hot flash in his mind as Eli bit down on the tip of his ear, careful not to break skin but sharp enough to fire lightning off into his veins. His hips snapped up, needing to feel her as his cock throbbed. His left hand was still pinned above his head by one of hers, and he felt his nails digging at the skin of her knuckles while his right hand desperately tried to pull her hips down against him. He choked off a whine in the back of his throat and closed his eyes as his head rolled back against the ground.

She laughed breathily into his ear, and oh gods it was undoing him already. This was dangerous. She’d been paying attention, noting all the things that set him off and applying them expertly until she had him writhing. It was a wholly new experience for him and beneath his fervor and lust was a seed of trepidation.

When it came to sex, there had always been two ways the experience would play out. Either he would maintain control over the situation, or he would disassociate as his various partners had their way and used him to their satisfaction.

But this. This was new. And while it wasn’t unwelcome, the fact that she’d worked him into this position so easily was setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. He hadn’t realized how freely he’d given of himself these past few weeks, how far he’d let her explore and how attentively she’d done so.

How known he truly was.

And then she was letting go of his hand while her lips returned to his own, pressing soft and affectionate kisses into them. She carded a hand into his hair, careful to avoid his ear which was still tingling and overstimulated. He felt a shudder of both relief and disappointment roll through his body as the high passed, missing the sensuality and hunger of it all while relaxing into a more settled state of mind.

Astarion’s eyes were still closed, and the throbbing in his dick had not subsided. He felt her breath back at his ear, though not as close as it had been earlier.

“I just want to make you feel good,” he heard her whisper, sending sparks back through his veins. “Show me how.”

His eyes fluttered open to find hers gazing back at him, sweet and attentive. He felt her fingers twining through his hair and sighed contently, a small smile on his lips.

“You’ve been doing a magnificent job so far, darling,” he crooned before pulling her back down into another wanting kiss.

He smoothed his hands along her sides, repositioning her atop him until she was flush against him. He ran one hand down her spine, firm and slow, while the other gripped the back of her head, encouraging her to melt into him as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and their bodies squirmed, searching for friction. The hand at her back moved to squeeze her ass before he pressed her down against him, desperate for pressure against his groin.

“My only critique so far is there are entirely too many clothes between us,” he breathed against her lips. The hand on her ass gripped tight as he pressed and rubbed his thick erection into her hips, driving the point home.

“Allow me to remedy that,” Eli said with a quick kiss.

And then she was gone, hiking his shirt up and licking warm and wet kisses down his belly towards his waistline. Her hands were undoing the fastenings of his trousers and his head was beginning to spin with the implication.

That wasn’t… She didn’t have to…

He felt Eli slip her hands beneath his smallclothes and tug, pulling both his trousers and underwear down until his erection was free. He sighed from the relief, feeling the fullness bob and twitch expectantly. Eli was dragging her tongue down from his bellybutton towards his aching cock and fuck…he couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to do this for him.

His hand was in her hair, then, tugging gently for her to look up at him.

“That’s not what I was implying, my dear. You don’t have to…” Astarion’s protests trailed off when Eli’s eyes met his, full of lust and playful longing.

He’d sounded almost sheepish, even a bit apologetic, as a sting of guilt wormed its way into his gut. Astarion should be the one giving pleasure, that was how these things always went. That was what he was good at…what his master had made him for…

The thought struck out at him unbidden with a nasty sense of shock and disgust. Cazador had created him for the pleasure of others, taking every opportunity to viciously remind him that what he wanted and how he felt never mattered. It was a belief that had been bolted to his soul after decades of torment, and one it seemed he still carried, even when he wasn’t in his master’s grasp.

“Astarion,” Eli said, softly pulling him out of his spiraling.

He blinked and refocused on her as she pressed her lips gently against the taunt skin over his hip bone, drawing an eager hiss from between his teeth as his dick jerked. Images of her mouth around him, warm and so godsdamn wet and tight, were firing off in his brain and…fucking hells, when had he fallen so completely for her?

“Right now, in this moment, nothing would make me happier than to get you down my throat and thoroughly satisfy you.” Eli smirked at him, hands on his bare thighs and lips a mere breath away from his cock, red and full and beginning to leak.

Her eyes were glittering with a mischief that was intoxicating, but there was affection there, too, soothing and comforting. He shivered, furiously trying to shut his brain down as thoughts collided in explosions of need, guilt and desire.

He’d thought himself so smart, charming and seducing her into his bed. Laying a trap and then walking her into it with such confidence and glee, only for him to find himself just as ensnared. He’d used her, manipulated her, and then drowned himself in her and gods above, if he didn’t want to do it again and again.

“But if that’s not what you want…” He stiffened at Eli’s words, catching the undercurrent of concern in her voice as she shifted and began to move back up his body.

He stopped her, sliding his hand from out of her hair to cup her cheek while he brushed a few silvery strands from her eyes with the other. Now was decidedly not the time for him to have an internal crisis of feelings. Not in the middle of the night with his dick out, pants halfway down his legs and Eli saying such obscene and beautiful things to him. There’d be time for personal reflection later.

He wanted this. Wanted her.

“I want it.” He almost felt embarrassed at the raw desire that slipped through his voice, heavy and breathy. “Gods, you have no fucking idea how much…”

He stopped himself before he could elaborate more and completely mortify himself.

“It’s just been a long time since anyone offered,” he concluded. He wouldn’t admit he couldn’t remember the last time someone had pleasured him like that.

Eli considered him for a moment, expression thoughtful, and for a brief moment of panic Astarion wondered if she had changed her mind. About him and about all of this. But then her lips twitched up into a tender smile and he felt his soul shudder.

“Please.” Astarion breathed.

Eli ghosted a few featherlight kisses near the base of his cock before whispering, “Well, when you ask so sweetly…”

And then her mouth was on him and Astarion’s head rolled back as he made a noise he was entirely too obliterated to be ashamed of.

She took only the tip at first, sucking down onto the head as her lips slid back and forth over the swollen ridge. Her pace was slow, and it was both agonizing and exhilarating. His thighs clenched as a heavy pressure throbbed deep in his groin, sending shivers and tingles spasming out through his legs and up into his belly. His hand was back in her hair, grabbing and encouraging, careful to not be forceful, while his other hand fisted the bedroll.

He both heard and felt Eli laugh low in her throat, the vibrations of it tingling down his shaft and setting his nerves on fire. He’d managed to kick his trousers off, spreading his legs apart so she could nestle between them and absolutely destroy him.

Eli began sucking him down further, slowly sheathing himself into her mouth. He shut his eyes, growling as her warmth and spit enveloped him. He responded by hitching his hips up into her, wanting more, wanting her full of him. He felt her hands on his hips, directing him to rock up into her mouth at a languid pace. He fell into the rhythm, fucking into the suction. She flattened her tongue, applying pressure along his shaft every time he thrusted in before dragging her tongue tip along the sensitive skin when he pulled out.

The growl in his throat grew into a lewd moan that shamelessly filled the tent, leaving no one who was awake in camp to wonder about what was taking place. He could not have cared any less about who heard, and in fact he welcomed it. Let them all listen as Eli, savior of the Druid’s Grove, conqueror of Grymforge and scourge of the Absolute went down on him and fucked him senseless with her perfect fucking mouth. He was the only one she’d do this to, the only one she’d pleasure. No one else got to experience this, see her like this.

He was hers.

The thought set off a wave of arousal so potent that he felt his cock spasm in response, leaking precum that Eli’s tongue then swirled across his tip as he continued to rut into her. The pressure between his legs was mounting as a possessive and greedy emotion seized him.

“Darling…oh gods, darling, not yet…” Astarion wasn’t going to last like this, but he was not ready to be undone. Not yet.

He opened his lust-blown eyes and a feral groan tumbled out of him at the sight of Eli between his legs, sweaty and fervent and his. Leaning forward, he cupped her chin and encouraged her off his dick. Her eyes met his and the mixture of arousal and craving in her dilated pupils slammed into him so hard his chest hitched.

Nobody looked at him like that. Ever.

He needed more.

Wordlessly, he pulled her up to him and their mouths crashed together in a wild and wanton kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He could taste himself on her, salty and pungent and it drove him mad.

They only separated for a moment as Astarion pulled Eli’s shirt up and over her head before removing his own. Then, they were tumbling back onto the bedroll, Astarion still pinned beneath Eli as their hands greedily explored one another.

He began fumbling with the buttons of Eli’s pants, the last barrier between them, and licked into her mouth as she moaned desperately into their bruising kiss. She was writhing on top of him, bent over him and straddling his bare torso as her hips rolled against him shamelessly. Undoing the buttons, he slipped his hand beneath her underwear and ran a teasing finger between the lips of her swollen clit.

Eli whined and gasped as his touch and Astarion laughed with wicked mirth, gliding his finger back and forth between her wet folds but never going deeper. She was soaked, worked up into a frenzy and it emboldened his ego to no end.

“I didn’t realize sucking on my cock could make you so wet,” he purred with no small amount of self-satisfaction.

His finger traced a circle along the rim of her pulsating clit, earning a high-pitched moan that shuddered out of her throat and went straight to his dick. She tried to reposition herself, needing his fingers in places they weren’t.

He grinned at her distress, earning a reproachful bite to his lower lip that did nothing to dissuade him.

“Less working your mouth and more working you – oh fuck!” Eli cried out as Astarion pushed two fingers up into her, burring them deep.

She bolted upright, arching her back as her mouth fell open and her head fell back, a slew of profane and needful curses tearing from her throat. He felt her clamp down on his fingers, hands pressing on his chest for balance as she brazenly rode his fingers.

He gazed up at her as his fingers stroked and hooked at her throbbing walls, causing little twitches and spasms to filter throughout her body. Her skin glistened in the foggy moonlight that seeped in through the walls of the tent, sweat-slicked breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips as her head lolled, eyes shut reverently as she worked to satisfy herself. His dick bobbed against his belly with each roll of her hips, and he could feel a warm trail of precum rolling down the edge of his hip. His erection was so stiff it verged on painful, and when he felt her walls begin to flutter around his fingers, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

He pulled his hand back from within her core and the gasping whine that erupted from her lips nearly choked him.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he crooned, wrapping an arm around her back as he braced himself with the other and sat up. “Bear with me for just a moment. I dare not make you wait any longer.”

Astarion tipped her back and laid her down, yanking both her pants and underclothes off in a swift motion. He settled his hips between her legs, the head of his cock pressing agonizingly at her entrance.

He hovered above her for a moment, drinking her in. She was a gorgeous mess, eyes blown wide with craving and skin flushed hot and pink. Her chest was heaving as she gazed up at him with a look that would have stopped his heart if it weren’t already still. Adoration beamed back at him as she smiled and Astarion felt a twisting deep in his chest.

He knew then, with absolute certainty, that whatever was between them was so much more than anything he had planned for it to be. It terrified and amazed him. Welling up emotions within himself he wasn’t sure how to grasp or understand. He didn’t want to hide from it, though. He’d been hiding and skulking and manipulating for too long.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Astarion bent down, kissing Eli deep and longingly. Hoping that even just a shred of what he felt could be communicated through the embrace. She sighed into it, eyes closing and hands carding into his hair before they slid down to his back. He shivered as her fingers traced tenderly over the scars there, careful and deferential.

Breaking the kiss, he hooked an arm under her left leg and rested it up on his shoulder, pressing it forward and stretching her apart. Lining himself up to her warm core, he rested his forehead against her own and felt her squirm impatiently beneath him.

“Fuck, Astarion, please.”

That was all it took. He pushed inside of her, body shuddering at the enveloping and soft warmth. He felt his abdomen clench, waves of arousal rocketing down his legs and up his spine as he sank into her to the hilt. Astarion groaned, pulling back before he buried himself again, then again, then again. Eli gasped with each thrust, arching her back and angling her hips for a better position. The leg he’d pulled over his shoulder tensed and squeezed, pressing down on him as he snapped his hips up and into her. A low growl rose up, unbidden, from his throat. He was throbbing and needy and she felt so fucking good. Warm, wet and tight as he pressed into her walls and felt her contract around him. Their eyes were locked in and a rapturous shudder ran the length of his spine as Eli’s face contorted in ecstasy, her mouth opening in a silent and delirious cry.

He pulled back again. Her eyes were begging. Another thrust, making her back arch up as she bucked her hips into him, needing him deeper.

He was entranced with her face and the raw longing he saw there. He plunged in again, drawing a high squeal from her that turned into a breathy rasp as she closed around him and shook against his body. Her eyes never left his, and he drank in every mewl and cry as she looked at him with so much affection and craving that Astarion was tempted to duck his head and hide from the level of vulnerability she was giving him.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. No one else got to see this. No one else would see Eli – hero, warrior, leader, fledgling legend that she was – shivering and squirming underneath him as he pumped into her. This was all for him, and him alone.

She was falling apart, losing herself in the thrill and the ecstasy, every sob for more spurring him on as he stared into her enthralled eyes. Her hands were everywhere, desperately running up and down and all over, clutching and pulling him closer while she pushed at the small of his back, directing his thrusting pace into one she could match with euphoria-inducing turns and twists of her hips.

The wild and undone look in her eyes coupled with the unrelenting throbbing of his cock was near enough to drive him mad. Electric jolts shot down his legs from his groin with every plunge, and his muscles felt as if they would seize at any second. It felt amazing. She felt amazing, and gods she was looking at him like he was the gravitational pull of the universe. It tore at his seams and pulled a centuries-old ache from his dead heart.

He wanted to be someone to her. Someone important. Someone she needed.

It was agonizing and frightening, that feeling. The last time he’d even remotely felt anything near to it, he’d been locked away and isolated in a coffin for over a year. Punishment for such sentimental wretchedness.

Astarion grit his teeth, clawing his way back from the memory and pushing it all down. Those were things left for later. Not now. Not when Eli was crying out and babbling about how incredible he felt, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss that he swore was going to set him on fire.

The pressure was building between his legs again as every muscle below his chest began to tense. His mind fixated on the lewd and wetly rhythmic sounds coming from between them and he could feel her slick arousal all over his groin and lower torso. His mind began fuzzing, triggered by all the erotic sounds and the building stimulation threatening to explode in his core.

He wanted this. He wanted to feel her cum beneath him. He wanted to feel himself truly and completely let go for the first time in centuries.

He pulled back from their kiss, the hair on his neck pricking in response to the small whine that left Eli’s throat as he did so.

He continued to pound into her, hard and measured, dick pulsating inside of her as the buildup became nearly unbearable. Beyond the pounding of blood in his ears he could hear himself grunting with each thrust, deep and animalistic and so fucking needy as the delirium mounted all around them.

Astarion leveled his eyes with Eli’s, face hovering above hers, and smiled at the unabated and desperate look she was giving him.

“Do you really want me that badly, darling?” he asked, panting and nearly out of his mind with wonder at the sheer amount of desire coursing between them.

There was no teasing in his question, no flirtatious overtones or hidden meanings. He needed to know.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the world narrowed.

“Gods, Astarion, I want all of you,” Eli nearly cried, arms tightening around him as she came near to climax. “Not just this,” she moaned, pressing her face into his neck as her back arched off the ground. She was shaking she was so close.

“I want you with me,” she whined into his ear and the desperation in her words was intoxicating. “In all the ways that matter,” she continued, her voice raw and teetering on the edge of bliss. “…with me. Please!”

Astarion clung to her like a man drowning, eyes closed and face pressed into her hair. The scent of her was everywhere and he reveled in the frantic intimacy of the moment, blindly grabbing at her upturned hips and bottoming out into her with a force that sent lightning zipping through his veins and stars bursting behind his eyelids.

The pressure between his legs released and Astarion came with all the subtlety of a smokepowder barrel blowing alight, all the muscles in his legs and lower torso seizing and relaxing in bursts.

“Gods, Eli. Fuck!” he cried out against her, swept up in the climax as the world fell away.

Eli followed, her inner walls contracting around him, bolstering his orgasm as she shuddered and cried out for him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed tight, wanting him full and solid as she came with him inside.

Astarion moved his hips in a circular motion, gentle and sensual, letting Eli ride out the last of her orgasm as the both of them came down. They were a tangle of arms, legs, sweat and ragged breath, neither willing to let go of the other as a hush fell over the tent. They rested in the quiet, laying in each other’s arms, content in the intimate sense of togetherness. He could feel her racing heart beat beneath her skin as he rested his head under her chin, her pulse lulling him into a comfortable daze. The scent of the blood in her veins was hot and sweet and he reveled in the thrum of life that surrounded her. A life he was growing more and more attached to…

Suddenly, Eli snorted and Astarion’s eyes snapped open curiously. He lifted his head and quirked a brow down at her as she tried and failed to suppress a fit of giggling. He tensed, unsure and more than a little confused by her bizarre response to what he thought had been a rather exhilarating experience.

She squeezed his bicep reassuringly, a delighted grin settling on her face.

“Sorry,” she laughed quietly. “I was just thinking, there’s no way anyone in this camp is still sleeping. We’re going to have to apologize in the morning.”

Astarion’s eyes softened as the corner of his mouth twitched up fondly. He then made a show of rolling his eyes before he buried his face back into her neck.

“You are quite mad, aren’t you?” he mumbled, unable to keep a smile out of his words. “I’ll go to my second grave before I apologize for what we just did.”

_______________________________

The sounds of muffled shuffling outside the tent woke Astarion the next morning. He tracked the sound with his ears, unwilling to open his eyes and rouse himself from his sleepy haze.

Eli lay pressed up against him in his arms, her head nestled near his chest. He’d pulled a blanket over them at some point during the night in an effort to retain the warmth coming off her body. Considering his undead nature, he could only sap her body heat from her, rather than contribute to it, and that fact bothered him a bit more now than it had in the past.

He traced a finger lazily across her back, feeling the ridges and divots of multiple angry scars she had no memory of earning. Eli’s body was a war story, just as damaged as her broken mind with twisted scarring and gnarled blemishes that held their secrets close. They were the remnants of a brutality that was difficult to reconcile with the person he’d come to know Eli as, and it made her all the more beautiful for it.

He didn’t mind her brokenness, and he was comforted by her imperfection. He knew all to well what it was like to be torn open over and over…

The clang of a cookpot being hoisted over the camp’s fire caused him to flinch, and Eli stirred, yawning into his bare chest.

Astarion opened his eyes, blinking as they focused in the gloom. Early morning shadows crept along the walls of the tent and he could now hear Gale’s distinct and nervous muttering as the wizard went about his morning routine, preparing coffee and some manner of breakfast near the center campfire. There was another voice, too, hushed and careful, as if the speaker didn’t want to be overhead.

“Oh, would you two stop squawking like a pair of gossipy hens!” Karlach’s voice boomed out over the hushed muttering, both scolding and amused in tone. “You both are just jealous it wasn’t either of you causing that racket last night. Hells knows I am,” she bemoaned.

“Is that what Gale and Wyll are prattling on about?” Lae’zel’s voice barked from over near her tent. “Sex can provide excellent relief from the stresses of our chaotic situation. It is both a healthy and helpful activity, though I am assuming neither of you have much familiarity with its benefits considering how you chatter like scandalized adolescents.”

Eli cut off a laugh in the back of her throat and Astarion smirked.

Gale and Wyll had begun to boisterously protest before Karlach interrupted, clearly directing her next statement in the direction of Eli’s tent.

“They might as well get out here so we can properly taunt them for not inviting any of us!”

Eli rolled onto her back then sat up, shrugging the blanket off and arching her spine in a fluid stretch, arms raised. Wordlessly, she then bent down, kissing him with a tenderness that made his chest ache, before she leaned away and stood, beginning to dress.

“Sorry, Karlach, but I draw the line at superheated engine that could melt my face off and angry unstable bomb that could level a small city when considering who I sleep with.” Eli pulled her shirt over her head and turned to wink at him before she unfastened the tent flap and stepped out into camp.

Karlach’s boisterous laughter greeted her and Astarion frowned as the tent flap fell back into place, leaving him alone with thoughts he needed to sort through.

Denial wasn’t going to work any longer. And gods, was he in trouble.

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graysparrowao3 · 2 months

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Some headcanon of Rolan, Cal, and Lia (got too excited writing it in the fic and want to share lol):

In Descent into Avernus, a group of adventurers helps (if they so choose) to free Elturel from the Hells and return it. It was Rolan's home, his family, and yet it was a complete group of strangers that show up and save the day completely independent of his actions.

This is yet another reason why he's so upset at Tav/Durge and their companions showing up in the Grove and Shadowlands and it's even more upsetting to him - literally another example of how a group of complete strangers will come to save the day, of how much of an unimportant piece of the puzzle he is, how he's never necessary in the larger plot around him - and, in his mind, by extension, to Cal and Lia.

In Descent, despite putting in every possible effort, at the end of the day some one else gets credit for saving his home and his family. The world literally almost ends around him and he's more than aware of his position as unimportant, unnecessary, in the larger hero narrative. No matter how much he tried, he wasn't even relevant enough to make it into the story, in the adventure as written, quite literally. No matter what he did, in the end, he can't help but feel -hell, know - that it didn't even matter. In spite of his efforts, he wasn't enough to make a difference. It wasn't him that saved them. He's inconsequential. Insignificant. Irrelevant.

...And then in BG3 it literally happens all over again.

#bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 cal #bg3 lia #rolan fanfic

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bhaalbabebardlock · 4 months

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I wrote a drabble for the first time. 🧎

This is surprisingly difficult for me to do because I always want to talk for five years or if I'm writing something short it's an Ilara related cliffhanger. Anywayyyys.

Astarion x reader (gn)

504 words

Astarion Has A Nightmare

Time feels different, down here in the dark. You weren't entirely sure if you liked it at first, you said you did because the alternative option was maddening. Nothing you'd done would have mattered if it meant losing him in the end. After everything he did for you, and everything you'd done for him- it was a silly notion to ever think you might abandon him. You could still see that look of worry, that shift into wonder and acceptance as he smiled back at you that day you ran after him on the docks, throwing your own cloak over his head. Nothing else mattered. Not then, not now. You shifted slowly, gently, to see Astarion laying in the bed next to you. He was always beautiful, but especially in the dim glow of the candlelight, shadows dancing off his torso and the sheets tangled around his waist. The way his mouth hung slightly open, his arm draped over his eyes. Watching him sleep peacefully has become one of your favorite things. His nights were rarely restless anymore, not like they were while you cavorted through the shadowlands and the underdark, not like that night he killed Cazador. It was less often now. That didn't mean it never happened though. He twitched, only a marginal flick of his fingers, a small shift in the sleight of his open mouth. And you knew. You leaned forward slowly, cautiously reaching out a hand and setting your warm palm against his chest, not flinching when his hand lashed out and closed those cold fingers around your wrist. Waiting. As his eyes quickly opened, nostrils flaring, chest heaving until his eyes stop on you. His fingers loosen just slightly from their grip. He probably bruised you. You don't really care. It must have been bad this time. “Astarion?” You wait a moment, not moving. Familiar with this routine. Giving him time to wake up fully, still his heartbeat. Waiting as the seconds tick by until he pulls your hand over his heart, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. “I was there again.” You shift just slightly closer, resting your other hand on his chest now too, pressing your skin against his. Waiting. “The screams. Sometimes it's like I never left.” You wished you could carve that pain out of him, take it from the runes etched into his back and imprinting on his mind. Ribbon into pieces all the shredded shrapnel of his fear and regret and every bad thing that had ever happened to him. He didn't deserve it. You leaned forward slowly, scooting up and laying your head against his chest, listening to his soft exhale of breath as he begins carding his fingers through your hair.

“Stay like this for a moment, won't you?” Of course. You'd stay forever if it would make him feel better. If you could soothe his aches. You would give anything to make his hurt go away.

“Of course, Astarion. I'll stay for as long as you need me.”

#drabble #Astarion x reader #p #goodnight now

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bhaalbaaby · 10 months

Note

Can I absolutely ask about a breeding fic?

Title: Waves Rush Over (3059 words) Pairing: halsin/f!reader Warnings: breeding kink, slight size and scent kink, praise kink, daddy halsin, fluff and smut, pwp A/N: sorry for the delay 🥹 life keeps happening lol hope you like it

Read on AO3!

Halsin's hands are just one feature you like about him. They tell his stories in more ways than his words. There are callouses and scars, scratches, and are heavy as he rests his hand on your waist and thighs when you sit on his lap. His knuckles can be rougher than bark, especially during the cold. You keep a jar of soothing balm near you at all times to help his cracked skin. Halsin stoically smiles as you apply it, nagging him to take better care of his skin. The children also mimic it, some asking you for mini jars so they can give them to Daddy Halsin if they notice his dry skin.

Those hands hold many tiny ones at once throughout the day. When his charges are not playing with Thaniel and Oliver, they find Halsin when he's not busy. While his hands are wisened by his years, his features soften. You notice a month after arriving in the former Shadowlands.

If a child isn't adjusting well, Halsin can sense it. He doesn't make the child feel singled out. You catch it once with a young halfling. He kneels in front of them, speaking soft healing words. You can't imagine the trauma the child has seen as you hear the small sniffles escape the even smaller body. Halsin then engulfs them in a hug, cradling the child until they fall asleep. You don't interrupt as you watch, your heart skipping over itself.

Though you have many children who claim you as their new parent, you could see Halsin holding your baby just like this, just as soft. You sigh as you finally leave the sweet scene. If it doesn't happen right away, you'll be fine. There's always the act of making one.

Halsin knows your body on a molecular level. You wonder if he can read your thoughts when he brings you tea when you're tired, medicine for pain during that time of the month. You notice the times when your hormones are peak that he's friskier. Kisses in the storage closets, his hands exploring your body while you try to cook. Sex happens still but there's never enough time to enjoy it, to indulge like you could before returning to Reithwin. Halsin can feel your frustrations, his little gestures easing some of them.

As you're helping serve dinner, he rests his hand on your waist, distracting as ever. You stand up straighter, the bowl of sweet greens from the garden on your waist. "May I help you, Daddy Halsin?" You ask, feigning annoyance in front of the children who giggle.

The corners of Halsin's lips curl up slightly as he nods. "Let me take over, my heart. I have a special job for you." Your ears prick up, letting him take the bowl from your hands.

He leans closer than he needs to, whispering in your ear. "Go to the kitchen. I'll be there shortly." You do as you're told, mostly wanting to behave for whatever he has planned for you.

Luckily, your wait isn't long. Halsin puts the bowl on the counter, shaking his head. "These children are growing stronger every day. Good thing for us our harvests have been bountiful." He glances over at you through his dark lashes.

You look away, heat creeping around your collar as you nod. "Yes, the land has blessed us. I hope they never want for nothing."

Halsin steps closer, tilting your chin up to him. You forget how big he is sometimes, the way he towers over you. He presses his lips against yours, pulling away when one of the volunteers comes in to get another bowl of food for the children. They snicker as Halsin still holds you in his arms. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more private," Halsin suggests.

You tilt your head to the side, "Wait, you didn't tell me what my job would be." You interject, gripping his leathery tunic.

"Ah, that." He smirks as he glances towards the door. "In all honesty, there isn't any new charge for you. Well, not yet." He clears his throat. "You're in heat."

Your eyebrows shoot up to your forehead at his blunt statement. "In heat? I'm not like an animal, Halsin," You giggle, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass.

"Not the same intensity as a bear, but I can smell it. When you bent over..." He closes his eyes, breathing deeply. "Your smell is intoxicating. I can barely focus, Tav. All I can think of is taking your body and watching you swell." You feel hot prodding on your stomach, proof that Halsin is telling the truth. He can't go back out there in this state.

"Poor bear," You coo as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. He exhales, growling softly. "I need you, Tav. Now," He growls, pawing you closer. Pressure builds between your thighs as you start to ache for him. If he doesn't move you now, he'll be forced to take you to the kitchen. You hope the cooks don't mind the clattering of pots and pans.

Halsin picks you up with ease as he leads you into his private room on the main floor. He sleeps in here when bedtime stories go on forever and the stairs are daunting so he says. You don't mind it as he shuts and locks the door. He barely gives you time alone as he sweeps you up in a passionate kiss, your breathing becoming one. You smell the woodsy musk and mint on his breath as your tongues intertwine. He groans, his arms wrapping around your waist, keeping your body flush against his. You close your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to keep up as he sways, getting lost in the kiss. You pull away, searching for breath as his lips travel down your neck, his hands searching as if trying to pull you even closer, melt you into him. The kisses continue down your chest as you fumble with your top, trying to free your skin from his lips.

He ignores the attempts as he gets on his knees. He stares up at you, his breathing heavy. "You are beautiful, my love." You laugh softly as you pull your restraints from your body, finally topless. You can't think of anything to say back feeling dizzy.

Halsin buries his face between your thighs, inhaling your arousal. You hold your breath, his face and breath warm. Each inhale causes you to throb more as you swallow hard. He sits back on his knees, smirking as he spreads your legs. You've seeped through your pants, the mark is more obvious as he stares. Without a second thought, he leans forward, his tongue slowly swiping up. Your moan catches in your throat, trying to stay quiet. Halsin continues regardless, his tongue swirling on the darkening spot on your pants. Your legs tremble as he teases you, his hands slipping from your thighs to resting on your ass to keep you standing. You bite your lip, massaging your sensitive nipples. Each tweak makes your hips jolt away from his mouth causing a dissapproving growl from Halsin. He pulls away, his eyes between your pants and your flushed face.

"Do not hold yourself back, my love. You surely aren't down here," He whipsers, as he drags your ruined clothes down. You try your best to kick them off, but they get stuck on your heel. You're grateful Halsin is on his knees as he carefully slips the fabric over your feet, tossing them away. He chuckles, his hazel eyes darken as he drags his fingers over your thighs.

"The thought of you dripping with me is too much to bear." His breathing becomes more pronounced as he speaks, his mouth waters.

"I can't take much more waiting." You say, your senses awakening as your nose pricks.

He doesn't need more encouragement to give in to his temptations. You lean back into the wall as his tongue laps at your folds, his hands keeping your legs firmly apart. You finally audibly moan as you watch him feast, his tongue flicking at your clit. His lips wrap around it, suckling the nerves. Your toes curl as his tongue continues its lithe licks. The sensations are overwhelming as you reach for something other than his hair to grab onto.

He buries his tongue between your folds as you grip his broad shoulders, moaning out as he presses you against the wall. He bobs his head back and forth, his tongue thrusting in and out of your dripping sex. His hands massage your ass as you tremble, feeling so weak each time his tongue enters, swirling around. You can barely say his name, your mouth unable to form words, thoughts barely forming beside the pressure building in your stomach. He glances up at you, his tongue dragging up to your swollen clit.

You curse, your hips jutting against the druid's face. He presses your hips against his hungry mouth as he suckles your clit, groaning as you writhe, trying to move away from the immense pleasure. He removes his mouth, raising his eyebrow as you gaze down at his face, panting as you try to catch your breath in this moment of reprieve.

"You are sweeter than any honey, my heart. Please, sing to me." He says as he guides your hips back to him, his mouth quickly finding your swollen button and making acquaintances as he flicks and swirls his tongue around it.

"I can't take this much longer." You cry out as your legs rest on his shoulders, wrapping around his head. He moans in response, his head rocking up and down as his tongue guides up from your entrance to your clit and back down, his nose pressed against your clit.

You're on the verge of exploding when you feel his thick finger prod at your hole his tongue making its way back to your clit. You gasp as he thrusts in, your stomach tightening. You try to run away again, but his other hand is firm on your backside. His gorgeous eyes glance up at you watching the ecstasy paint your face as he quickens his pace.

He pulls away briefly, licking his lips. "The way you squeeze around my finger... I can only imagine how you'll feel around my cock, accepting my seed." You massage your breasts again, wincing as you rock your hips with his digit, feeling so close.

"Please," You beg, not wanting to come from his mouth and fingers. You crave his cock more than ever.

He smiles as he carefully removes your legs from his shoulders. His hand however doesn't leave between your thighs, his middle finger thrusting inside and claiming your hole for him. You try to squeeze your legs together to minimize the gushing noises that escape to no avail.

He chuckles as he looks down, "Dripping to the floor. You are quite the sight." You glance up at him, pouting that he hasn't fucked you yet. He leans down kissing you breathless. Your head swims as you gain autonomy of your hands, reaching for his breeches and tugging them down. His heavy cock springs out, searching for your heat. You wrap your hands around his girth while his tongue and yours dance. You love how you taste on him, the essence of your arousal only adding to his delicious taste.

He pulls away, growling. His eyes are shut tight. "I must have you now." You wonder if the wall would give if he wild shapes into a bear now, but the thought fades as he picks you up, guiding your hips up to his cock. You wrap your arms around his neck, peppering kisses on his jaw as his hands sink your hips on his thick member. You rest your damp forehead against his jaw as you moan, your breathing ragged. You try not to give into the pleasure right away, your hole quivering as he slowly thrusts inside.

"Oak Father bless me." He moans, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he picks up his pace. You rest back on the wall as you attempt to watch him. His leather tunic is still on, not like he cares. You drag your fingers down his chest, panting. "You're amazing," Halsin moans with a small breathless laugh. He leans closer using the wall as leverage as he picks up his pace, filling you the brim with each thrust. You can't keep your moans down, pleasurable cries escaping your body as your cunt weeps for him.

"Fill me up please, my love. Breed me." You moan, resting your forehead against his. He groans at the statement, smirking as he bounces your body on his cock. "Oh, my heart. I will. Your womb will only know my seed." His mouth sloppily kisses yours, the wet sounds each time his cock fills your hole music to both of your ears. You whimper feeling his balls smack against your ass, his cock pressing deep inside.

His hands wrap around your hips, the extra force of his grip sending pleasure pangs throughout your whole body. You both need this. Your hips seize up as you push his cock out, the knots in your lower stomach too much to bear. He rubs his cock against your slit and cock as you stiffen in his hands, and goosebumps rush from your head to your toes. He chuckles as the orgasm ripples through you. "Such a beautiful sight." He whispers before gathering you up.

He carries you to your bed, the frame sinking as he climbs on top of you, his legs pushing yours up. He runs his hand down your neck to your hips, keeping you still as he slowly thrusts inside. You reach behind your head for the pillow, mewling as his cock claims you. Your mind clouds with only thoughts of him as he continues with his previous pace, pounding you into the bed. The bed is less forgiving, the squeaking and headboard hits against the wall with each thrust. You don't mind the extra noise as your nails dig into the feather-down pillow, fingertips pricked by the calamus.

He leans down, his intoxicating kiss taking over your senses again as he presses against your c-spot. You can feel his cock pulsating with each thrust, his grunts more pronounced. "Ah, I'm so close, my heart."

You whimper as you kiss him in response, your teeth dragging on his bottom lip. "Claim me, my body is yours." You moan as you let go of the pillow. Your hands meet as he presses your wrists down against the bed. He leans up, the headboard erratic as his face contorts, his hips flush with yours as he explodes. The feeling of his emission inside drives you over the edge again, your eyes closed tight as you cry for him.

His nose is stuffy as he breathes through his nose, trying to calm down. He keeps his cock inside of you as he sits back, rubbing your clit. You close your thighs together, his other hand rubbing his shaft. "Every drop belongs to you," He whispers as you clench around his softening member. You sit up on your elbows, rocking your hips against his. He laughs softly, his hand leaving his cock on your waist.

"I'm not as young as I feel." He admits. You roll your eyes as he readjusts, letting you ride him.

"I want every drop," You purr, bouncing your ass against his thighs.

He practically tears his shirt off as he throws it on the floor. "You may have it," Halsin replies, spreading your ass as you ride. "The need to breed you..." He lies back against the bed, spreading his legs slightly to give himself more leverage. You can feel his shaft harden, ready for more as he hits your spot once more.

Your legs tremble as you rock your hips. "I want it. I want to be your breeding whore." You moan as he takes over your pace, thrusting hard into you, his arms wrapping around your torso to hold you down.

You can't handle the immense pleasure that erupts throughout your body, your moans turning into breathless screams. "That's it. Good girl..." Your nostrils flare at the nickname, driving you insane.

"Please, Halsin, fill me." You pant, before biting and sucking his neck.

His growl vibrates in your mouth as he holds his hips against yours for a moment before picking up his speed again. He curses under his breath as his thrusts are more reckless, the familiar pulsing filling your hole as you throb around him, so close to another orgasm. His hand leaves your waist, finding your hair, tugging your face to his. "I love you," He groans, holding your face in place before Mount Halsin erupts again, overwhelming your cunt as his thrusts slow to sharp and precise ones. His moans are better than any song you've ever heard as he coaxes you to orgasm making you join him in a hueless haze.

You roll off him, breathing heavily. He sits up slightly as your legs spread, his seed seeping out. "Such a delicious sight. Had I more energy, I'd pound it back into you. Not one drop wasted." He remarks, ignoring the heat that comes to your cheeks. He leans over, suckling your nipple.

"Halsin," You whimper, your body a live wire. He pulls away with a small pop.

"The night is still young... I will get us some food and we'll dine up in our room."

You raise your eyebrow at the implication. He smiles as he slips off the bed. "We'll need some energy if we are to continue."

"Continue?" You ask coyly as you roll to your side.

He nods. "You will be thoroughly bred tonight, Tav." He grabs his pants and his ripped shirt from the floor. He nods at the door next to the bed. "That door leads to a secret staircase to our bedroom. Do not put anything on. I want you as you are. Just as nature intended."

You giggle as you slowly get off the bed, your legs not quite ready. "Do not keep me waiting." You say with a wink before disappearing up the staircase, excited for what the night will bring.

taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny @astarionsbeloved @thedancingbun @razrogue @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator @rinmoon7

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #nsft #writing #writing requests #asks #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #halsin baldur's gate 3 #halsin bg3 #halsin #requests

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astarionmademewriteit · 9 months

Text

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

MDNI. 18+ only. Minors and blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Tags: Blood play; Knife kink; Mentions of violence and gore; PIV rough sex; Choking; Spitting (in mouth); Act 3 Spoilers; Gortash being a lil' bit submissive but switch-coded.

Summary: Durge and Enver have another council meeting, but it is quickly revealed that Enver was using it as an excuse to see his favorite assassin. The sexual tension had been building up between them for while and Durge finally acts on it, finding quick but mutual gratification in their shared love for pain and blood.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

I grow weary of this cat and mouse game Gortash and I find ourselves playing at. It was no secret that centuries of bad blood bore between Bhaal and Bane. Their respective chosen settling their differences in order to overtake Baldur's Gate. However, the list of differences between Gortash and I happened to be shorter than previously suggested.

He was brilliant, to be sure. His thirst for blood and pain rivaled my own. But I was a seasoned killer, trained in the art of murder and violence. I did not veil the carnal pleasure that ran through my veins at the sight of spilled blood, nor the ferocity of lust that churned deep within me when I was called to dole out executions on his behalf.

Most others saw my duplicitous nature and turned away in quiet disgust, but Enver openly admired me for it. And now we sit at yet another council meeting, carving out our well-laid plans for the city.

Enver’s hand is splayed out over a letter from General Thorm detailing his work in the Shadowlands and the army he continues to amass. The contents bore me into bouts of restlessness.

I shove away from the table, and in one fluid motion draw my dagger and bury it into the table, right between his fingers.

His unflinching dark gaze meets mine and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Enough with this drivel, Gortash,” I hiss, “This is the second council meeting in one week. If I cared what Ketheric had to say, I'd visit that dreaded place myself. Why am I here?”

Enver chuckles darkly, pulling the dagger from the table and testing its sharpness. He presses his fingertip into the sharpened point, until blood rushes from his finger. Red rivulets flow freely from his wound, splattering on Thorm's forgotten letter.

“Does world domination carve into too much of your precious time?” His rhetorical question was full of condescension, “Perhaps, I just needed to find another excuse to conspire with my favorite assassin.” He cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction and a smug grin pulls at the corners of his mouth.

I roll my eyes and yank the dagger from his grasp, hoping it catches against his skin once more so I can watch him bleed so prettily for me.

“There are better excuses than reading letters from that heretic,” I growl with disdain as I gesture towards the letters. Ketheric had his uses, but he never appreciated the finality of death–something I took personally, as his sacrilegious mindset directly conflicted with the tenants of Bhaal.

“Would you rather I prepare some prisoners for torture? Maiming? I understand you are fond of spilling blood,” his gaze never leaving mine, “It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

I circle around to his chair and sit on the edge of the council table beside Enver. I prop my leg over my knee, drawing his attention. He leans back in his chair and watches me closely, his eyes lingering on my form.

“Maiming?” I spit with disgust, “There is art in murder, but maiming is below me,” I grab his wrist and examine his pricked fingertip, “It's about coaxing,” I squeeze the tip of his finger and watch as blood dribbles down his wrist, “It is about taste,” I pull his finger into my mouth unprovoked, sucking and pulling blood from his wound. The coppery taste sends my body into a vibrating thrum of excitement and ecstasy.

Enver sucks in his breath and something between a sound of approval and a low guttural growl escapes his chest. I slowly let his finger retreat, never breaking our intense gaze.

“It's about practicality.” I push myself off the table and stand behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair at the crown of his head, pulling him painfully backwards until his eyes are back on me. The sharp edge of my dagger flush against his throat–one swift movement away from nicking his artery.

Gortash’s eyes watched me carefully, but he was neither scared nor nervous. I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this revelation. A look of longing passes between us, and in one fleeting moment I lean down and crush my lips to his. He receives me eagerly despite the steel of my knife threatening to bite into his flesh.

After a moment I bury the dagger into the table and Enver quickly stands and wraps his arms around my waist. I jump off the ground and wrap my legs around his middle, connecting our lips again. Our kiss is messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and lips–molding together with bruising force. His prickly stubble rubs deliciously against my face.

Enver spins and sits me on the edge of the table, hovering over me as his gilded fingers lace through my hair. He sighs deeply into my mouth as our tongues explore one another. I start thumbing the laces of his robes, pulling them open and running my nails through his thick chest hair–not holding back the way my sharp nails bite into his skin.

His golden filigree gloves claw at my scalp and down the back of my neck as he grows more desperate. I bite hard into his bottom lip until I draw blood, smiling against his abrasive kisses. He groans with pleasure as I suck the blood that surfaces from his wound.

I pull back momentarily, panting heavy as I whisper how good he tastes while pulling the last of his laces free. In a flurry of hurried movements, we undress before our lips crush back together, as if our very survival depended on it.

I lay flat on my back in the middle of the council table as he crawls over my body with a predatory gaze. Enver knees my legs open while he trails kisses down my neck. His cock rubbing torturously between my slick folds, teasing my clit and driving me into a lust-filled craze.

Impatience thrums through my body and I quickly grab Enver’s throat with enough force to cut off his airflow. I pull him up to meet my eyes, his dark gaze boring into me with such frantic intensity.

“Fuck me,” I growl, “Before I change my mind and slit your throat. And make it hurt.”

He chuckles darkly. Clearly amused by my threats, “As you wish, my assassin.”

Without a moment lost, he painfully forces himself inside me, threatening to split me in half. I cry out in pleasure, relishing in the way he fills me completely–his hips snapping into me with newfound ferocity. His golden filigree claws dig into the very wood of the council table, leaving deep splintering grooves.

My nails dig into his back, tracing painful welts into his flesh. The pain only motivates him to rut into me harder, pulling out far enough so that the swollen head of his cock forces me open wider, before snapping back into me with unrelenting force.

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips up off the table so that he is hitting my pleasure points with devastating precision. His name falls from my lips like a haunted hymn, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the council room.

Enver’s lips meet mine with such brutality that my skull presses painfully into the table underneath. His back is now spattered in bloody scratch marks, dripping down his back artfully.

I groan in pleasure, my ecstasy building into a dizzying crescendo. Enver’s teeth suddenly dig into the flesh of my lips, and the familiar coppery flavor of my blood spills from the wound. He sucks at my blood, groaning with carnal delight while he continues to thrust relentlessly into my dripping cunt.

He pulls back, reveling in the taste of my blood–savoring it on his tongue. “Open up, dear assassin,” he growls. I comply instantly, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue fall from my lips seductively.

He hovers over my mouth and allows a mixture of my blood and his saliva to fall back into my waiting mouth. I whimper–elated with our own debauchery. His pace becomes more aggressive–abusive, even, as I chase my release.

My pleasure peaks and I’m falling victim to the white hot flash of ecstasy that rocks through my body, seizing my muscles until I’m coming undone–completely unraveling under his body. My cries ring through the room, Enver’s name the only prayer I care to recite.

Gortash breathes heavily in my ear, chasing his own release. His thrusts become uneven and sloppy. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils are completely blown out as he watches me while I continue to fall apart as he ruins my cunt with his punishing pace.

As my orgasm starts to subside I pull the dagger from the wooden table and press the sharp edge to the soft flesh of his throat once again. His eyes roll into the back of his head, enjoying the cold steel against his neck–the possibility of death lingering close by only motivating him to fuck me harder–deeper.

“Come inside me, Enver,” I hiss, tightening my legs around his waist as he continues to rut into me, desperately. His golden claws dig into the table, further marring the council table–leaving behind evidence of our violent tryst.

“Yes, my assassin,” he relents, shooting ropes of cum deep in my slick cunt, filling me with his seed. Enver whimpers into my neck, biting viciously at the soft flesh of my throat, leaving bruising evidence of his lusty confessions on my skin. His cock spasming uncontrollably inside of me.

His orgasm begins to subside, our sweat mixes with blood and violent ecstasy as he stills inside of me.

I run my fingers through his dark, bedraggled hair, having discarded my dagger momentarily.

“Regain your strength, Gortash,” I command arrogantly, “We are not done yet.”

He laughs breathily as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, “Whatever my favorite assassin commands, I shall happily deliver.”

I felt momentary relief now that we have finally acted on our building sexual tension. The feeling is quickly replaced with a new kind of hunger–one that rivals the murderous fantasies that occupy my mind. We complement one another, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a beautifully violent masterpiece.

I knew at that moment that something incredible would have to pull us away from one another. The impossibility of it amused me greatly.

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nytehavyn-circle · 4 months

Text

Darkness Hidden

(Open starter for Tolaas' Partners)

(Trigger Warnings for: mention/depiction/description of suicide/murder/death; alcohol abuse; graphic depictions/descriptions of torture; depictions/descriptions of toxic relationships; depression)

Hello Darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping

It had been two weeks or more since anyone had heard from Tolaas. Sometimes when this happened, he would tell those who missed him that he had been extremely busy with a job, or he was visiting the ShadowLands for one reason or another. Sometimes it was the truth. This time it was not. In fact, he hadn't even told anyone before he disappeared. This was uncommon but not rare, it had happened before in the past, but it had been a while this time before the darkness set in. He hadn't even answered his texts or voicemails.

His nightmares had gotten increasingly worse over the last month or two. He'd tried to fight them off - staying up late until he was so tired he couldn't think, and then he passed out, sometimes taking sleeping pills to make him tired enough so he couldn't think, and then falling asleep. But nothing had worked, not even being in the arms of those he loved.

Now, he stood in front of his sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He was still drunk, which partially explained his bloodshot, tired eyes, but the biggest explanation was that the nightmares kept waking him up, and thinking had kept him up, where he had crossed the line from 'tired enough to pass out' to 'too tired to sleep.'

Tolaas stared at his face in the mirror. He looked like he had been sick. And he had been; sick of nightmares, sick of smiling all the time, sick of pretending he was always positive and happy-go-lucky. None of them knew exactly what he lived with. None of them knew because he wore the perfect facade. Oh, he was happy alright, for the most part. Therapy in the past had helped him a bit, and had helped him understand that sometimes actually keeping an honest smile would make said smile an involuntary action on the daily, and smiles meant 'happy.' This wasn't always the case. Neither was 'thinking positive,' not always, anyway.

The facade had started to crack over the last few weeks. He'd felt himself sinking, slowly going down, down under the water until it was above his head, and he was flailing and drowning and no one could see him. For a very long time, he wasn't one to ask for help. With anything. Over the last several years, he began to realize that asking for help wasn't a sign of weakness, that there was actually nothing wrong with asking for help because those who cared, who truly cared, would jump at the chance to help. And they did, with a lot of different things he needed help with.

But not with this. Never with this. No one could help him with the darkness.

He stared even harder at his reflection until he finally brought his fist up and slammed it into the mirror, shattering it, pieces of mirror glass flying everywhere.

The facade was no longer cracked, it had broken in that moment. (Just as it had broken before when his mind became full of the hell that was his life.)

Tolaas ran his hands through his air and burst into tears. He covered his face and fell nack against the bathroom door, slowly sliding down until his ass had hit the floor. The violent sobs that came through wracked his body.

"Monster! Demon! Thing of evil!" the villagers cry out. "Now we will do to you as you have done to us!" Rope tied, stretched taut. Arms and legs spread. Naked body. A whip, unfurled and held up. The sound it made as it hit his naked back echoed in his ears. One, two, three, four lashes... Laughing. Food is being thrown at his head. Five... six... seven... eight more lashes... Fire. A stick on fire. Burning tip pressed against the flesh of his torso. Nine... ten... eleven... twelve more lashings. Blood coating his back, dripping down his legs to the ground. Stoned, rocks flying by him, hitting his naked, vulnerable body, smacking him in the head. Waking up to being tossed in an open grave in the forest. A few shovelfuls of dirt thrown on his body, not caring if he was buried or not. At least the animals would get him.

Tolaas continued to sit there and cry, his body heaved and shuddered. He crawled out of the bathroom and managed to make it to the couch. Empty bottles of Jack were strewn across the floor and many sat on the coffee table. Being what he was, he needed more to get drunk than a human could. So, he'd been drinking more than a human would over the last couple of weeks. He picked up one half-full bottle and took several gulps from it. He had been living on take-out and Jack Daniels the last couple of weeks.

He leaned back against the couch, bringing one leg up to rest on the table in front of him. Several bottles clattered to the floor as he moved his foot on the table.

His eyes closed. Tears still streaked down his cheeks. His mind was flooded again with images.

Images of him in the bathtub. Cliche, of course, but that's how it is. He looks down at his wrist and the blood streaming from the smooth, vertical wound. It didn't hurt. He'd been beaten, stabbed, tortured in his life, all of it hurt. Not this. He'd had his heart broken several times, and each time hurt more than cutting his wrists did. Strange, that. The water turns from a light pink color, to a dirty coppery color. He slinks down into the water, head just barely above it. He feels tired, sleepy. His eyelids are heavy and all he wants to do is close them. To close them and fall into the abyss. He wonders what he'll find behind the curtain. Will it be a small man manipulating everything without knowing much, or will it be echoes of those from his past, those whom he'd loved, or possibly saved that had passed by now? He didn't know but he was surprisingly eager to find out. He allows his eyes to fall closed. There's a light shining in his eyes, people talking, a beeping sound, more talking, people excited. Demon, angel, some humans. Then Terran is there, he recognizes the face. Is he here, too, beyond? He wakes up in a hospital bed and looks around. His wounds are bandaged. He supposes he should be grateful, but he isn't sure if he is or not.

Tolaas continued to lay back and drink. He wanted to be numb, to not feel. Possibly he wanted to die, but he didn't know right at the moment. Probably not, because there were too many people that depended on him, and counted on him. "Hero," some of them would cry. Tolaas wanted to argue, to scream that he wasn't a hero, that he was a monster atoning for his mistakes. That they shouldn't applaud him for what he's done, because it was something he needed to do.

Some people loved him, and their images ran through his head. Mori, Anne, Rebecca... Tolaas loved them, too, so much. So very much. He needed to stay for them. But they probably shouldn't love him, he thought. Not with what he'd done in his past. The hate he held in his heart centuries ago. The way he'd hurt and killed people before he began to understand. The way he hurt and killed people in battles and wars after he'd began to understand. One thing he couldn't wrap his mind around at the moment was exactly why his partners loved him like they did. He loved them with everything he had in him, but he was a monster, and he didn't understand why they loved him. If anything, he probably should have been burned at the stake, or dismembered and scattered across the countryside so very long ago.

Over the many, many years, he'd made a conscious and significant effort to change, to be better, to try to make other people's lives better.

But sometimes, he didn't believe he deserved the same. Hell, he wasn't worthy of people like Mori and Anne. They saw more in him than he saw in himself. Because the darkness he'd experienced centuries ago, was still there, hiding, hiding and waiting. And he was scared of what would happen if he ever let it go.

Over the years, he'd tried cutting his wrists again, but either he didn't cut them deep enough or someone had found him before it was too late; he'd tried pills, but always puked them up before they could really take effect; hell, he even tried putting a bullet through his skull before, but they were duds. All of them. More often than once, he tried to get himself killed during a battle or a war... someone either always saved him, or his saving other people would somehow take him out of the danger zone. Something was keeping him here, he'd come to believe. The question was why? Why the hell was he so fucking important? And everybody he'd met and gotten close to believed he was, too. In some way, somehow, he was important.

Most days, he was thankful and glad to be alive. Other days, he felt as if he was living a nightmare. Sometimes, he felt as if he were living a lie, and if the truth ever came out he'd end up completely alone. And he'd deserve it.

One thing was certain - he would make sure he died before he ever let that darkness hurt anybody he loved.

A heavy knock at the door woke him from his stupor, but he was still shitfaced. He kicked some bottles out of the way and stumbled to the door. He yanked it open and stared. "Yer not the Italian I ordered," he said thickly. "Why er ya here?" he asked, annoyed.

#tw: alcohol abuse #tw: suicide mention #tw: suicide description #tw: torture #tw: death #tw: depression #tw: murder

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mikaila-orchard · 11 months

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Anduin still gets more respect and dignity than Sylvanas ever did and I'm still mad about it.

Aight, the new WoW trailer stirred up some old animosity that I have to get out lest it fester.

The problem I've had with Anduin for the past few years is something that isn't even strictly his fault, and is just symptomatic of how shitty the writing staff is. In theory, Anduin is an interesting bit of flavor for the Alliance. Someone who was raised in a very turbulent time in the Alliance's history, gone through some shit when he was too early to handle it and is plagued with self doubt because of it. All of this complimented by Velen's vision of Anduin's future going down two very different roads.

Alas, the problem is in execution. Because what we are left with in practice is a character who goes through comparatively less than other legacy characters (Thrall being raised as a slave, Jaina losing her home and loved ones regularly and Sylvanas with fucking everything) but who, by the time Shadowlands rolls around, insists that he is the one suffering the most and everyone else needs to get over themselves. And that wouldn't be so bad (hell, in Shadows Rising, it's kinda treated as a genuine character flaw) but that's not the case because WoW treats Anduin like the moral barometer of the franchise for many years now.

There are multiple examples of this throughout, but the biggest culprit is all across BFA and Shadowlands, where Anduin is made to understand the hardships that Sylvanas and the Forsaken have suffered, most of it by the Alliance's hands, and just shuts it down with "Everyone suffers, stop hiding behind your trauma and rise above it," and because BFA is framing him as the hero and Sylvanas as the villain he gets away with it. In the fucking Sylvanas book, he has the gall to say Sylvanas had a better life than him because she knew her mother and calls her selfish for committing suicide. And of course the book frames Anduin as being in the right about all of this because they decided Sylvanas holding him captive was the time they would even allow to let her reach out to someone and hope they understand her. The deck was always stacked against Sylvanas and in Anduin's favor in terms of audience sympathy.

But then, what happens in Shadowlands? He gets dominated by Zovaal, stabs the Archon (doesn't even kill her), maybe kills a bunch of unnamed npcs off screen, and fights his friends. Not a single tally to add to his body count while he was a puppet. And when he is freed from Zovaal's control, he doesn't lose his support system, he doesn't lose the respect of his loved ones or his people, and he's not put under pressure to just be okay again.

AND YET!

He still goes on this self imposed exile of his, and has been on it for over half a decade at this point, because he is just too haunted by everything he's 'seen and done'. Things that we as the audience don't really see. So in practice, the justification for all this on screen angst is so painfully weak. And yes, there's no wrong way to respond to trauma and there never will be, and Anduin's trauma responses are far from unrealistic.

But compared to Sylvanas, Anduin is giving a great deal more respect and dignity by the narrative for, comparatively, much less. Sylvanas was enslaved and forced to murder her countrymen (onscreen too, we MADE HER DO THAT in warcraft 3) and when she was finally freed, she had no support system besides her rangers and Nathanos, she was feared by her former homeland who only accepted her help out of desperation and was hated and distrusted by enemies and allies alike way before she might have done anything to deserve it. The game even leans into the idea that the Sylvanas who suffered all this trauma isn't the real Sylvanas and we just needed to restore her soul to have the pure pious ranger general back (barf). And she still has to toil away in superhell because the writers were too chickenshit to fully backpedal on the deliberate character assassination the sexual predator on staff forced upon her.

"Oh, but M'Kay! That's the writers fault, not Anduin's! You can't blame him for all that."

Maybe not but a lot of the issue here comes from the fact that so long as the people who enabled this inequity of care remains on staff (IE fucking GOLDEN) this won't stop. So what choice do I have but to loathe the byproduct of this fuckery when it's being shoved in my face like this? What other way could I possibly interpret this disparity other than as misogyny?

#wow #world of warcraft #sylvanas windrunner #anduin wrynn critical #though honestly its mostly christie golden critical #and yes I will probably remain salty about this until the day I die

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luna-writes-stuff · 11 months

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Time In A Bottle, Astarion

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count: 2584

Tw: pls it’s so difficult to write for BG3, idk how y’all do this. Looming anxiety, act II. Mentions of alcohol/local drunks (you’re a tavern keeper). No race, gender, or class specified. One (1) innuendo, but it’s hidden.

Summary: Travelling through the Shadowlands seemed to bring more anxiety than you would have initially anticipated. In the Last Light Inn you’re all caught up in your head when Astarion finds you. Trying his best to soothe you, you discuss whatever the future holds once you’re finally free.

Requested by @bogginswritings

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away Just to spend them with you.”

He never believed in fate. Hell, if fate had been real, it had been terribly cruel to him. And fate had always been a positive daydream. Never of the material only seen in your nightmares. Thus - fate was a lie. It was purely a coincidence that you happened to be everywhere he was.

Yes, just a coincidence that you happened to meet him whilst a gang of thieves tried to sneak up on him. You hadn’t even known the elf, but part of you had urged you to step in and pretend to know him. You couldn’t quite tell how or why, and though he seemed perfectly capable of handling himself, you had stepped in, dragging him by his arm into clear sight - away from the shady alley he had found himself in. Besides a short introduction and a brief nod of gratitude, you didn’t exchange many words.

But then you met him later in a bar. By rights you shouldn’t have even remembered his face, but somehow you did. And he did as well. Finding him somewhat owing you some form of gratitude he had treated you to a drink, and you started a short conversation.

Then, again, you wouldn’t see him for weeks, until stumbling back into him upon market squares, theatres, libraries, and harbours. The more you saw him, the more you found yourself longing to see him again. You had never hoped to see him on an alien ship, though.

It was a brief glimpse, a wandering eye over a room you weren’t meant to see, but your eyes caught his figure in a pod for a second. Then, everything had gone dark.

Having come across him after your escape, it seemed logical to stick with him - he had been the person you knew the best. But what initially started out as sheer survival instincts and panic had begun to grow into something similar to fondness. A feeling he couldn’t deny either. Be that as it may, you both remained silent about it. There were more pressing matters in your head, both literally and figuratively.

“If I could make days last forever. If words could make wishes come true. I'd save every day like a treasure, and then Again, I would spend them with you.”

Bravery had been your growing companion the close you got to Moonrise Towers and salvation. But it had begun to waver the second you had stepped foot into the Shadowlands. Words could not express your gratitude once you found the Last Light Inn, but the pressing urgency of complete darkness never once faltered from your mind. Your eyes couldn’t seem to tear from it either, as your frame sat on a lone balcony, staring into the abyss outside the dome, silent stares giving you glares back, washing shivers up your spine. You had already been on edge, so when Astarion decided to sit down next to you without as much as alerting you of his presence, you couldn’t help the panicked skip in the beat of your heart.

“Great mother of-“ You shrieked, clutching your chest as you forced yourself to halt your words. “Astarion, don’t do that.” “Oh, but I do love to scare you,” He replied through a laugh, letting his legs fall between the bars, dangling over the tiny river below. You didn’t reply to him. It wasn’t the first time he scared you, but unlike then, you couldn’t find yourself appreciating the gesture anymore.

“You’re no fun,” He sighed when you failed to respond. “Too caught up in this looming death thing?” “Well, yes,” You affirmed. “We don’t have any sense of direction here and the shadows have eyes - quite literally. So, yes. I am ‘too caught up in this looming death thing’.” Taken aback by your quick fire of words, he leaned back a little. “We have our fairy friend.” He tried to console. “Ah, yes,” You agreed. “That’ll teach them.”

A scoff of entertainment came from him as he gently observed you. The trail his eyes made over your body sent a slight shiver down your spine, but you pushed it away. “I sense a faint scent of stress on you.” He spoke. “Truly?” You asked, raising your eyebrows in mock-surprise. “Then, I shall indulge you: there is panic, fear, and loneliness also.” “That sounds awful.” Astarion commented, causing you to shrug, your eyes falling back into the darkness in front of you. He seemed so calm - almost at peace: “How are you so okay with all of this?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke. “Well, someone has to keep the spirits up in this group.” You nodded once, a faint smile on your face. “Tremendous job you’re doing at that. I am quite sure Gale will break down once the first person asks him how he's doing.” “He is going to blow himself up.” Astarion mumbled, tilting his shoulder from side to side in understanding. You cast him a look over your shoulder. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

“But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do once you find them.”

He was quiet for a while, watching your eyes stare at nothing, the absence of light almost reflecting on your face. “If it helps,” He began. “I don’t like it either.” Furrowing your eyebrows together, you looked back at him. “Gale blowing up?” “What? No.” He said quickly, before shaking his head. “I mean - I don’t like it, no, but that is not what I meant.”

You sighed. As much as some tried to deny it, you had grown very fond of your travelling group, and you were almost certain the feeling was mutual. You hated to think of what would happen if the tadpoles were to transform you - or what would happen if you managed to actually get them out of your heads. You might never see Astarion again. He’d get his revenge and vanish, free to do his own bidding. You couldn’t blame him for it, but the thought hurt all the same.

“I hate it here too,” The elf admitted. “It has this sense of emptiness. Feeds into loneliness.” You didn’t dare to ask him more of it. You knew his struggles and buttons, but you weren’t going to push them now. Not when there was too much going on in your head as it was. Thus, you tried to change the topic: “If we manage to somehow survive everything, what is to become of you?”

The elf gave you a curious look. His eyes - however - hardened slightly, before they fell to the bannisters in front of him. “I think you know.” “I mean,” You tried. “After you have had your peace. What will you do?” That seemed to make him think for a while. You were grateful for the harpers talking in the yard - you could not have dealt with absolute silence now. “Whatever I want.” Astarion finally revealed, almost struggling with the words. “To not have to obey one's commands or wishes would be something…” His voice trailed off, trying to find the right words. “New,” He settled on. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do now. That is all for later.”

Then, his eyes met yours, an unknown glint within them, the hint of a smirk on his face - a drastic change to his expression seconds earlier. “Why?” At his look and undertone, your face heated up slightly, your eyes involuntarily dwindling down to your hands, which had grasped each other in light anxiety. “Just a question.” You justified.

“I've looked around enough to know That you're the one I want to go through time with.”

You could hear his chuckle, his eyes never leaving your form. “I see.” He answered, “What is to become of you when we survive?” Coughing up the uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat, you shrugged nonchalantly. “Back to Baldur’s Gate.” You answered truthfully. “I had a life there - a job. Friends and family who might still live.” A sudden jolt of daring shot through you as you forced your head to rise, a cheeky grin now covering your face. “Why?” He could laugh at that, following your words as he shrugged. “Just a question.”

A second, comfortable silence followed. You ignored the irregular beating of your heart of Astarion’s eyes almost drilling holes into the side of your skull. Had it always been so abnormally hot?

Shifting under his gaze, you turned slightly, now giving him your full attention. “Won’t it get boring?” You dared to ask, taking him by surprise. “I’m sorry?” He returned, unsure of what you were asking or what you were insinuating. A frantic knock against his chest from the inside was forced down as you continued to speak: “You’ll live forever,” “Well, not exactly forever,” He interrupted. “I’m not invincible.” “You have no plan for the future, so you intend to wander alone forever?”

That question took him aback. Sure, he had fantasised about what his life would be like once he was finally free, but there never had been a solid plan or bucket list. Just a handful of things he longed to do - such as swim or walk under sunlight without growing uncomfortable, but these weren’t life plans. These were simple goals.

“Well, there’s no one I can really share it with, is there?” He questioned, trying to bruh the matter off, as if he hadn’t wondered about it himself. “Of course, there are brief entertainments, but no… settlements.” The hint in his voice caused your shoulders to lower slightly, a small amount of defeat watching over your back staring, staring at you menacingly. You pretended it didn’t bother you, though. Instead, you smiled for him, another shrug passing you as you leaned your head to the side.

“I suppose.”

“If I had a box just for wishes And dreams that had never come true. The box would be empty Except for the memory of how they were answered by you.”

“And you, then?” He returned, matching the gesture on your face. “Cursed to spend your life being wed off to some low life farmer?” You chuckled at him, shaking your head in dismissal as you recounted your working days in a local tavern, serving visitors and locals ale whilst they would rant and talk about everything. It was something you never thought you’d find yourself missing. But those now appeared to be the simpler days, and the longer your travel became, the more you find yourself urging to go back to those days, having taken nothing for granted.

“More like cursed to spend my life aiding drunks.” You commented, a fond smile on your face as you silently recounted all those times you had to throw out old drunks. Bothers then, that seemed to be a daydream now. “That sounds dull.” Astarion dismissed, not at all pleased with the image of you having to throw out drunks who might have been twice your size.

“No,” You returned sarcastically. “Wandering the planes of this world on your own for all eternity sounds lovely.” “Again, not for all eternity.” The elf corrected, but you ignored it, ranting off your bothers with eternity: “Everyone you know will be dead by the time your end comes, so it might as well be eternity.” You swallowed harshly as you processed your words, casting him a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry,” You apologised. “That sounded harsh.” But instead of a frown, that ever-apparent smirk was still on his face: “Don’t fret, darling. I’ll visit your tavern until the day you die.” “Oh, I really hope I won’t serve my entire life there.”

Both of you laughed at that, your arms falling against the bannisters as you leaned against it, resting your head on the side, directed Astarion’s way. He simply looked at you, almost seeming hesitant - carefully choosing out his next words.

“You don’t have to.” He settled on. You didn’t quite catch his underlying meaning. “Maybe you don’t, but most of us have to participate in society.” “No interest in wandering the planes of this world?” That caught you off-guard. Sure, he has flirted with you before, but never with the intention of starting something serious. You weren’t sure if you were imagining this. Perhaps you were. Best to laugh it off: “With you?” You feigned humour. “Where’d I get my happiness from?” “Oh, you’re hilarious.” The elf mocked, but his voice turned serious again. “You wouldn’t want to travel the world?” “Of course I would,” You confessed quickly. “But with what money?”

“But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do once you find them.”

Silence once more. Astarion hadn’t really worried about money before, even when he was still a normal elf. Wealth had become relatively easy for him, whether he wanted it or not.

“You know, once I’m done with everything, I’ll have enough money to accompany me for decades. Money wouldn’t be an issue.” Nope, you weren’t imagining things. If you were, this had been a terribly cruel joke. He would have never spoken like this if he had no intention of keeping his promises. And though you would have loved to join him, the glum setting of your current journey had drowned your spirits slightly.

“Well, there is the precious issue concerning time. We don’t have the same time.” He could see the conflict and pain in your eyes, but - as always - he seemed to have already prepared his next line: “I have a very easy answer to that.” “Oh, that’s kinky.” You tried to brush off, pros and cons silently ticking off in your head. “Don’t tempt me, darling.” He returned in a low voice. You sighed at that, your gaze falling back upon the distance, only now from the side. “Astarion,” You muttered. “I’d love to. But I have a family out there. You’re important to me, but I can’t just disappear from them forever.”

He understood. Well, maybe not entirely, but he knew it would be a big matter for you. It would have been for everyone. Everyone but him. He knew how important your life was, and as his had been taken too early, he could only imagine what it would be like to that to another. “So, we’ll take care of your stupid drunks for a couple years. Then, we can leave.” He convinced, drawing a chuckle out of you. “That’s romantic.”

Taking you by surprise, his hand fell upon yours, which had been clutching the bannister. “I just want to spend it with you.” He spoke sincerely. No laugh, no smile, no crinkle by his eyes. There was nothing but truth and resilience in his words. You grew weak at the simple touch, but it was his face which drew you over the line: “If we live, I’ll help you get your revenge. We’ll see what happens afterwards.”

He couldn’t suppress the smile on his face, his fingers squeezing your hands once, before letting go, a dramatic groan coursing through him. “Ugh, an eternity with you?” “You brought it up.” You countered. Again, his hand found yours, this time intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Darling, I can’t wait.”

“I've looked around enough to know That you're the one I want to go through time with.”

#november writings 2023 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #Astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

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