#tav - furtive

[stardustspecter]

oh yeah since this is my bg3 account i can repost this somewhat older comic

[finecole]

Counterweight

Summary: “One night, he tells you that these last six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x gn!Tav Reader 

Word count: 700

Warnings: mention of sex (18+), FLUFF, 1d20 psychic damage to my emotional well-being

---

“Well, as you know, I am an avid admirer of the freedom of nature’s gifts’’ Astarion taunts, laying next to you, chest puffed up and voice rumbling as he shoots you a smirk.

A grin spreads on your face, and you swat teasingly at his chest, “oh stop it - will you let it go?” 

You both laugh as you share a look, letting the laughter wane into a shared smile.

You roll over onto his chest, reaching out a hand to tuck back a stray silver curl. Your hand traces his cheek as it retreats, thumb tracing his cheekbone. The warmth that had gathered in his face a mere moment ago as he came undone, panting in the crook of your neck, had started to give in to his usual icy coldness again. As your hand reaches his chin, he captures it swiftly before its escape, placing soft kisses along your knuckles. 

You nuzzle into his chest, closing your eyes, basking in his tender caress. 

The two of you had spent many afternoons laying around like this on a bedroll or bed, whatever option would present itself on the road; limbs entangled and lips peppering kisses as you caught your breaths, or Astarion, head resting against the headboard with you curled up to his side, reading out passages from some trashy Drizzt Do’Urden novel you had found in the shops. 

You would be quite content, you think, to spend many more afternoons like this. 

“My love,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side, sharing the most tender of looks as you meet his gaze. He places your hand that he had been kissing on his chest, where his heart would be, and cups your cheek with the other. He mirrors your own affections, brushing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Hm?’’ a soft smile tugs at your lips, as you consider how the piercing rubies that were his eyes could melt into something so soft and gentle when he was with you. 

He covers your hand that still lays on his chest with his own, giving it a squeeze. “These last six months with you,” he says softly, carefully selecting his words. “These six months that we have shared, have been the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

A silence passes.

“Astarion…” your voice is barely a whisper, as the gravity of his words settles in. How all the words, laughter and touches you had shared, the pushing and pulling of figuring out how to be together, how the cumulation of it all could make up for the unimaginable pain that he had had to suffer. You think that right then and there, you could simply melt into his very being, wanting to envelop him whole.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you fear that you could never gather the right words and arrange them in a way that would express how much love for him burned within you at this very moment - not in the way he had just done. So, instead, you pull yourself up to his face, bury a hand in his hair at the back of his neck, and kiss him. Once, twice, until you lose count. A kiss for every word you could not find, some soft and gentle and others desperate between furtive glances through half-lidded eyes. His hands travel across your back and waist, and for a moment you feel like you don't know where the boundaries of your beings lie. 

You pull back at last, though you do not go far, your noses still touching.

“Do you remember my promise?”, you whisper. 

He smiles and nods, “you will kiss me under the sun again.” 

His hand returns to cup your cheek, swiping away the tear that had threatened to spill before.

You lean into his touch, making a pledge with a smile, “I’ll fight the gods for that if I have to, you know.”

You know he does not lie when he speaks, “I’ll be right there with you, my love.”

---

Note: I've just had this in my head ever since the epilogue launched because OH MY GOD i do not even have the words Tav is quite literally just me in this because what do you say to that??? Its just such a poignant declaration; for Tav to represent so much love and joy to him i just esahjfajksdhjfkah. I haven't written anything in years but here I am, the elf has drawn me out of my slumber. It's also 5 am so apologies for mistakes I may or may not correct them

[bakuliwrites]

Just to Be Held- Astarion x Reader

I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told? You were my first.

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Baldur's Gate III

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader

Tags: Discussions of sex, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, body autonomy, Baldur's Gate III spoilers, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Affection, Gender-Neutral Tav, Astarion's POV, Tiny Kisses, In this house we cherish and love Astarion the way he deserves to be cherished and loved

Summary: Astarion and Tav share a quiet, peaceful moment together along their journey. Astarion learns that he is valued and loved. Read here or over on my AO3.

Sometimes, when Astarion drinks from you, it's overwhelming. The sensation of his teeth piercing your skin, pin-pricks in your tender flesh, warm blood welling up to greet his lips. He can feel himself drowning, every nerve ending in his body lit aflame. It's almost too much as iron bursts across his taste-buds, flooding his throat with the heat rushing through your veins. 

He drinks to sate and never in excess. He's certain that if he let himself partake in too much of you, his mind might never rest, though it is tempting at times. All the years he's spent in darkness, forced to consume the blood of pests and creatures far less appetizing than you, have left him longing for sweeter meals. But he hadn't accounted for how utterly overwhelming that might be.

When he's finished, he pulls back, breathless and overheated. It's as if he's febrile. Sometimes, he's filled with a clarity, a strength unlike anything he's ever felt before. Other times, his skin feels like it's on fire. Like with the slightest coercion, he might combust. In these moments, all he really wants is to rest. But he’s never known rest, and he’s not quite sure how to ask for such a thing. So he resorts to what he knows: teasing you with tantalizing promises of illicit rendezvous’ or making some sort of snide remark before stalking off into the night.

Sometimes, his encounters with you end in said trysts. Most often, however, they don’t. It’s almost frustrating how unbothered you seem when, after he’s done feeding from you, he doesn’t initiate anything further. You sit almost passively, waiting for Astarion to make a move, seemingly content either way the night ends. If you’re not doing this for sex, he wonders, then why the hell are you helping him at all? Surely, no thinking creature would want something so important as their blood to be taken from them without getting something in return. At least, that’s his logic for it. It almost makes him trust you less for not demanding recompense. 

So, no stranger to confrontation, Astarion decides it’s high time you gave him some sort of explanation. As you enter his tent that night, he greets you with a steely gaze, a frown deepening the lines of his face. 

��Are you alright, Astarion?” you quietly venture, boots crunching over gravel. A small branch snaps under the weight of your steps, causing you to flinch as if the rest of your party is going to hear it from where they slumber. When they don’t come bursting through the tent flaps, your shoulders relax once again and you turn back to the pale elf before you. Your furtiveness is almost endearing, Astarion realizes, and irritatingly so.

“What are you getting out of this little arrangement of ours?” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest and passing you the most petulant gaze he can muster. He watches a look of shock pass over your face, before it settles into something pensive.

“I- I don’t know,” you mutter, “I guess- I haven’t really thought about it as something I would ‘get anything’ out of. It’s just- you need to feed. And I’m happy to provide.”

“You know, most people would expect something in return,” he reasons, dissatisfied with your answer, “It’s not as if what you’re doing is a minor inconvenience for you, like letting me borrow a hanky or something. I’m draining you of something rather necessary for you to live.”

“I mean,” you return with a shrug, looking rather flummoxed by his outburst, “It’s not like you’re taking a lot.” 

“Tsk,” he huffs, realizing he’s not going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. Perhaps asking you was a fruitless endeavor from the start. Astarion drops the subject, pouting as you settle in to let him take what he needs from you. You bare your neck to him, relaxing on his bedroll as he leans down to sink his teeth into you. It’s always the same each time: your involuntary gasp as his teeth pierce your flesh, the combination of both his and your relaxed exhales as he drinks. 

Maybe it’s the humid night air or maybe it’s his own frustration, but Astarion feels the fever in him build with each sip he takes from you. A pyretic euphoria, born of longing for blood more nourishing than what he had to resort to for two whole centuries. He feels satiated by you and it’s almost- embarrassing. He feels mortified to react so viscerally, so enthusiastically. He pulls back suddenly, watching you wince as he roughly removes himself from your neck. But the irritation on your face dissipates when you meet his gaze. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you offer, your voice so gentle, it hurts him, “You seem preoccupied.”

Astarion hardens his gaze, gritting his teeth and opting to remain silent. Of course he’s preoccupied, but it’s nothing he wants to delve into. Least of all with you. But instead you decide to pry, speaking up with a tender, “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, no,” he returns, glancing sheepishly away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, crimson smearing his pale skin. He bites the inside of his cheek, snagging it with his sharpened canine, hoping it’ll stop the stinging threat of tears in his eyes. 

“You can go now. I’m done with you,” he coldly spits, avoiding your gaze. He hears the rustle of fabric as you obediently lift yourself from his bedroll and make your way to the tent flap. But instead of opening it and leaving like you normally would, you pause, your hand grasping the fabric. 

“I like being with you,” you quietly explain, turning to face the vampire spawn, “You asked me what I get out of this arrangement of ours. Well, I just- I guess I just like you.”

Astarion frowns, arms still crossed and posture stiff as a board. But he can’t hold his silver-tongue, despite his upset. 

“Unfortunate, really,” he murmurs, unable to help the smile tugging at his lips when you laugh. 

“I don’t need to ‘get anything’ out of this time with you,” you go on, letting go of the tent flap and striding back towards him. You kneel down, eyes filled with a brightness Astarion can hardly believe is meant for him. A silence passes as you wait for him to respond. He fidgets with his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists before he finally allows his shoulders to slump and an exhausted sigh to escape his lips. His body still feels overworked, heated and unable to settle. 

“I assumed that sex was what you wanted from me,” he starts, still unable to look you in the eye, “Stupid assumption. It’s the only thing I’m-”

It’s the only thing I’m good for, he wants to say, but stops himself. 

“Well, let’s be honest,” he chuckles ruefully, trying to divert your attention from his unfinished statement, “I wanted that, too. I mean, how could I not.” He says this with a sly smile, something impish twinkling in his eyes as he sweeps over your form. But then his face falls and he casts his glance to the ground again.  

“It’s just- sex isn’t always what I want,” he finishes, “And I assumed that it’s what you wanted. So I guess I was- I don’t know- worried that you would be disappointed when we don’t tear each other apart like animals every time I feed from you.”

Another pause, this time filled with anticipation. With anxiety. For some reason, when Astarion has been around you lately, he’s found himself incapable of holding his tongue. He spills his thoughts left and right to you. It’s terrifying, the effect you seem to be having on him. It’s taken him a long time, but still, he isn’t sure he should trust you. Yet here he is, regurgitating deep-seated fears that are better left buried in the rot that’s bloomed in his mind. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he hears you whisper, pulling him from worry, coaxing him from the tendrils of self-hatred and disgust that have entangled him for two hundred years. He glances at you, disbelief in his crimson eyes before a rueful smile breaks his shock.

“You are far too kind to me,” he chuckles, a cocky smile on his face. 

“I mean it,” you return, brows crinkling your forehead, “We don’t even have to touch if you don’t want to. And if you don’t want to keep this arrangement anymore, that’s totally fine. I’d be happy to help you find another source of food. I won’t be hurt.” 

He eyes you suspiciously, scanning you for any hint that you might burst out laughing at some sort of cruel joke you’ve made, or some sign that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. The look you’re giving him is almost naive. He scowls, nauseated by your sincerity.

“Well, I don’t mind physical affection,” he mutters, desperately trying to hold on to his air of indifference, “Just-”

His shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. He’s been worn down by your patience, worn down by years of keeping everything to himself. Here you are, offering up companionship without any expectation. Here you are, sitting in front of him, telling him that you actually, for some gods’ forsaken reason, like spending time with him and you’re not expecting any sort of compensation from him. So why is he trying so desperately to push you away?

“All I’ve ever been is used,” Astarion admits, wondering if he’ll regret this admission later. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, like it always does. “I don’t get a say in what happens to my body. I don’t get a say in what happens to me at all.” 

“Astarion,” you breathe, gently cupping his face and turning his head so he can meet your gaze. His eyes are filled with a deep sorrow, the desolation of two hundred years scarring every crimson facet of his irises. In you, he sees no ounce of malice, no smarmy flattery, or deceit. All he sees is you, offering him your kindness, offering your companionship, expecting nothing in return. 

“What do you want?” you go on, “Right here. Right now.” 

Astarion’s mouth goes dry. His blood, your blood, threads through his veins like white hot needles. His nerves feel open to the air, every brush of the wind on his skin like lightning shooting through his body. Overwhelmed. He’s so overwhelmed.

“I just want to be held,” he finally whispers, and the absolute devastation in his voice threatens to break what little composure is left in that tent. 

“I think I can do that,” you return, smiling softly. You let him take the lead, laying back on the soft bedroll beneath, waiting for him to decide what he wants to do. He sits beside you, cautious. He is raw and he is new, shivering from his overworked nerves, cold from the overpowering feeling of sweet blood in his body. 

Gently, Astarion lays his head down on your chest and tenses, unsure of what to do. When was the last time he was gifted a moment to just rest? To just lay in the arms of another? He can’t remember, and thus, he can’t even remember how to relax. He shifts uncomfortably where he lays, trying to find some position where his arm isn’t falling asleep. You give no protest, patient as he rearranges himself. Finally, he finds something suitable and goes back to resting his head on your chest. 

“I can stay as long as you’d like me to,” you offer, your voice reverberating through your body, before you both fall quiet.

In the silence, Astarion listens to the powerful thrum of your heart, the way it beats in rhythm to an unsung tune. He hears the air constrict in your lungs when he first rests his head upon you, before you let out a deep, comforting sigh. Crickets chirp in a jovial dissonance beyond the fabric of the tent and a wolf howls sorrowfully somewhere in the distance. 

Astarion can still taste the metal of your blood on his tongue. He can smell it rushing through your veins, nourishing and enticing. It mingles with the faint smell of whatever makes you you, whatever pleasant natural musk you have that has become so comfortingly familiar over the months. The curling smoke of the fire outside has woven itself into your clothing, though it is not unpleasant in scent. 

Astarion glances up at you from where he lays, studying your serene face. Your eyes are closed, eyelashes feathering shadows on your cheeks. Your mouth is parted ever so slightly as you doze, lips evoking pleasant memories of the way they’ve felt against his skin in nights past. He lets his eyes rove for a moment, searching the tent ceiling as if he’ll find something particularly interesting up there. He doesn’t, except for a small hole he’ll have to patch, come morning. Though, it is nice to see a couple twinkling stars peeking through the broken fabric. 

As his eyes flutter shut, Astarion feels the heat from your body, cozy and benevolent. He presses further into you, wanting desperately to feel your closeness. In response, your arm wraps around him, pulling him nearer. Your nails tickle his back as you rub small circles into it. Snowy ringlets caress his forehead when a breeze picks up the fine strands of his hair. The earth beneath him isn’t terribly comfortable, but between you and the bedroll, he doesn’t much care. 

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion thinks he might feel peace. It’s very possible, he decides, that in this quiet moment, he feels safe. In your arms, he could let down his defenses. Wrapped in your warmth, Astarion could allow himself to be vulnerable. 

He slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers, quietly whispering that he’d like it if you stayed the rest of the night.

"Also, if you could possibly not tell the others about this?" he adds, somewhat jokingly, "Can't let them think I've gone soft."

"Your secret's safe with me," you chuckle, before smiling softly at him and pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. He lets the feeling wash over him, calm and comfort him. When his body settles, when his mind finally manages to quiet, Astarion lets his eyelids fall shut. He lets you envelope him in your embrace. He lets himself sleep, knowing he’s safe with you. Astarion lets himself dream, and they’re the first pleasant dreams he’s had in centuries.  

A/N: I normally do a banner for my fics, but I really wanted to use this gif I had made of one of my favorite Astarion cutscenes. It's where he admits to Tav that they're the first "thinking creature," as he puts it, that he's ever drank from. The line delivery is incredible, the way Astarion looks away is so heartbreaking and endearing. This small moment of vulnerability is one of the first ones we see from him and it just feels so special. I wanted to write a fic exploring how he might feel in regards to Tav letting him have the freedom of feeding from them. And I wanted to explore the idea that Astarion might find it odd if Tav doesn't expect anything in return. There's a later line in one of his cutscenes where he's very obviously self-conscious about the fact that he and Tav haven't been intimate in a while. His sense of self and value is so contingent on the fact that his body has been used for two hundred years. I wanted to write something for Astarion that would give him a peace, gentility, and rest, without sexual intimacy. Anyway, I could ramble on and on about this forever. Perhaps I need to make a longer post about it, so I'll get on that.

[archfeyreveries]

He will not be denied

Raphael had finally claimed the Crown of Karsus, a relic of unimaginable power, though it was not by Tav's hand. Her scornful refusal to aid him in his pursuit still burned deep within him, a slight he would never allow to go unanswered. Tav had dismissed and betrayed him as if he were a mere nuisance—a grave mistake she would soon come to regret. Raphael was not one to be cast aside lightly. By all the seething flames of Hell, he would not be denied. Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav Content: NSFW | BDSM | Humiliation kink | Rough | Dirty talk | Creampie | TW: Kind of non-con Author's note: My first smut on this cursed website and fandom. Hahaha I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed; I aimed as an exercise to keep it concise, wrapping everything up in a short, intense story (three chapters max). Enjoy and I do appreciate feedback. <3

Raphael, ever the cunning manipulator, devised a plan to isolate Tav from her allies. Employing his most potent illusion magic, he crafted a series of convincing visions that preyed upon Tav’s deepest fears and insecurities. Over the course of several days, Tav began to notice subtle but unsettling changes in her companions—whispers behind her back, furtive glances, and unexplained absences that chipped away at her trust.

The final blow came when Tav overheard a conversation, seemingly between her most trusted allies, where they coldly discussed handing her over to Raphael in exchange for their own desires. The illusion was flawless; their voices dripped with deceit and cruel calculation, leaving Tav’s heart shattered and her resolve hardened.

Convinced of their betrayal, Tav felt she had no choice but to confront Raphael on her own terms, hoping to strike a deal or end the threat once and for all. Fueled by anger and despair, she stormed into his lair, determined to face him. But the moment she crossed the threshold, the illusion unraveled, revealing the bitter truth: her companions had never betrayed her—everything had been a lie, a meticulously crafted trap woven by Raphael. And as the horrifying realization dawned, Tav found herself immobilized by chains and bound by blood to the devil.

That was over a week ago.

She struggled against her restraints, her thoughts a maelstrom of self-loathing and fury, until a familiar scent wafted through the chamber—a sickening blend of sulfur, musk, and the sweet tang of cherries. The master of the house had arrived, relishing the sight of Tav bound in chains, savoring every moment of her torment.

"Why the sour mood, my dear little lamb? I see you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament. Perhaps I could offer a remedy?"

Tav glared at the devil, her wrists and ankles bound in thick, cold chains that dug into her flesh, preventing even the slightest movement. She was immobilized, utterly at his mercy—a fact that filled her with equal parts rage and fear.

"You’re the reason I’m in this predicament" she spat, her voice laced with cold contempt.

"How ungracious" Raphael huffed, crossing his arms with a mock pout. "I wasn’t the one who chose to stray from the path. You had every opportunity to make a different choice, and yet here you are—bound, chained, entirely at my mercy. Did you truly believe I needed your help to claim what is rightfully mine? How could you ever be so delightfully foolish?"

Tav’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with bitter defiance. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I won’t give you the satisfaction of tormenting me."

"Torment you?" Raphael laughed, a deep rumble from his throat, "I'm not going to torment you, dearest. You have the distinct honor of being the first to serve the Archdevil Supreme of this era —body and soul. I chose you, and you shall serve me well."

Raphael stepped closer, his clawed finger tracing along Tav's jawline with deliberate slowness. She shuddered under his touch, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through her—no, it was something far more insidious, a dark anticipation that gnawed at her resolve.

"Do not fret" Raphael murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I’ll be gentle… if you behave. As I said, this is an honor."

He stepped back, his wings fluttering behind him, and his tail swaying lazily as if in rhythm with some infernal melody only he could hear.

"Kneel" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

"I will not—" Tav began, but before she could finish, her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, her knees slamming against the cold stone, the chains clinking ominously as her limbs were pulled taut against her sides.

"Do not defy me" Raphael spoke softly, yet his words carried a weight that pressed down on her like a physical force. His hands remained clasped behind his back, a sly grin curling across his lips. "Good girl."

Tav’s eyes blazed with fury and confusion. "What have you done to me?!" she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls.

"I did nothing" Raphael replied, crouching down to meet her gaze, his tail swaying with lazy arrogance. "You did this to yourself. Your actions brought you here, to your knees, where you belong—begging for forgiveness, for mercy." He chuckled, the sound a cruel mockery that cut through her like a blade. "But I am not in the business of mercy."

"I don’t care" Tav hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I will not beg. I will not break. Do whatever you want with me."

Raphael’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Oh, but I will. I will do everything, and more. I will break you, and you will come to love every moment of it. You will be mine. All mine. Mine alone."

With a snap of his fingers, the chains around her ankles vanished, and Tav’s legs moved forward of their own accord.

"Stand. Do not move." Raphael ordered.

Tav rose to her feet, her hands still bound behind her back, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and a growing, unwelcome desire. Raphael stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and grabbed her hair roughly, his sharp nails digging into her scalp.

"Open your mouth. Wider. Wider" he commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tav obeyed, her jaw dropping as her lips parted, her tongue visible, wet and trembling. Raphael’s gaze darkened with lust as he licked his lips hungrily. Without warning, he spat on her face, the warm saliva splattering across her mouth and cheek.

Tav recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust, but she could do nothing—her body remained frozen in place, her mind reeling from the humiliation and the dark, twisted pleasure that coursed through her veins. His cock twitched with her reaction.

"Now," Raphael murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer as he gazed down at her with a mixture of amusement and dark desire, "Lick it off your pretty face."

Tav hesitated, her defiance flickering in her eyes like a dying flame, but she could feel her resolve slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his command. Slowly, she extended her tongue, tracing the path of his spit across her flushed cheek, each movement a reluctant act of submission. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing in her ears as her skin burned with humiliation.

Raphael’s chuckle was a low, rumbling purr, his gaze never leaving her face as she continued. "That’s it, my sweet" he whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Savor it"

Tav’s movements became more deliberate, her tongue sweeping across her skin with increasing confidence, lapping up every trace of his saliva. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in her submission with a hunger that made her pulse race. As she flicked her tongue across her lips, tasting the remnants of his essence, a shiver ran down her spine.

"Good" Raphael purred, his hand releasing her hair to caress her cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "You learn fast, mouse. Now, let us see how much more you’re willing to do to please me."

CHAPTER 2 >

[pupmkincake2000]

As I said earlier, I'm currently playing Astarion origin, and to be honest, he seems a little ok (too ooc, however, because I am always a good guy) but there are some things that give me pause. However, this is a slightly different story, so… the main topic is that scene with magic now.

I still consider Astarion of the first act to be selfish, manipulative and generally not a good person, pursuing only personal gain and only caring about his own safety (but who is capable of changing under the influence of friends or his love interest in other acts) tho I can agree that he would have tried to seduce Gale anyway. Since I prefer a world without Tav, Gale would be the best option, although Astarion would have to work hard to seduce him. Because Gale seems to be not the one into one night stands (and…I see him bottoming). And imagine them getting to know each other better right during all these seduction attempts. I love this moment when you catch Gale in a vulnerable position and he literally opens up to you and talks so enthusiastically about the weave and magic…

Imagine when Gale invites Astarion to feel the weave, and Astarion says “yes” just so he can have more chances in seducing the wizard. And he doesn’t expect he will like it so much. All these warm pleasant sensations

"you feel something strange like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time. It's warm and comfortable."

I think for Astarion, who hardly experienced anything like this in the last two hundred years of his slavery, this would be a small miracle. A long-forgotten feeling of love and comfort, and Gale is the one who brought this feeling back, at least for a moment.

a "feeling of well-being"

a "feeling of being safe"

No, I mean it, just imagine how his feelings for Gale could change in just one moment! And Astarion, who was only thinking about how to quickly seduce him and use him, suddenly imagines this “concept of complete harmony”

a strange feeling of anticipation of a kiss, followed by peace.

A peace he hadn't felt for years.

It seems to me that it was the very moment when Astarion would have realized he no longer wanted to seduce Gale, because just sex would no longer be enough, not when Gale looked at him with such eyes.

Most likely this is not love yet, but the beginning of it. Moreover,

“the weave connects you. A momant feels intimate”

And Astarion, completely unexpectadly, imagines kissing Gale (a guy he wnted to use) tenderly and passionately, and there is no lust in this kiss, there is passion in it, that bright, long-forgotten feeling of love. But an even greater surprise for him would be that Gale, the one who did not take his seduction seriously, was not at all opposed to kissing back, moreover, this thought arouses no less delight in him. I think Astrion will have a lot to think about after this.

And Gale’s phrase “it’s amazing how easily what we managed to get with such difficulty eludes us” will stay in his head for a long time. And let’s not forget about “a furtive glance, a sudden flutter of the heart… Sometimes little things are worth more than entire kingdoms.” This is not only a good idea for their story, but also describes a possible relationship. After such words, Astarion will no longer be able to perceive him as someone whom he simply wanted to use or seduce. From now on he wants this man for himself. And this will most likely scare him, but only for a short moment.

[cambion-companion]

can i request Raphael's reaction to, what even he can tell, is true affection from Tav?😭

But of course, thank you for the prompt my love!

I know you want this to be a more fluffy drabble and I will to my utmost to curb Raphael and deliver

Raphael certainly didn't know what to make of you, that much was certain. In an effort to dissuade your growing familiarity, he had taken to wearing his much more intimidating cambion form more often.

Much to his chagrin, that only seemed to increase your desire to be near him.

"Might I remind you," Raphael gave you an incredulous look as you slid into Mol's vacated seat, beginning to reset the Lanceboard. "I am a devil, my dear." He waved an airy hand in your direction. "I don't take part in such frivolous displays."

"Hmm?" You said, feigning ignorance, cutting him a furtive glance. "It must say a lot that you're some of the most tolerable company I've happened across."

"You certainly did not 'happen across' me." Raphael shook his head at you, his brows angling sharply. He decided to indulge you, his little mouse and readjusted in his seat and pondered his first move. "Very well. Though don't expect lenience."

"Never." You said with a slight laugh. You watched him smile some in response and felt giddy.

He was watching you, ever so closely. The usual sharp cunning behind those brown eyes. However, by his own deceitful design or not, you saw a hint of another emotion: fondness perhaps.

You made your move on the board, keenly aware he was going to beat you soundly. "It must get lonely at times, even for a devil, to never experience affection."

For the first time since meeting, you got the sense your words had actually surprised him. He huffed a bemused sigh. "I have no desire nor time for such mortal trivialities. You cannot begin to conceive the workings of my mind." He made a move, checking your king.

"I could conceive a lot of things." You said, not bothering to guard your most important piece. "All I ask is more of your time, Raphael."

Raphael's answering laugh was long and rather abrasive. "Such an eager little thing. Darling, really. I admit to not knowing quite what to make of you, pet." He leant forward over the table after thoroughly checkmating you. "Such an eager client should be well rewarded after all."

[ladiemars]

Bee gee 3 hot take incoming:

I don’t think Wyll is a virgin. I don’t think he has a ton of “experience” because he’s young and when he got banished he was even younger but still. It kind of drives me nuts when people talk about him like he’s a “uwu so innocent and so shy and so new to it all <3”

i 100% agree with you. he is so suave and spent the last seven years traveling the sword coast, probably staying at seedy inns and saving (extremely grateful 😏) locals. he fucks.

to be fair to people who believe he's a virgin, he does say "i still keep faith in the old tales of love, the once-upon-a-times and the happily-ever-afters." i can totally see how they might think he's saving himself for marriage. but i think they're wrong. (sorry!)

my interpretation of this line is different. "keep faith" means to believe in something even when it's difficult to do so. i imagine his relationships over the past seven years, if they can even be called that, have been fast and furtive. he was never able to have the true love he yearned for, but he continued to believe it was out there despite that because he's an innate optimist.

now that he's found love with tav, he wants to properly woo them. i don't think that makes him virginal or inexperienced. actually, he kind of reminds me of when people in their 20s or 30s leave hookup culture and start looking for a marriage partner. they know their exact wants and needs, and they don't fear commitment because they've already done everything.

[spacesquidlings]

He's Never Tried To Be A Saint

Description: Although their romance had not started as innocently as she had thought it would, Aspen looks back on each moment shared with her beloved fondly. Perhaps too fondly, because he wants her attention focused on the present, on him now.

Warnings: NSFW (softcore sex scene), mentions of blood

Notes: Hello!!! Here's my second attempt at a fic featuring Astarion. I've gone ahead and officially named my Tav as Aspen (I thought it was pretty and I just love a plant name) as a heads up!!! This is sort of my reimagining of snippets of their relationship up until a sort of nebulous period after the end of his story quest (story route??? after he's confessed). Please only read if you're 18+ as this does have a sex scene pretty early on

*********************************

The first time Aspen had made love had been when Astarion had come to her in the dark of the forest.

Well, she’d considered it love, but to him it had just been sex, nothing but animal, empty sex.

She hadn’t even come with the intent of doing anything, she’d only wanted to apologize, to explain to him that she would be the most horrible of partners, that she was a virgin, that she was utterly unsuitable for him. And she’d tried, when he’d emerged from between the trees, his words dripping in seductive charm. She’d rambled aimlessly as his brow had creased, fluttering her hands before she’d managed one final apology and scurried away.

Tried to scurry away, anyways. He’d reached out as she’d attempted to hurry past, snagging her arm and drawing her close, her chest pressed against his.

He’d said a few sweet words, murmuring softly as he’d brushed her hair back from her face, the pads of his fingers sketching across the line of her jaw, over the rounded curves of her ears. He’d told her that he did want her, truly, and that it only meant he would have to be gentler, that her standards would be set very high.

He’d pressed his lips to her throat, and she had felt his smile against her skin as her pulse had thrummed furiously. She’d felt the scrape of his teeth, but he hadn’t bitten her, instead peppering languid kisses down to her collarbone. Then he’d taken her hand, guiding her to a little spot he’d set up, complete with a bed roll and wine and a few pretty candles she hadn’t known he’d gotten his hands on.

Looking back on it, Aspen couldn’t help smiling just a little. For all his machinations at the time, he’d waited until she’d given him a definite yes, until she’d been absolutely willing to let him have his way with her body. She’d already fallen in love with him before then, and as the night had stretched before her, infinite, with no dawn in sight, she’d somehow tumbled even further.

He’d offered her wine, and he’d spoken with such softness, and as she’d begun to melt beneath the weight of his attentions he had touched her chastely. Fingertips grazing her cheek, palms running along her arms, lips pressed to the flutter of her pulse.

It wasn’t something she’d said aloud, but rather something she had scribbled furtively in her journal when she’d realized she was already in freefall, but she’d been in love with him then. Even after she’d learned this moment had been a part of a scheme, a revelation that had pierced her heart and had made her eyes burn even as he’d admitted that it had meant something to him, loath as he’d been to admit it at the time. Still she’d loved him, had loved him more by then, and the quiet moments that first time before he’d stripped her of her clothes and had filled her body were still held precious as a dark jewel cradled between her palms.

Even once he’d received his ‘yes’ he had been gentler than she had thought he would be. There was always a rowdiness about him, a sharpness that had made her assume he would be rougher. And he had been, somewhat, as he’d pushed her to the ground, leaves pricking at her bare skin. But he had been gentle too, as his hands had skimmed her curves, as he had pushed apart her thighs, fingers sinking into her soft skin as he’d brought his mouth down to her core. He’d spoken softly, his words like feathers grazing across her skin, as he’d coaxed sighs from her lips.

His pace had picked up the more sound she’d made, her sighs turning to moans, his name a desperate prayer on her lips, a plea. She’d had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying anything else, knowing her traitorous heart would certainly cry out that she’d loved him.

So she’d settled on his name, and it had become the only thing she’d been able to think of as he’d filled her over and over, as his teeth had pierced her neck, her mind growing fuzzy from desire and blood loss.

When she’d awoken the following day she’d been sore, her head swimming, a headache beginning to form behind her eyes. And yet her heart had been so full, and there had been hope pooling in her belly. Hope that perhaps it had meant something to him, perhaps that night had meant they could be something, together.

Astarion had evidently been thinking something entirely differently, speaking casually to her, standing far from where she’d been curled up on the forest floor. She’d had thought perhaps they would cuddle together for a while yet, the day still so young the sunshine was watery and soft as it wove between the trembling leaves in greens and reds and golds. Although why she’d thought such a thing was beyond her; despite the tenderness that he’d shown the night before, he was all cool business now. He’d been the same man who’d delighted in violent displays and oceans of gore, he wasn’t exactly the cuddling type.

He’d instructed her to dress with the efficiency of a soldier, quickly lacing his own shirt to hide the red marks she’d left on his chest before packing up the accoutrements of his seduction. Then she’d been ushered back to camp, his teasing voice caught in the wind, whispering that all their comrades probably knew of their tryst from the sounds she had made.

The hope she’d carried had sputtered, but she’d clung to it all the tighter, refusing to let it fray. Astarion could have had anyone in the camp, all of their comrades powerful and skilled and beautiful and utterly terrifying. She’d supposed there was something to be said for her being an easy mark, but surely there had been something more to it than that.

He’d begun spending more time with her after that, flitting around her more and more often with each passing day. He’d used new pet names whenever they spoke that made her toes curl, had seemed willing to divulge some of the details of his past to her, trusting her to listen as he’d told her the horrors he had endured. And then he’d begun searching her out after they’d set up camp, for more than just her blood although he had never admitted it. He’d be near when they travelled, barely a breath from her side whenever she’d looked

Aspen had tried convincing herself that surely he was only toying with her, and yet she’d let herself hope, anyways. She’d let her heart fill with warmth at the sight of him, at every absurd thing he said, at every half-smile he offered her when they spoke in the shadows of the night. More than a few times she’d even let herself be led far from the glow of the fire and the eyes of their companions, melting into his arms as he’d promised to show her more wondrous things.

As if there had been anything more wondrous than him.

He’d never hold her afterwards though, seeming to draw a line between them that he was unwilling to cross. Neither had he ever shown any casual affections, no tangling fingers or backs of hands brushing together or small embraces. Sometimes he’d sit near her as she’d kept watch overnight, but there had always been space between them, as if he had been scared of what would happen if they’d touched.

Like the roots of a flower towards water, Aspen had felt drawn to him, a magnetic pull that had her swaying close without much thought. So all-encompassing had the need to be close to him become by that point that some nights she’d thought she would cry. Others she’d thought she would scream at him, tell him to leave her be, her heart unable to handle whatever it was that he was doing to it. She had not been able to withstand his scheme, whatever it had been, and she had thought she would certainly die from it.

She’d done none of those things, instead forcing herself to take a few steps away, to remind herself that it was likely a relationship was nothing he would ever want. She’d never tasted the bittersweetness of love before, but she’d known she’d needed to shove it down, only allowing it free in the confines of the small journal she’d had with her.

So she’d contented herself with being his friend, with sharing scraps of the night before someone traded watch-duty with her and she’d been able to rest, with talking and never touching, with rolling her eyes at the silly names he came up with, the even sillier things he’d said.

And then…

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.”

The truth had come out, his eyes glowing carmine from the light cast across his face by the fire, his brow wrinkled in consternation, his voice cracking with anxiety as he’d come clean.

At first he had reminded her of a penitent, as if he were begging forgiveness. Sadness had been etched into the lines of his face, but his eyes had shone with something more than firelight. Burgeoning hope, unfurling like a night blooming flower beneath the silver of the moon.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

The piercing wound torn through her heart had been quickly stitched together as words had spilled from his lips, a dam to his own heart that had been torn asunder.

Hands shaking, heart stumbling like a child learning to walk, Aspen wasn’t sure if she’d taken even one breath as he’d spoken. As he’d confessed.

“I care for you.” She still did not know how she’d managed to say the words without tears, her bottom lip wobbling, her voice sounding breathless.

His eyes had widened at her own quiet confession, at the admission that had been lurking in her heart, curled up like a hibernating bear.

Her body moved of its own accord then, her arms wrapping around him, holding him close. She’d felt him tense, his breath catching. And then so slowly she hadn’t been sure if she was dreaming, his arms encircled her waist, his head nestling into the crook of her neck. She’d held him as tight as she’d dared, trying to put all her love into the embrace, trying to draw away all loathing he felt for himself, all the fear.

“What do you want to do?” She’d asked quietly, her cheek cushioned on his shoulder.

“I… I don’t know.” He’d murmured his response against her skin before she’d stepped away. She could have held him for an eternity, but she’d also known he’d needed his space still, that whatever was being spun between them was delicate as gossamer thread, and that it would take time until it was stronger than iron.

For a moment he’d looked like he’d chase after her, gather her in his arms once more. But he’d relaxed, a contented smile spreading across his face, more real than anything she’d seen before. And there, in his eyes, that tentative hope growing, blooming until it seemed to set his face alight.

The memory of it all was like sugar melting on her tongue, the shining parts of it that had warmed her heart like sunlight reflecting off water. It flowed through her mind, and she could see it clear as she could make out the trees closest to their camp. His hand reaching for hers, holding it as though she were made of glass as he breathed his next words, forever ingrained in her heart.

“Where have you gone, love?” She startled at the sudden intrusion into her daydreaming, the memories torn like ripped tapestries from the forefront of her mind.

She blinked, looking to the side as Astarin settled his chin on her shoulder. The corners of his lips were quirked up in a half-smile as his arms came around her waist.

“Well?”

She frowned. “Well, what?”

Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes as he squeezed her tighter. “Darling, you’re lucky I love you, because you’re not always the brightest.”

She scoffed, trying to wriggle free from his hold. “If you’re just going to insult me, I’m going to go somewhere else.”

“Well no, I don’t want that.” He snickered at her vain attempt to escape. “Don’t go, my love, I’d only wanted to know where your mind had gone.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she looked away. If she told him she’d been thinking about him, about them together and the parts of their early relationship she’d blindly hoped he’d return his affections, she would most certainly die. He’d likely tease her about it terribly, not giving her a moment’s rest for the remainder of the night.

Astarion huffed, and she was reminded of a petulant toddler stamping his foot when he didn’t get his way. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just a little tired,” she mumbled, chewing on the corner of her lip, hoping he didn’t notice her flush.

“Hmmm.” He lifted one hand to her face, humming as he slowly tilted it to the side, his eyes bright with mischief. “Just as I thought. Darling, you’re blushing.”

She shivered at the way he drawled the final word, his lips curving up, looking like a villain as he held her fast against him. “I’m not, I’m just a bit warm.”

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t lie to me, I can see right through you. You’re red as blood.”

“And?”

“Well, I’d just like to know what’s made you blush so.” He was grinning so broadly now she could make out the sharp points of his incisors. His voice softened, nothing more than a sensual murmur as he brought his lips to her ear. “And I do hope it’s about me. There’s almost nothing I love more than making you blush.”

If she whined then he would win, but if she did nothing then he would continue to tease her until she did whine, and she could not come up with a witty rejoinder to save her life.

“Fine,” he said, barely a moment later. “Keep your secrets.”

His arms started to loosen as he drew away, but Aspen spun around to take hold of him once more. “Wait!”

An ivory brow arched, and he cocked his head to the side, still smirking. “Whatever is the matter, pet?”

Her voice was small as she spoke, and she was unable to meet his eyes, even as they bored into her. “I was just thinking about you.”

That seemed to surprise him, air passing from his lips before he could respond. “About me?”

She shuffled her feet. “Yes.”

Astarion recovered quickly, once more looking every bit like a handsome devil, delighting in as much chaos as he could sow. “And what about me exactly were you thinking of?”

She pouted. “Isn’t it enough that I’m thinking about you, even when you’re right here?”

“I certainly hope you’re thinking of me.” He rested his hands on her hips, his thumb idly stroking her side. “I want you to think of me every day. I want to be a part of your dreams, pet.”

A nervous giggle bubbled from her lips, and Astarion grinned, seeming pleased with her response.

“But,” he continued. “Right now I would like you to be in the present. I’d like you focused on me now.”

“Has something happened?” She stood on her toes to peer over him, sweeping her gaze across the camp as she looked for any signs of danger. Had he found something? Heard something?

“Nothing so serious.” He stepped in her line of sight, coaxing her down from her toes so he was all she could see once again. “I’d only wanted you to come sit with me. Everyone else has gone off to sleep, and well…” He trailed off, some of the mischief in his eyes replaced by something more tender, something that warmed her heart to see.

Aspen relaxed her hold on him, smoothing her hands over his shirt where she’d been grasping it. “I’d be happy to, love.”

“I would hope so,” he teased, but the gentleness with which he took her hand did not escape her notice, undercutting his airy tone. “Considering I seem to occupy even your waking thoughts when I’m not nearby.”

They settled near the fire, more for Aspen’s sake than his. She was prone to getting cold easily, and the light made it easier for her to stay awake as she kept watch. For a while they only chatted, speaking of trivial things that didn’t much matter. But she liked the cadence of his voice, liked the way his hands danced in the air as he spoke, and he seemed happy enough to oblige.

The day had been long, though, and it was inevitable that they would lapse into silence. The night was alive with the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of insects and the keening of the wind, and the sounds filled the empty spaces left by their voices.

“Aspen,” he said after some time, peeking up at her from beneath his lashes. He was stroking her hand, seeming to struggle to find his words.

“What is it, my love?” She brushed a curl of hair away from his brow, and his eyes tracked the movement.

He cursed, grabbing hold of her hand before it fell away. “You’re making me soft, Aspen. I think you might be the death of me.”

She blanched, frozen even as heat spilled through her veins as he brought her hand to his lips, delicate kisses pressing against her fingers. “I don’t want to be the death of you.”

The smile he gave her in response was small, gentle as the first light of day. “I’m already dead, darling. Although perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?”

His breath tickled her palm as he laughed, planting one final kiss to her hand before setting it down. “It’s nothing, love…” His brow furrowed as he trailed off, seeming to steel himself. “Although, I was wondering if you’d allow me to, um.”

Catching him tongue-tied was a rare treat, although Aspen was more interested in learning what he was trying to say rather than teasing him for a momentary lapse in his eloquence. “What would you like me to do, love?”

He sighed, shaking his head. His nose wrinkled, and he looked almost annoyed with himself. “I was wondering if you might hold me, just for a while.”

“Oh my love.” Not even the magic of an enchantment could make her feel such a way as she did now. Her heart was so full she feared it would burst, blood spilling through the spaces between her ribs, her veins running dry as she drowned in this love. “Of course I can. For as long as you want.”

He let her draw him close as she laid back, his head cushioned against her chest. His hair tickled the underside of her chin and her throat, but she didn’t mind. It was soft, and he let her run her fingers through his curls as he settled.

“How’s this?” She wrapped her free arm around his waist as she continued to play with his hair, holding him just a little tighter.

He nestled closer. “I like it. This is nice.”

“I like it, too.” She pressed her lips to the top of his head, sighing. “I like holding you.”

“In that case I’ll make sure to ask this of you as often as I can.”

“I’d like that a lot.”

They lay in silence, Astarion a comforting weight on her chest. She rested her cheek against the top of his head, twisting her fingers into the soft, wispy curls at the nape of his neck.

“Aspen?” He broke the silence with a gentle sigh in the shape of her name.

“Yes, love?”

“Make sure you’re focusing on me right now, not whatever you’d been daydreaming about earlier.”

She stifled a laugh. “But I already told you, I’d been thinking about you.”

“Well focus on me, the real me, alright? I don’t want to share your attentions with anyone else, not even the me in your head.”

She didn’t bother stifling her laugh this time. “Of course, love. I’m all yours.”

“Good.” He sighed, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. “And Aspen?”

She hummed in answer as she trailed her fingers down the back of his neck.

“I love you.”

The words were whispered so softly they would have been swept away by the wind had she not felt their reverberations in her bones. She held him tighter, buried her face in his hair, breathing in the smell of rosemary and bergamot that always clung to him beneath the sweat and dirt and blood.

“I love you, too.”

He sighed, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t get all sappy on me.”

“You started it!”

He chuckled. “I really do love you.”

“How is that not sappy?”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I wanted to say it all the same.”

Aspen was the one sighing now, sketching her hand down the ridge of his spine before gliding her hand back up to his neck. “And I love you, terribly. With all my heart in fact.”

“Gods help me.” But she knew he was smiling, knew he was pleased from how he tightened his arms around her, holding her tight.

Aspen settled once more, humming as she played with his hair, listening to the sound of his steady breaths, smiling to herself. Perhaps he was the cuddling type after all.

[amorgansgal]

Oh the indulgence! The sheer, unmitaged, indulgence of it all! Wrote another little fic for Gale x Lilith (my tav) because I am a sucker for a happy ending and I love the idea of them eventually thinking about having a baby together. There is some smut right from the oft, so you have been warned!

Gale x Named Female Tav (Lilith)

CW: Sexual content, discussions of pregnancy/conceiving, breeding kink hint

The desk jolted and shifted under her belly and she clung to the edge, her fingers curled amongst papers and she let out a hopeless whimper as Gale’s mage hand easily teased her clit, bring her to another sweet, delicious orgasm. Gale’s fingers tightened on her hips, where her dress was pooled around her, he groaned at the sensation of her pussy clenching around him and pressed his chest against her back. He frantically tugged down her sleeves, so he could press kisses to her back and shoulders and neck. A few more panting groans and thrusts and Gale came deeply inside her, he pressed his cock against her cervix. He rolled his hips a few more times, as though chasing every little bit of pleasure, until he stilled and rested against Lilith’s back.

‘You are perfect,’ he murmured. ‘So good, so wonderfully good.’

Lilith turned her head and they shared a few messy, misaligned kisses that made Gale laugh breathlessly and continue his work kissing her cheek, her earlobe, the back of her neck. He thrust slowly again, his lips trailing down her spine, mumbling away. She smiled listening to him, he couldn’t help talking even after sex. 

‘... going to fill you up, make you mine entirely, so everyone will know, going to make you fat with-’ he suddenly stopped himself and glanced at her furtively, almost guiltily. He pulled out quickly and Lilith couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of him. He made quick work of cleaning himself up and tucking himself away, then raised his hand to begin the magic to do the same for her, but she caught hold of his hand.

‘Don’t you want me to…? Or are you going to bathe?’ he asked, but stopped when she pulled back on the underwear that had been caught around her ankles. Lilith had to stop herself from laughing when she saw how easily his eyes fixed on the material, a little damp spot forming from his cum. She could read the lust all over his face. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he bit his lip hard. 

‘Wouldn’t want any of it to spill out,” she said. Gale let out a very faint, almost pained whimper. He shook his head distractedly and began work on picking up some scattered paperwork that had fallen to the floor during their passionate tryst!

‘Damnable witch!’ he muttered. ‘Magic, witchy woman with magic hips and able to leave me thoughtless and breathless! No wonder Tara complains about us, and you made me scatter these essays my students wrote, so now I’ll have to figure out which atrocious conclusion goes with which awful beginning…!’

Lilith smoothed down her skirts and took a seat on the oak desk. ‘What did you mean by ‘making me fat with’...?’

‘Uh… nothing, nothing, it was just… something that popped up in my head. I didn’t mean anything by it, you know me…’

He was close enough that she could press her foot against his chest, forcing him to stop scrambling around for the papers and he had to look at her. She smiled seeing the flush on his cheeks. ‘Gale, do you want to get me pregnant?’

‘I… well… hm… Did you used to interrogate all the folks you would go after like this?’

She laughed. ‘Answer the question, little wizard!’

‘Little!’ he got to his feet, outraged, though now she could wrap her legs around his hips again, her tail helping to wrap around his back and bring him close. ‘I’ll have you know that on an evening when us gentlemen all went to bathe, Astarion said I was rather well endowed for a wizard!’

Lilith snorted with laughter, but grabbed hold of his shirt material and kissed him before he could argue further. ‘I didn’t know you all went for a swim, wish I could’ve been there. I’m sure Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel and I would’ve happily watched from the shore. But, tell me truthfully, do you want to have a baby?’

Gale paused, one of his hands came to her shoulder and rubbed a strand of her black hair between his fingers. He seemed to be thinking hard about it. ‘Maybe. I was always a little nervous about the idea. I didn’t think I would make for a very good father, but perhaps if I had the right person to have a baby with...’

‘Well, I think being nervous about the idea is good. It means you would care for them, you’d want the best for them,’ Lilith smiled as he remained focused on stroking her hair. ‘Am I the right person?’

His eyes flicked to her immediately. ‘Yes, of course. You’d be a wonderful mother, without doubt.’

‘Hmm, a mother who was a thief and a sellsword, I’m not sure about your estimations-’

‘And a mother who saved Baldur’s Gate, stopped the Dead Three, the Netherbrain and more impressively stopped Gale Dekarios from being an idiot all over again with his foolish ideas about pursuing power! I think you’re standing in better stead to be a good mother than I would be a good-’

She stopped him from speaking further with another kiss and gently cupped his face. ‘We both stopped the Netherbrain and saved Baldur’s Gate. And I think if we can do that, then hopefully a baby will be a little easier!’

He chuckled softly, then looked at her with such beautiful, tremulous hope and an excited smile on his lips. ‘You think we should then? Have a child?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she replied and laughed when he kissed her enthusiastically all over again.

[alleiradayne]

Breaking the Cycle

"This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it."

The first time he says it, Astarion has no idea what a gift actually is. Oh sure, he's lavished his targets with expensive baubles and wooed them with poetic praise and pleasured them with all sorts of depraved debauchery. But a true gift? Something given with no expectation of anything in return? It's not like he can remember when someone did that for him...

But the cruel irony here is Tav did give him a gift. It doesn't matter that Astarion is on auto-pilot, the rote manipulation so scripted for him after two centuries, he doesn't even need to think about it. So when Tav gives him this gift of understanding, compassion, and care, his immediate reaction is to say this witty manipulative quip, and move on to the next play.

Except he doesn't know what the next play is anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes exactly what Tav did for him. And it bothers him. It rankles him for days, keeps him up at night. It's the perfect system interrupt he needed. Not that he knows that. At first, he thinks Tav is trying to outplay him, manipulate the manipulator. Oh, he'll show them. Nobody manipulates Astarion, not anymore. He'll have Tav wrapped around his pinky finger so well that, by the time they realize it, it'll be too late.

But Tav's not a manipulator. At least, not when it comes to Astarion. The next move is flattery dressed in the most purple prose, those lustful lines he's perfected over the years. And he's aroused. He hates that. But if he's going to seal this deal with Tav, claim them so he never has to worry about their betrayal ever again, he has to sleep with them. And he does. And Tav thoroughly enjoys themselves.

That makes it even worse. Because normally, after that, he sends his marks on to their death. He never has to look at them again.

Again, it's another major system interrupt. Tav's right there in camp to look him in the eye the next morning. He has to live with them now, live with their smiles and flirting and furtive glances. He wonders if Tav saw it the night before; the distant stare that glazed his eyes as his consciousness fled the scene...

It'll never happen again. Tav is essentially in his pocket, so all he has to do now is keep up pretenses, kill Cazador, then get rid of this damned parasite in his brain bucket...

That plan quickly unravels. It catches him off guard, which is so unlike him. The first time Tav defends him, he's stunned into silence. They stand up for him. Step aside so he can speak for himself once he's found his voice again. Tav tells him he's pretty when he complains about the mirror. Draws out his scar on his back in the dirt for him to see it.

And that's it. Tav sees him when no one else does. It's kind of a fun-house-of-mirrors effect. Astarion knows what he sees in himself and it's not what Tav sees at all. They reflect him back to him, and it's the first time anyone's done that for him in centuries with any shred of honesty.

Time and again, Tav proves him wrong. He sits with these events as they occur, terrified of what they might mean. Of what he wants them to mean. Of what he needs them to mean.

He starts questioning himself after meeting Ketheric. Maybe it was something about seeing the man catching an axe with his chest, dying, and coming back to life. Maybe it was Tav defending him, again, to some random creepy woman obsessed with blood they just met. Maybe it was just the simplicity in Tav's absolute audacity of strolling right into Ketheric's lair to have a chat with him (that one definitely had him thinking some sinful things about Tav for an afternoon).

Complicated. Compromised, even. Whatever feelings Tav had managed to dig up out of him, Astarion is bewildered by them. But it's the third and final system interrupt that drives it all home. Tav doesn't judge him when Astarion makes the deal with Raphael. If anything, Tav looked impressed. Risky, sure, but it was pretty cunning. Turning the tables and all that. But it meant killing a fucking orthon.

Tav agrees without batting an eye. If it means helping Astarion, they're all for it. So they go kill the orthon and Raphael makes good on his deal and they learn about the rite.

It's too much. The next time they camp, he has to tell Tav the truth. They deserve that much. And even if they didn't fall for his plan, at least he knew where he stood. Then he could bury his feelings for another couple centuries where they might finally die...

Once more--it won't be the last time, either--Tav proves him wrong. They're real. Us. And from that moment on, the real Astarion shines. The manipulation vanishes, his vanity is sarcastic in an effort to make Tav laugh, his humor is light and sincere--unless he's threatening to kill someone, then it's a little more macabre but it's still wildly hilarious.

His needs are validated. And met. For the first time in as long as he can remember, someone seems to genuinely care about him. Most importantly, he's understood. Damn the gods, but Tav knew all along, had seen that thousand mile stare in his eyes the night they'd shared his bed. Tav's there for him in whatever capacity he needs. Hands. Hugs. Little kisses on cheeks, he likes to give those when nobody is looking (or when he thinks nobody is looking, but everyone sees him do it). Sometimes he slips into old patterns, the ingrained habits, he can't help it. He is a creature of comfort after all. But Tav pulls him up when he's drowning every time. Especially when he's about to commit the same mistake his master did.

Things blur together for a couple nights after killing Cazador. Too many thoughts and feelings drown out the world around him, so he anchors to Tav in various ways, some sweet, some not so sweet. Sometimes he's a raging ball of anger, a righteous fury he can't fathom even the most devout of paladins possessing. Sometimes he's a blubbering mess, curled up in Tav's lap and buried in their arms sobbing.

But Tav's there, without fail. And nobody else has ever been there for him like that. He's safe with them. Despite all the threats surrounding them, he feels safe for the first time in two hundred years.

So when he says it again, he knows what it means and he can say it with all the love and vulnerability his heart is just beginning to learn how to feel again.

"This is a gift, you know. Thank you--I won't forget it."

[astarionsblueundies]

Just a little snippet from the fic. Astarion in full on annoying seduction mode with my dumbass silly girl Tav/OC, Ashe.

Word count: 560 Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/OC Summary: Astarion is an insatiable flirt with ulterior motives. Ashe thinks she's got this. She does not.

“Your words are pretty, Astarion,” she sighs, giving him credit where credit is due. “As is your face.” She reaches up and pats his cheek with a smile.

“Well, don’t stop there,” he murmurs with a downward tilt of his head, looking at her intently from beneath his snowy lashes. “Surely you have thoughts about the rest of me.”

Ashe smiles sweetly. Nice try, buddy. She may be naive 90% of the time, but this is the 10%. She’s not falling into whatever trap this is. Not this time. No, sir. 

“Sorry, Astarion,” she apologizes with one last little pat, rubbing the apple of his cheek fondly, “but alas, this is the part I look at the most.”

“Most,” he latches onto the word like he’s caught her in some sort of fatal technicality. “Most is not all, darling.”

She stares for a moment, just trying to keep a straight face. He’s absurd. With a click of her tongue she admits, “Yes, I’ve seen your full body, Astarion. If you can believe it, when I’m standing really far away…” she casts a furtive glance left and right, leaning in to whisper, “I can see the whole thing.”

He flashes her a pearl-clutching look, hand to chest. “Scandalous… and, well, since you brought it up, you may as well tell me your thoughts on it.”

Incorrigible, this man.

“I think…” humming with a thoughtful cock of her head, she steps back to look him up and down. “That your body is extremely… amazingly…” she grabs at the air with a huff, searching for just the right words and settling decidedly on, “perfectly efficient at disposing of our enemies. Highly appreciated, Astarion.”

“Hah!” he barks out a laugh. “Not what I was hoping for, perhaps, but I’ll certainly take it.”

“Mm. Best not to be a choosy beggar.”

“Oh, I'm hardly concerned about that,” he says flippantly with a roguish smile. “I’ve certainly been worse things.” 

Ashe doesn’t doubt that for a second.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion…” she sighs, looking him over, hands on her hips. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, I have plenty of suggestions,” he says, doing that thing he does with his face—yes, that one—and languidly steps right into her space like he belongs there. Ashe does precisely nothing to stop him. He looks down at her. Takes her chin in his long, cool fingers. Thumbs at her bottom lip as he tips her head up to meet his gaze. Eyes heavy-lidded, he murmurs low, “If you’re in need.”

Ugh. And she made it so far without letting him fluster her.

She stares. She blinks. She forgets the entire common language, apparently. 

Her cheeks color up in a flash, and when his lips twitch into a knowing smirk, it dawns on her just how long she’s been embarrassingly non-verbal.

“Wh–No!” she suddenly blurts in a red-faced rush, as if spitting the word out like a stupid watermelon seed somehow makes up for her previous brainlessness. “Not in need! No suggestion box! Nope. I, um–you know what? I actually just remembered I forgot to do something.”

Before Astarion can so much as raise a brow at her, Ashe marches away like that’s actually true.

It is not.

She just doesn’t want to see his smug, smarmy face. Flustering her is practically a competitive sport to him and he’s the undefeated champion. 

She swears, just one of these days she’s going to fluster him.

[stardustspecter]

whats a modern au without a café?

[sadinasaphrite]

Was I the only one walking around Cazador's Palace like a prospective homeowner at an open house?

"We'll change the spawn dorms into servant quarters, dispose of the cursed body on the ground floor, no I'm not stealing any paintings, we're going to need those for the décor. Does the secret basement dungeon also have a convenient route to the Underdark? Wonderful, I'll take it after aggressive negotiation with the current owner."

Anyway oops here's 2,000 words of male!Tav and Astarion finding a home after the events of BG3.

AO3 Link

* * * * *

“Come home with me.”

“Beg pardon?”

Tav leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as Astarion looked up from the book he was reading.

“Come home with me,” Tav repeated. “No one’s said anything yet, but I’ve gotten the impression our free room and board may not be free for much longer.”

“Truly? What happened to their unending gratitude for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion scoffed and marked his place before closing the book.

“It seems the Elfsong’s gratitude only extends so far, especially now the celebrations are over and the rebuilding has started. Doubly so when we’re taking up a room that could be used for a paying customer.”

“Well,” Astarion’s smile was sickly sweet and his eyes were sharp, “we’d best not outstay our welcome, then. I’d hate to be an inconvenience to the miserable wretches we risked our necks to save.”

Tav chuckled, unphased by the response, and started packing up their gear.

“We knew it was temporary,” he said, “This was just somewhere convenient to stay while we had Harpers and journalists and the Watch and damn near anyone else north of Candlekeep wanting to talk to us.”

“Still, a week seems hardly long enough to get our feet back under us,” Astarion slid the book into a bag and started packing up his own things. “Surely a month wouldn’t have been unreasonable.”

“I think I’d rather leave than tell the whole damn story of our adventure one more time,” Tav said. He averted his eyes, pretending to focus making sure his clothes were folded just right. “Besides, I have a home here. It isn’t much, but… there’s room for two. I wouldn’t mind if you moved in with me.”

Astarion didn’t reply. The silence rang in his ears until Tav couldn’t bear it and shot Astarion a furtive glance. The vampire spawn stared at him, a pair of gloves in one hand, frozen before he’d finished packing them. His sneer was gone, his mask of smug confidence shattered, looking at Tav with open vulnerability, his crimson eyes wide.

“You’d truly want that?” Astarion broke the silence, his voice soft with the barest trace of uncertainty. “A life in the shadows? No… no sunlight streaming through your windows, empty mirrors on the walls, the scent of death permeating your home?”

Tav set his pack down and closed the distance between them. He cupped Astarion’s face with both hands, caressing along his cheekbones with his thumbs, his skin cool against Tav’s palms.

“An easy price to pay for the pleasure of your company.”

Tav pressed his lips against his love’s, giving him a brief, tender kiss. Astarion relaxed under his touch and reassurances, letting out a soft sigh.

“And don’t be dramatic, you only smell like death when you’re covered in someone else’s blood.”

That startled a laugh out of Astarion, the last of the tension vanishing from his posture as he pulled away.

“Then I will endeavor not to make too much of a mess in the house,” he said. “Lead on, love.”

They gathered up the last of their things, bid their tidings to the Elfsong’s staff, and stepped out into the night. It had been just over a week since the Netherbrain’s defeat. The bodies had been cleared from the streets, but the repairs needed for the extensive property destruction was only beginning. Even at night, the streets were crowded with laborers, masons, carpenters, and brick layers, most still working to clear the rubble, but some starting to rebuild already.

“Where do you live?” Astarion asked, sidestepping a mound of crumbled brick. “And why were we slumming it in the streets when you could have been playing host to our merry band?”

“My humble home would not have fit everyone in our camp,” Tav replied. “I think Minsc alone would have broken my front door off its hinges just by walking inside. I’m also further west than we ever traveled. I’m in the Lower City, but we never had the time to get over in that direction.”

“Hm. A barely acceptable excuse,” Astarion said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I suppose you can make it up to me by allowing me to sleep in a bed instead of a bedroll or those rocks they call mattresses at the Elfsong.”

“Dear, you are welcome to my bed whenever your heart desires,” Tav paused, pretending to think. “Though I hope that doesn’t leave me sleeping on the floor too much.”

Astarion laughed, and the sound warmed Tav’s heart. Gods, he loved Astarion’s laugh. All his laughs, in fact. From his snide little snicker, to his sharp fake-it-until-you-make-it guffaw, to this, his honest, joyous laughter that sparkled in the air like starlight.

“That depends on the size and quality of your bed, then,” Astarion said, as if they hadn’t been spending every night of the past week sleeping in each others’ arms.

They bantered and bickered through the streets, only stopping when Tav broke off mid sentence.

“Ah! We’re almost here. Just around the corner of Tailor’s Alley and—”

Tav froze, stopping so abruptly that Astarion nearly walked into him.

“Hm? What is it?” Astarion glanced over at him, but Tav didn’t respond.

Before them stood a row of half-standing brick and stone walls, but nothing more. No rubble, no debris, and certainly no neat row of houses.

“Darling?” Astarion looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“It… it was right here,” Tav let out a harsh breath. “Why… why is it gone? Why is it… nothing else is cleaned up. Why is this… gone?”

“Tis o’er here?” A dwarf pushing a cart of supplies interjected. “We been workin’ on tis since last month. Damn squid ship destroyed it o’er a moon ago. City ain’t rebuildin’ it yet. In fact, we’re supposed t’take the remainin’ brick for supplies elsewhere.”

Since last month. His home was destroyed in the attack when he’d been first abducted and infected. He’d been homeless for weeks and didn’t even know it. Tav took a few shaky steps toward the crumbling walls that were once his home, but he knew there would be nothing left. A month in the Lower City? Without a lock, a door, or even walls to protect his property from looters? Nothing was left. His every possession now hung off his person in packs or on his back. Everything he owned was gone.

“Yes, thank you,” Astarion sneered when Tav remained silent. “No one asked you to join a private conversation, you can leave now.”

The dwarf shrugged and moved on.

“Tav?” Astarion lowered his voice, gently resting a hand on the small of Tav’s back. “Speak to me, love.”

“It’s gone,” Tav’s voice shook. “My… my home. It… it was right here. And now… gods… my letters, my books, my journals, my—”

Tav’s voice cracked and he swallowed. Fog filled his head, clouding his thoughts like cotton in his ears, crackling with static until it drowned out everything except the horrible knowledge that everything he owned, everything he believed he would come home to, was totally, irreplaceably gone.

“...my mother’s necklace, my childhood lucky charm… it’s gone. It’s all gone.”

He fell silent, staring in shock as his mind went numb, letting the reality of the situation settle into his bones. Astarion rubbed Tav’s back, grounding him, and another realization struck him like lightning.

Gods. Astarion.

“We… Let’s head back to the Elfsong. Dawn’s only a few hours off, and we have to get you inside,” Tav said. “And… and I’ll have more time to… to think. To process. Gods, I was always going to invite you over, we’d have somewhere to live but… what now? What are we going to do now?”

Tav’s voice trembled and his hands shook, all his plans falling around him like… fuck, like the crumbling rubble of his home.

They stood in silence for a long moment before Astarion cleared his throat.

“Well,” Astarion started, fussing with the curl behind his ear before continuing. “I’ve heard on good authority that Cazador’s palace is quite recently vacated.”

“No,” Tav said, more sharply than he intended. “No, I’m not making you go back there.”

Astarion scoffed. “Honestly, love. Do you think I would have suggested it if I couldn’t bear to cross Cazador’s threshold once again? In fact, I don’t think it’s even quite right to call it ‘Cazador’s’ palace anymore. He doesn’t live there, after all.”

A cruel, vindictive gleam lit up Astarion’s eyes.

“In fact, he’s not doing much living or unliving at all.”

The idea rolled around in Tav’s head, like a boulder through the fog, too large to be hidden and giving him something to focus on instead of sinking into the rubble that was once his home. Slowly, his thoughts took shape.

“It has the advantage of already meeting a vampire’s needs…” Tav said slowly.

“Precisely,” Astarion clapped a firm hand on Tav’s shoulder and turned him away from the empty walls, guiding him toward the Upper City. “I knew you’d see it my way. The basement may be a rotting disaster, but the upper floors are all quite presentable. Apart from the ballroom, I suppose, those werewolves will be bloated corpses by now. But we can focus on staying in one of the nice, clean—”

“Ghouls,” Tav interrupted, the fog clearing as he latched onto the idea.

“Pardon?”

“Ghouls,” Tav repeated, “For the mess. We hire some ghouls to clean out the ballroom. They’ll eat what’s left of the corpses, and we can hire someone more respectable to do the rest.”

“More respectable?” Astarion asked, “Such as?”

The boulder in his thoughts was rolling full tilt now, his mind racing as the plan unfolded. The fog was gone and Tav could clearly see the path before them, taking shape and leading them to a new solution.

“Servants, of course. We’ll have the spawn dormitories remodeled into proper servants quarters. I’m certainly not going to upkeep that massive building by myself, and I know you’re not going to.”

“I object to your tone, but you are correct. But paying for a whole staff would be…” Astarion trailed off as he caught up with Tav’s racing thoughts. “We have everything we need. The keys to Cazador’s vaults in the Counting House. His deeds and estate documents will be there.”

“And he was so damn sure he’d become an Ascended all-powerful vampire—” Tav’s eyes gleamed in excitement.

“—he wouldn’t have named an heir,” Astarion finished. “To do so would imply he might fail, and he’d never afford the appearance of weakness! Gods, even those letters we found in his towers implied his only living family is as fucked as he was, and are either dead or ostracized! His fortune, his land, it’s ours for the taking!”

“You won’t even need an invitation to enter! As for the social ramifications, hm…” Tav thought for a moment. “The public doesn’t know he was a vampire, and the spawn won’t be around to talk. It won’t be difficult to label him as yet another member of the Absolute, one more illithid in the mass graves.”

“And any other wrinkles that come up can be ironed out by reminding everyone that we are the gods-damned Heroes of Baldur’s Gate!”

“His library!” Tav straightened as he was struck with the thought. “All his research and rites. We can’t complete the Ascension, but what if we can separate out whatever part of the ritual makes the Ascended vampire immune to sunlight? A smaller rite with a smaller cost?”

“Neither of us are well versed in hellish rites, but we know one of the most brilliant wizards on the Sword Coast, and if you tell Gale I said that I’ll bite you in the ass.”

“And even if Gale can’t help, he’s got contacts all through Waterdeep. Hells, even Elminster himself!”

“Hmm, I’d prefer to avoid that old coot’s attention, if it’s all the same to you,” Astarion said, “but… gods, if there’s a chance…”

“Then we have to take it,” Tav met Astarion’s gaze, his eyes bright. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Well then,” Astarion said, holding a hand out to Tav, “shall we claim our new home, dear?”

Tav clasped his hand, fingers entwining.

“Let’s go home.”

[bakuliwrites]

So, I've been in the midst of planning for a longer BG3 fic featuring my Tav, Orlando (a Tiefling with a deep sea aesthetic), and her questline, were she to have one. However, my brain is in a bit of a fog right now and all I've really been able to write for it are a series of letters between her and Gortash. Also, Gortash storyline spoilers. TW: toxic relationship, slightly suggestive

For some context, I wrote up a post about them here. Otherwise, here are the final letters they sent one another before Orlando was captured by the mindflayers and tadpoled. Orlando doesn't have any idea what Gortash is up to, other than he's rising in the political sphere. She's not sure how, but she has some suspicions. Note: They write in code to one another and Gortash signs his letters as EF because Orlando knew him mostly as his surname Flymm when they were young

Orlando to Gortash:

My Cherished E,

I grow weary of you dodging my questions. You act as if you are doing me a favor by sparing me the dirty details of your work. You are not a martyr, and I am not a little girl trapped in a pond in the dank basement of a devil’s lair. I can handle whatever it is you have done. I have my own skeletons in the closet, as you well know. Over the years, you have shown me yours piece by piece, rib by rib, vertebrae by vertebrae. Can you not simply rip the wool from my eyes? I don’t care what it costs me. I suffer more in the dark. 

You speak of our future together as if it is set in stone, yet when I ask to come see you, you deny me. You push me away, E. And then draw me back in, time and again, with promises of tomorrow. You say your furtiveness is for my protection. But I think you are afraid of something. Of me, E? Of me leaving? I won’t make promises I can’t keep, but can’t you at least grant me the respect of knowledge? Can’t you tell me what “grand plan” you have that’s to guarantee our future? 

Sometimes I wonder if, perhaps, you are ashamed of us. Of where we came from, who we used to be. Would I be a detriment to your campaign? Were I to show up in the midst of your glory, would I disrupt the delicate balance you’ve built? You run from the past, as do I, but I’m tired of it. 

E, as always- as it has been since our youth and as it shall always be- my heart is yours. But if our path is to be one paved in secrecy and withholding, I will need to reevaluate where we stand with one another. It is painful for me to write this, but I have shed too many tears to remain reticent over the matter.

Yours Eternally,

OM

Gortash's Response:

My Abyssal Angel,

You wound me. If you would indulge me for a moment- imagine me, sitting at the desk in my office, bathed in fading candlelight, head hung in defeat as I pour over the letters you’ve sent me these last several months. Imagine the heavy sigh that escapes my lips as my eyes sweep over the closing of your last communication. Can you not hear the very ache of my heart when I read your cutting words? To imply that I have some ulterior motive for keeping my work from you wounds my very soul. My secrecy is your safety. My discretion, your protection.

Nothing has changed, my dearest. There is, and forever shall be, a place for you at my side. As there always has been. We are equals. My plans have always included space for you. But I “martyr” myself (as you put it) not just for you, but for my campaign. What if our letters were to be intercepted? What if our code were to be broken? What then? All would fall to ruin. I would have nothing to give you. But if you are going to be so insistent upon knowing the nitty-gritty details, then it seems I can no longer hide them from you. Come to me in Baldur’s Gate, quick as you can, and I will divulge everything. Let me prove to you that it is not shame I feel. I work only to protect you. 

But I must warn you- what you learn will irrevocably alter the nature of our relationship. If you are ready for this, then by all means, come to me. Allow me to show you the fruits of my labor. Perhaps, when you partake in their glitz and glamor, you will understand why I have done what I have. Or perhaps not. Maybe you will find an underlying bitterness to their saccharine taste. Either way, come to me. Allow me to hold you one last time as the man you’ve known since our youth, before you meet the one I have become. 

As it has been since our youth- as it shall always be- my heart is forfeit to you, O. I await your reply with bated breath. 

Yours with Fervor,

EF

Orlando's Response:

My Cherished E,

I wrote my last missive to you in a bout of sorrow and anger. I was upset. It was a hastily written, ill thought out rambling that should not have made it past the privacy of my diary.

E, what knowledge could you impart unto me that would so vastly alter my feelings for you? Even so, I will accept what you have to say. I will come to you in Baldur’s Gate, post haste. I can wait no longer. Too many years we have spent apart. It feels as if ages of the world have fallen away while we have sat idle. My heart yearns for yours. The sea bore me away from you. It is the sea that will carry me back. Share with me the strife you have faced in my absence. Share with me the secrets that weigh heaviest on your mind. I will listen with patience. 

In a tenday, wait for me upon the docks. I will appear to you there, by the light of the stars, and you can make me yours. For however long that might be. One night or forever, I don’t care. I simply cannot live this way anymore. 

Yours Eternally,

OM

Gortash’s Response:

My Abyssal Angel,

You need not apologize for voicing your concerns. In fact, I find your combativeness refreshing. A stark change from the Devil’s Dutiful Daughter act you once put on for that oaf, Raphael. You have changed, blossomed in your years since our captivity. We’ve both grown so very much.

I look forward to seeing more of that fire in you when you arrive in Baldur’s Gate. You have embers in you, O. Unleash them. Let them blaze as bright as I know they can. I can feel them straining against the confines of your lungs. Breathe your fire, my darling. Set the world alight with me.

We are not tools. We are not pawns or playthings or trinkets to display. As I said before, you will always have a place at my side, a part to play in my work. Soon you will see what part that is. And soon, you will be by my side. For good, if that is what you should want. Our union would be good not only for the two of us, but for the world.

I know you do not keep up with news in Baldur’s Gate, but I know you are aware that I have been rising in the ranks these last several years (hence the secrecy). I now have every reason to believe that I will be crowned Archduke soon enough. I should like it if you are there for my coronation. Date, to be determined. It may be a few weeks, yet. If you can stay in Baldur’s Gate that long, I can promise you a most thrilling visit.

But enough shop talk. All will be illuminated once you arrive. Hopefully, by then, I’ll be more than I am now.

With Adoration,

EF

P.S. I have come to understand that the throne in the audience chamber of Wyrm’s Rock is padded. My imagination runs rampant, my darling. Already I can feel the lick of your newfound flame on my lips…

[ellekhen]

No Hard Feelings

Chapter 11 - A Night's Tale

Chapter Summary: Wyll and Irva enjoy the night together. They don't wait for a bed.

---------------------------------------

Pairing: Wyll x Female Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 42K+ words; Chapters 11/13

Excerpt below:

Wyll had his boyish crushes in the past. Before his exile, this often involved throwing pebbles at windows and sneaking flowers and sweets onto doorsteps. 

There was a childhood friend and squire, Lin, who he stole away with one night. At their young age, it mostly involved an hour or so of shy smiles before the boys’ clumsy hands and lips explored each others’ atop the Ravengard Manor’s roof. It was a thrilling night, although one followed by a morning of Wyll being smacked several times by his tutor’s ruler due to his sleep-deprived yawns and distant, lovesick stares out the window during his lessons.

There was one more furtive night since then, but the two friends grew apart by duty after that. They kept in touch through letters that eventually slowed to a stop, although when they reunited a couple times back in the city they were friendly enough. By then the squire had struck up a sweet romance with a merchant’s daughter, and Wyll felt nothing but happiness for them.

After all, he had developed a crush of his own on a perhaps more controversial figure — his tutor’s daughter, Elaine. Counsellor Florrick sternly warned Wyll against pursuing it further, although he and Elaine went ahead and stole a couple kisses during that year’s Simril ball.

Whether the interest remained or not didn’t matter in the end. It wasn’t long after that Wyll heard Mizora’s call to Dusthawk Hill, and his subsequent exile left any chance of courtly romance behind. For weeks Wyll wondered if Elaine thought of him at all, but the trials of survival kept him occupied enough that the girl’s face became nothing but a fond, faded memory amid the blur that was all of her father’s droning lessons.

As the burgeoning Blade of Frontiers, Wyll had few chances for romance — although he did get close, once or twice. He traveled for a short time alongside a mercenary rogue with a quick smile and, er, clever hands, but that ended bitterly when he discovered his companion stealing from their host family’s lockbox. Later that year there was an unwise fumble with a very forward wizard passing through the inn at the same time, and Wyll decided after that night that he was better off without any further entanglements. 

After all, he longed for more than fleeting pleasure and attention. He desired an emotional connection that was too dangerous to cultivate in his line of work. Ultimately, he longed for a romance that seemed impossible with Mizora’s constant belittling commentary in his ear. 

Anyway, he found plenty of amusement and furtive satisfaction in pulpy romance novels he picked up throughout his journey. He was grateful to have been blessed with a vivid imagination, at the very least. 

Despite all the battles, duels, and scuffles of the past seven years, Wyll found it was easier this way. A few elders tutted at him, saying that he was wasting his young years, but Wyll shrugged off their warnings with a cordial smile. 

‘Wasting his young years?’ 

He hadn’t felt young in a very long time.

But for the last few months of precious days and nights, Wyll held a giddiness in his heart that made him feel like a blushing, hormonal youth again. Irva’s softest smiles made his heart flutter and soar like one of the dusthawks themselves. And it didn’t hurt that her heavy eyes and hungry touch made his face and body heat like never before, drawing out the pleasure he hadn't dared to pursue.

He hadn’t trusted anyone like this… possibly ever. 

Now, here beneath the Wilden Oak, Irva’s skin feels soft yet scorching as Wyll’s hands press into her back. His core stirs as her lips find his, kissing him with a yearning that makes his head spin. Irva exhales through her nose, leaning closer as she eagerly tastes him, wasting no time to push her tongue against his, moving against him until there’s nothing between them except their accursed clothes and propriety.

But they don’t need either.

Irva doesn’t stop kissing him as she pockets the acorn, taking in little gasps as Wyll’s lips migrate down her throat, mouthing against the swirls of tattoos that flex with her soft moan.

“I love you, Irva,” Wyll whispers. “If there’s a happily ever after for me, I want it with you. Only you. 

“I’m yours,” he continues, his hands sitting low upon her hips. Her body presses to him with a magnetic pull strengthened by every breath shared between the two of them. “Any way you want me. I’m—!”

Irva wastes no more time. She presses him backward; eagerly straddling his hips and moaning as he thrusts up against her. He holds her close as she continues to taste him, grinding her hips over too many clothes as heat and longing builds in his tightening body.

Neither of them seem to care what Mizora sees tonight. 

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 5: Personal Endeavors

“How does it feel?” The tips of Gale’s fingers grazed her collarbone as he stepped away and moved to her side, admiring the Weave as it danced through the crisp night air.  “Incredible.” She said, “though I came to you for spell help. This, I could have managed myself…”  Gale smirked. “You’re hard to please, aren’t you?”  His eyes flicked from their surroundings to her face, taking in her features with unguarded admiration. Turning his body towards hers, something akin to the anticipation of a kiss passed between them. He reached out, a hand gently tracing her jawline and threading through her hair as the Weave connected them. She’d experienced such magical bonds in her classes, but this… Her thoughts became his as quickly as they crossed her mind. It was an opportune moment for intimacy, but certainly not for keeping secrets. She dove into her memory, pulling the one Astarion had shown her the previous night. How Gale had taken her home, tucked her in, and left without so much as an inappropriate glance, like the gentleman he was. But she couldn’t help but imagine… If she had been sober at the party. If he’d approached, and they’d become lost in conversation, long enough for her to realize that Gale Dekarios was far more captivating than their classmates gave him credit for. When the night ended, he’d have asked to accompany her back to her dormitory, and she’d slip her hand inside his as they walked, their fingers intertwining. They’d exchange smiles, a hint of blush visible on the wizard’s cheeks under Waterdeep’s dimly lit streets. He’d escort her to her room and tip her chin up with his forefinger to kiss her goodnight. His lips would part, and her own would demand a deeper kiss, pulling him through the door after her, onto the bed. Her mouth would have sought his hungrily, passionately, as his hand braced her lower back, his knee rising on her left side to position her underneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her free hand trailing to the seam of his- The energy between them surged, and Gale’s reverent expression faltered. He dropped his hands from her face, stepping away.  “I…I didn’t think-"

Summary: Astarion really wants to read a book, Florence and Gale share a moment sponsored by his ex, and a familiar devil visits camp.

Pairing: Gale x Named Tav/OFC

Rating: E

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: no major warnings this chapter, other than spiders. See AO3 for chapter-specific warnings.

Read on AO3

Florence stifled a yawn and made her way towards the campfire. Its warm glow illuminated her companions in the early morning light, chatting as Gale prepared breakfast. Cooking duties had fallen to the wizard consistently, and thankfully so, because he seemed to be the most capable, and eager, chef in their party.

A sharp contrast to her own weariness, Gale was finishing a surprisingly gourmet meal with their camp rations, and from what she could tell, was on his third or fourth cup of tea. The memories she’d witnessed last night still nagged at Florence: she’d had no idea Gale once harbored such affection for her, and the furtive glances in her direction as she sat next to Astarion had her wondering whether some of those feelings lingered. Her focus fell to her hands as she picked at the skin around her nails. If the rumors were to be believed, Gale had been with Mystra in such a capacity that Florence’s mortal life would pale in comparison to what the goddess had granted him.

As a bead of blood appeared upon a freshly reopened scab on her thumb, Florence decided that surely Gale Dekarios was over his little crush by now. 

“Where’d you hurry off last night?” 

Just as she looked up at Gale, he extended a plate of food towards her, her surprise causing her lips to part slightly. He settled down on the log, trapping her between him and Astarion.  

“Does it matter?” Astarion piped in, “I don’t know about you all, but I have a strange book with an amethyst-sized hole that needs filling. And I believe there’s a gargantuan spider I need to steal it from.”

Wyll’s demeanor this morning was dark, still reeling from his transformation, but his interest seemed piqued at Astarion’s words.

“Ah, the necromancy tome…” he set aside his untouched food. “Are you sure it’s wise to attempt such an endeavor? That spider is a formidable foe.”

“Well lucky me, I’m surrounded by so many…friends to help me kill it,” Astarion responded in a syrupy voice.

“I suppose I can be persuaded to lend a hand.” Gale said reluctantly. “If there were a chance, you’d let me examine the book as well-”

“No.” Astarion cut him off. “I’m not sharing.”

Gale grunted with displeasure and continued eating.

“Florence? I could use some ranged magic.” Astarion asked, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. She bristled at his touch, slapping away his hand.

“Fine. I have…some spells prepared, I suppose.”

Gale leaned in close. “Are you certain about this?”

She nodded, cutting into her eggs with the edge of her fork, determined to not make eye contact.

“Can we at least finish breakfast first? Gods, Astarion, it’s like you never eat.” Karlach groaned. 

“If it’s the same to all of you, I think I’ll spend the day at camp with Scratch.” Shadowheart said, patting their canine companion on the side.

“I have no interest in personal endeavors.” Lae’zel grumbled, “Kill your spider and retrieve your stone if you must, but do not dawdle. The creche still awaits, and our time runs short.”

After discarding her empty plate in the wash bucket, the githyanki departed for her tent. As the rest of their companions cleaned up breakfast, Gale lingered beside Florence, poised to ask her about the previous evening again.

“I should get my spellbook.” She said, leaving before he had the chance. 

----------------------

As Florence trudged through the blighted village alongside Wyll, mud squelched beneath her boots, the cold wetness seeping through her socks. She’d strategically walked with the warlock. He was eager to vent about Mizora, filling the silence with conversation and leaving no opportunity for Gale to interrupt or question her further about last night. The sooner he forgot, the better. 

They reached a set of wooden doors, and Gale knelt to pick the lock.

“Leave the sleight of hand to me, wizard.” Astarion said, intercepting him and pulling out his tools.

“I’m conserving mental energy. But I can cast knock if you’d prefer a quicker resolution.”

“I’d prefer if you stuck to your own talents.” Astarion said as the lock clicked and the door swung open with a loud creak.

“Magic is my talent.”

“Right.” Astarion said, leading them through an abandoned forge. “Any hidden talents? I’m sure all that prattling on you do makes you good with your tongue, no?” He asked, throwing a wicked grin over his shoulder at Florence. She turned bright red as Gale cleared his throat, not bothering with a response.

“So where’s this spider?” Florence changed the subject as she stepped over bits of rubble from a broken wall.

“I climbed halfway down a well yesterday and spotted it around here. I figured there was an easier way in for those of us less…athletically inclined.” Astarion responded, giving her a pointed look. “You don’t seem equipped for rope climbing, my dear.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” she sneered.

Worse than the mud outside, the cavernous depths their companion led them through were covered in spiderwebs and toxic sludge. The air smelled of damp earth and rot, and Florence did her best to hide her disgust behind a neutral expression. 

“There it is.” Astarion pointed to a faint purple glowing gem directly behind a massive spider. The beast was easily twice Florence’s size, and her fear of even small arachnids had her tempted to turn on her heel and flee to the safety of camp.

“Are you mad?” she hissed he rummaged through the abandoned belongings of a Lolth worshiper. Whether discarded or orphaned after a tragic accident, Florence couldn’t say for certain.. 

“You all watch my back. I’ll sneak down to retrieve it,” Astarion said, poking around in a chest and extracting a pair of boots that caught his interest. He held them up, examining them, before swapping them with his current shoes. “Should things get messy…don’t let me die.” 

He surprised Florence with a kiss on the cheek before scrambling over a nearby ledge, grasping for footholds on the cragged rock as he descended into the lower level of the caves.

“What was that about?” If Gale had attempted to disguise the irritation in his voice, he’d done a poor job of it. 

“Who knows…” Florence’s attention was locked on Astarion, who was tiptoeing past clutches of eggs and juvenile spiders, monitoring the edges of a large hole in the middle of the depths. The bottom was too distant for Florence to determine if it revealed deep waters or something more sinister. 

“I don’t like this,” Karlach said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“His ambition will be the death of him.” Gale responded, sounding just a bit too hopeful.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Wyll asked. 

The spider matriarch let out a piercing screech, interrupting their conversation, and launched itself at Astarion, its eight legs skittering over the cavern floor. 

“A little help, please!” He shouted from below, snatching the amethyst and taking off, narrowly avoiding the hatching nests of eggs and the acidic spit of the juvenile spiders. The matriarch chased after him, and Gale, quick to react, cast a fireball, attempting to slow her pursuit.

Karlach charged forward, her axe at the ready, and took a swing, her blade meeting empty space as the spider deftly phased several feet to the side. Wyll unleashed a bolt of eldritch energy at the spider’s leg, and it dodged again. 

“Oh, for the love of…” Florence swore and misty stepped closer, releasing a thunder wave towards the spider. The force rippled through the air, shaking the ground beneath her feet as it caught the spider in its path. The creature froze in shock, tumbling over the edge into the green-hued abyss below.

Gale glanced over his shoulder after casting another fireball, eyebrows in astonishment at her display of power. With a dagger in each hand, Astarion slayed several small spiders as they launched themselves at the wizard, while Karlach and Wyll dispatched the remaining juveniles.

Florence watched from the sidelines, her gaze shifting between her hands and the depths where the matriarch had fallen. Perhaps there was still a trace of the powerful mage she once was within her.

Covered in spider carrion after slaying the final hatchling, Wyll and Karlach bent over, hands on their knees, to catch their breath. 

“Well, was it worth it, Astarion?” Wyll asked between breaths.

“Time will tell.” He murmured, holding the gem in the faint light. He retrieved a strange tome from his pack and slipped the amethyst into the mouth of its cover. The book hummed in recognition, casting a shadow across Astarion’s face as he tucked it away.

“Best to explore later.”

“Why are you so interested in necromancy in the first place?” Wyll asked. 

“Just curious if there are any tricks in here to evade our tadpoles,” Astarion said, exchanging a warning glance with Florence.

“While I doubt you’ll find information regarding ceremorphosis in a necromancy text,” Gale said casually, “if there was anything in there that could help us, you’d be sure to share it with the group, wouldn’t you? We’re all in this together, after all.”

“Of course.” Astarion’s eyes flicking towards the exits. “Now, why don’t we get out of here? This place is disgusting.”

--------------------------------------

After dinner, Florence sat hunched in front of her tent with a glass of wine, engrossed in her spellbook. With her quill poised over a page, she concentrated on a pebble she’d placed on a nearby tree stump, squinting as she whispered incantations at it. Quivering, the small rock tumbled into the dirt. She frowned, tucking away her quill and ink away in her weathered pack. Letting out a weary sigh, she rose from her spot and wandered towards Gale’s tent, nose buried in the pages of her spellbook as her fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edges of its parchment. She flipped through the pages, attempting to make sense of where her telekinesis spell was going awry. 

“Gale, could you take a look at—”

Florence’s words trailed off as she turned the corner. Conjured in the wizard’s palm was an illusion of Mystra, the goddess of magic, her goddess.

His goddess. 

His face confirmed every rumor she’d heard as he gazed longingly at the illusion. 

His lover.

“Oh!” Gale hastily waved his hand, causing the illusion to dissipate. He clenched his fist, chuckling. “You startled me. I was miles away.” 

“Was that the goddess in your hand?” Florence asked. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I was lost in a prayer of all things...” he coughed, then pointed at the spellbook in her hands. “Did you need my help with something?”

Florence looked back down at her open pages.

“Oh…yes. I’m struggling with a couple of higher-level spells. I was wondering if you could tell me what I’m doing wrong.” She admitted. 

Gale nodded sympathetically and took her the book from her hands, fingers skimming across the cover.

“Which spell in particular are you having trouble with?” He asked as he thumbed through the pages. 

“I…several of them. I’m…out of practice.”

“Ah.” he closed the book with a soft thud and returned it to her. “You know, I too fear losing the command of Mystra’s art.” he shook his head, a melancholy shadow passing over his features. “Magic is…my life. I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it. It’s like poetry, music…well, you know.” His brown eyes shifted ever so slightly as they searched her own.

“I wish I had remained at Blackstaff.” Florence said wistfully. “I’ve…missed the company of other wizards. Under different circumstances, I’d be delighted to have crossed paths with you again...”

The corners of Gale’s eyes creased as he smiled at her, extending his hand palm up.

“Come here, humor me.”

Delicately, she placed her fingertips in the palm of his hand as he guided her away from his tent. Déjà vu tugged at her mind when he released her hand, but she chose to ignore it. Gale gestured in front of himself, conjuring swirls of purple light that danced in the air, nodding towards Florence. She recognized his intentions and instinctively replicated his movements.

“Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.” Her lips moved subtly, the words spilling from them like a held breath. The scent of rosewater dominated her senses, and nostalgia flooded her heart. Her fingers reached for the locket around her neck, thumb tracing the edge of its gold clasp as the tension in her shoulders fell away for the first time in years. Her stance softened as her hips seemed to roll back into place, her knees unlocking. She felt…safe.

Gale hummed in approval before repeating the words himself. The Weave responded to him strongly, amplifying the relief in every fiber of Florence’s being. 

“Very good, as expected.” he circled her, never once breaking eye contact.

“You’re making me feel like one of your students.” she laughed.

“Ah, no, I always found them too irksome. I rather enjoy your company.” He said, slipping behind her, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. His lips hovered over the exposed skin of her neck, and Florence’s cheeks burned in response to his touch. “Now, I want you to picture the concept of harmony as true as you can.”

As her ears throbbed in time with her pulse, she fought to recall her lessons from the Academy, reaching into the center of her mind until she could sense Mystra’s presence. She watched faint threads of violet appear around them, enjoying the beauty of them painted against the stars. For a moment, something inside of her bristled, and she pushed the negative emotion aside. Whether Mystra had a relationship with the man beside her was irrelevant. Florence’s first love was always magic, and she could hardly deny the appeal to win its goddess’ favor. 

“How does it feel?” The tips of Gale’s fingers grazed her collarbone as he stepped away and moved to her side, admiring the Weave as it danced through the crisp night air. 

“Incredible.” She said, “though I came to you for spell help.This, I could have managed myself…” 

Gale smirked. “You’re hard to please, aren’t you?” 

His eyes flicked from their surroundings to her face, taking in her features with unguarded admiration. Turning his body towards hers, something akin to the anticipation of a kiss passed between them. He reached out, a hand gently tracing her jawline and threading through her hair as the Weave connected them. She’d experienced such magical bonds in her classes, but this…

Her thoughts became his as quickly as they crossed her mind. It was an opportune moment for intimacy, but certainly not for keeping secrets. She dove into her memory, pulling the one Astarion had shown her the previous night. How Gale had taken her home, tucked her in, and left without so much as an inappropriate glance, like the gentleman he was. But she couldn’t help but imagine…

If she had been sober at the party. If he’d approached, and they’d become lost in conversation, long enough for her to realize that Gale Dekarios was far more captivating than their classmates gave him credit for. When the night ended, he’d have asked to accompany her back to her dormitory, and she’d slip her hand inside his as they walked, their fingers intertwining. They’d exchange smiles, a hint of blush visible on the wizard’s cheeks under Waterdeep’s dimly lit streets.

He’d escort her to her room and tip her chin up with his forefinger to kiss her goodnight. His lips would part, and her own would demand a deeper kiss, pulling him through the door after her, onto the bed. Her mouth would have sought his hungrily, passionately, as his hand braced her lower back, his knee rising on her left side to position her underneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her free hand trailing to the seam of his-

The energy between them surged, and Gale’s reverent expression faltered. He dropped his hands from her face, stepping away. 

“I…I didn’t think-”

Incoherent thoughts scratched at the boundaries of her mind as several emotions flickered across his features. She managed to catch a few as they passed, as a cat would swipe at a bird flying overhead.

Embarrassment, trepidation, and…elation?

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting -“ he blinked and shook off his disbelief, “but it is a pleasant image to be sure! More than pleasant, in fact.”

“Gale, I shouldn’t have-“

“It was most welcome.” He stepped closer, a roguish grin tugging at his lips. “Although I never quite took you for the type to imagine such….scenarios.”

Before Florence could respond, the surrounding Weave evaporated, and a sudden coldness settled in her chest. The glimmer in Gale’s eyes faded, and he frowned.

Loneliness.

“There it goes. How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining.” He walked in the direction of his tent, letting his arm brush against hers as he passed, holding her gaze. She watched his movements, curious, hungry. 

“Goodnight Florence, I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you.” 

He disappeared into his tent and she retreated to her own, her footsteps lighter, her head clearer as she bit her lip and smiled at the ground, savoring the memory. 

The sudden smell of sulfur burned away the happy phantom of the rosewater lingering in her nostrils. Rather than tasting the sweetness of the Weave, her tongue was heavy with ash and iron. A cracking sound, and the heat of flame radiating against her partially exposed back, launched her into a defensive position.

Where she had expected Mizora’s visage again, she found someone familiar standing behind her. 

“If it isn’t the little rabbit that broke into my house. Looks like you could benefit from a deal with a devil.”

Well-practiced lines and a voice more alluring than a harpy’s song. In his preferred form, masquerading as a richly-dressed human, she had to admit, he had exceptional charm. The man examined his nails, looking up at her under half-lidded eyes. 

“My dear Florence, do you know what’s better than a devil you don’t know?”

He lowered his hand and stepped near enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. It wasn’t the warm embrace of the Weave or the electrical current of Gale’s touch on her shoulders from earlier. It was like standing too close to a fire, or burning oneself on a hot stove.

“A devil you do.” 

The sound of his Hellish arrival was loud enough to capture the attention of her companions, and Florence glanced behind her as they approached. She scowled and narrowed her eyes, her voice becoming a menacing growl.

“What do you want, Raphael?”