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sinner-as-saint · 1 year

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heartless

Incubus!Bucky x Witch!reader (fantasy au)

Run-through: You learnt about them when you were young. You had tomes filled with information about them, how to invite one, how to control one, etc. You also knew that if done right, union with an incubus was said to result in the birth of powerful witches. And now, after having spent years all alone following the unfortunate slaughter of your family you have two strong desires; to have a child and to continue the witch bloodline. Both of which can be fulfilled by summoning and making the right arrangements with the right incubus. And the best part of it all, incubi were known to be incapable of love and emotional attachment, so ending the arrangement once you conceived wouldn’t be hard for either parties involved. Except, it’s not always that easy, is it? And perhaps, not all incubi are heartless.

Themes: breeding kink, smut, fluff, incubus!bucky, witch!reader, size difference, he has wings and a tail, some angst, HEA

a/n: nothing is folklore accurate whatsoever just excessive imagination and vibes hehe

You were prepared if ever it was not going to work the first time.

You’d been told, when you were a young woman who had just begun learning about the art of witchcraft under your mother and grandmother’s supervision, that incubi were particularly stubborn and picky demons. They were strong, seductive with vigorous stamina.

Given their power, they aren’t summoned. No. They are invited. And if they are feeling mischievous and generous, they accept the invitation. Sure, most incubi visited weak mortals of their own volition however they did avoid witches. Because the power dynamic there was more or less in equilibrium. Incubi couldn’t mess with witches like they did with mortals because witches were strong and smart enough to mess with them right back.

Still, you had made sure that everything was just perfect. You had countless tomes and books and scrolls on your table, all containing multiple ways of inviting an incubus. So many rules to follow. But you had done everything right; every rune, every herb, every incantation, every offering - to complete the invitation you had always been taught to lure them with something they’d want. Other than sex.

You had been told certain secrets other witch families did not know. Like how incubi, though ravenous, had a weakness for embellishment. Trinkets. Shiny things. So you offered this one a crown made of gilded animal bones.

You had everything in place. All that was left to do was wait. So you sat there, in what you called your workshop. You had a quiet little home in the middle of the woods. Well away from the kingdom of the vile King who had your entire family eliminated after using your powers and cures to save his wife from a terrible disease. For years the King was kind to your family, but one day, his wife died of natural causes, none of your doing but still, the King went mad and ordered to have your family slain. You managed to escape, unfortunately your mother and grandmother couldn’t.

So you ran far, far away from the kingdom. Got on a ship and travelled to a new country. Here people were welcoming and kind. No kings and queens, just people living together in harmony. So with what little money you had, you bought a plot of land and built a house. You had neighbours, but since you all had a large country all to yourselves, everyone was scattered rather far and wide from one another.

This country was unlike anything you’d ever heard or dreamt about. You had friends here who did similar things like you; warlocks, necromancers. Then there were the mermaids in the lake, and the fae people living in the same woods as you, centaurs and wolf shifters lived deeper in the woods, and so many more you still had to meet. There were no wars here, just peace.

But peace, after some years, started looking a lot like loneliness. During the initial years it seemed like you could do this forever, run your little shop, help your new friends when they needed you, socialise and learn about so many new people and animals, you thought you could spend a lifetime just being here and being happy. But then, as much as you adored your friends and neighbours, you missed family. Your own flesh and blood. And after years of living here and making sure that this was the happiest and safest place to have a family of your own, you wanted a child. And what better way of ensuring to pass on the gifts of your powerful bloodline than this. Besides, witches lived for a very, very long time and you couldn’t imagine spending centuries all alone.

You had envisioned your dream life often. Since witches most often had daughters, you often dreamt of you and your daughter living in this lovely place. Your home was spacious enough to accommodate around five people easily so you’d have more than enough space. You would build your daughter her own little workshop table. You’d teach her everything your mother and grandmother taught you, and all that you learnt by yourself. You’d watch her grow up and make friends of her own, maybe she’d like the faeries and the mermaids more. Or maybe even the gnomes. Or the pegasus in the meadows.

Maybe someday down the line you’d have another child. And you’d raise them both with the same kindness and love that your mother had with you. And life would be perfect then; with your girls, your friends, in this peaceful country.

If only…

“Such pretty dreams you’re having, little witch.”

A deep, smooth voice said. Sounding like it wasn’t too far from where you were… sleeping? Had you actually fallen asleep at your desk while waiting? You woke up startled, blinking at the demon in the room who was casually lounging on the chair by the window. The same chair on which you sat and read during the afternoons.

Except, the demon made the chair look smaller than it was. The chair still accommodated him well enough, but he was bigger. Broad shoulders, wide leathery wings folded behind him, long legs… he was surely taller than most of the people here. Shorter than the giants, but still. You had read that incubi were bigger in height and built and… other assets when compared to mortal men but seeing him in real life was still a little shocking.

Every other feature of his was mortal-like. Deep blue eyes, slightly darker here in your candlelit workshop. Pretty face, you noticed, if not a little arrogant looking but it suited him. Well defined features. Soft mouth, perfect nose. And he was slightly tanned. You thought he’d be ghostly white, with near translucent skin given there wasn’t any sun in the depths of hell that he came from. He also had shadowy, near black markings all over his hands, chest and some creeping up his neck. Swirls and symbols, and it only made him look even more dangerously attractive.

The candlelight reflected a little on the shinier parts of his large, leathery wings and you shivered a little before speaking, after clearing your throat. “You came.” You simply said and watched how his mouth twisted into a handsome smirk.

“How could I not?” He said, sounding cocky. “You gave me a proper invitation. And offered me such a pretty crown,” He twirled the gilded crown between his fingers, and added, “And such soft, delicious bread.”

Your face contorted in confusion at the sound of that. “Bread?”

He nodded, still toying with the handmade crown, “Forgive me, I didn’t save you any. I was famished. Butter and honey, was it?” His voice sounded like a purr, like a lover’s caress. Dangerous he was, this one. The handsome ones usually are if you remember your notes correctly.

You blinked at him once, twice and then looked down at your hand and sure enough, there it was - remnants of the butter. You had been nibbling on homemade bread as you waited earlier, but given that you fell asleep at your desk, the bread must have fallen out of your hand, rolled and landed near the runes. Had you messed up? You couldn’t have. He was here, wasn’t he?

The demon gave you another arrogant grin, “I assume the bread was a mistake.”

You stood up from your chair and thought well before speaking, “I apologise.” You said. Even though it is always said to never seem shy and docile in front of the likes of him. You were supposed to assert dominance. But… how could you when he was looking at you like that? Himself looking all regal in all his naked glory.

He chuckled. Chuckled. Then said, “No matter.” You noticed he remained seated. He said, “I heard your invitation, heard what you wanted from me.” He paused for just a second and noticed the way you squirmed. Then continued, “I appreciate your gifts, witch.” He admitted. “So,” He spoke in the voice which was equivalent to a lover’s soft caress again, “A child?”

“Yes,” You said firmly, finally able to stand your ground and act like the powerful witch that you were. “A child.”

He nodded slowly, “I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a motherly sorceress before. Most of them are nasty and cruel.” He spoke with such honesty. It was refreshing almost.

You managed a faint smile as you looked down at the rings on your fingers, many of them were passed down to you, the others you had handcrafted, “Most of us develop a hard exterior because of how we are treated by most mortals. Half of them are afraid of us and the other half despises us enough to hurt us for no reason.”

He cocked his head to the side, “Who hurt you?”

“A King. He… hurt my family.” You answered.

“Hence the empty house.” He noted.

“Yes.” You said, finally looking up to meet his deep blue stare. He was… devilishly handsome. Even as he sat there looking all princely which should’ve irritated you because it was your favourite chair. What if his devilishly strong body breaks it?

But then…

Then he stood up. Proud and tall. Other parts of him stood proud and tall as well so you couldn’t help but look down, following the many muscles on his broad chest, down to his navel and down to his jutting cock.

Holy gods.

He was very, very well endowed. It took some seconds before you moved your shamelessly leering gaze up to his eyes again. And then… holy gods, he was tall. Taking up much more room now that he was standing up in the middle of your, what now seemed cramped, workshop.

He smirked as he looked down at you. Crossing his muscular arms over his chest he said, “I assume I am to your liking then?” He teased, obviously enjoying the way he had you tongue-tied.

You looked up at him nervously. You’d never done this before. And now, standing in your dimly lit workshop, wearing your black flowy black robe, the demon did make you feel a little subservient. “I… um, yes.” You struggled to answer, struggled to hold his lordly stare.

You mindlessly took a step back the moment he began approaching you. Steadily, slowly, letting you see all of him before he came to a stop only inches away from where you stood, near your desk.

“Well then, little witch. Shall we?” He said, before placing his warm hands on either side of your waist and lifted you up to set you down on the edge of the desk with ease. You never quite realised how strong incubi were until now. They were some of the strongest demons of Hell.

You were sat on the edge of your wooden desk, legs dangling off the edge as you looked up at him. Only then did you notice his slender tail, as it wrapped around your thigh which was now exposed due to the slit in your black robe.

The demon seemed to inhale deeply before saying, “You smell absolutely delicious.” He stepped in between your legs, spreading them as he placed both of his hands on either one of your thighs. “May I have a taste?” He asked, slowly pushing your back down on the surface of the table so you lay on it, with your legs still hanging off the edge.

You nodded. “Yes,” You murmured, watching him lean over you for a moment before he pulled your robe up to your waist, taking in the sight of your bare body under it.

He hummed in appreciation which shouldn’t have made your body tingle the way it did. Then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted your lower body off the table with ease, enough so that he could comfortably bend and place his mouth right where you didn’t realise you’d been aching for him to touch.

Your legs hooked easily over his shoulders as his ridiculously soft lips brushed against your inner thighs before you felt his warm, long tongue slide in between your wet lips. He somehow managed to spread your legs even more, leaving you completely at his monstrous mercy as his tongue teasing your entrance, lips sucking on your clit. Damn him. But at least now you understand why most people let incubi feed on them. It’s because their touch was this addicting.

Your hands rested on either side of your head, limp on the table as you threw your head back and moaned, unable to stop yourself. He growled against you, sending pleasurable vibrations all over your body. His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, slithering along your skin in tandem with his devious tongue as he ate you out ravenously, savouring your taste while holding your heated stare.

His strong body in contrast with your more mortal-looking one. His hands and arms, covered in those shadowy markings gripped your thighs securely, keeping you spread open for him. He almost made you forget the reason he was here was beyond just pleasuring you. “You taste exquisite, little witch.”

He knew he could only take minimal energy from you. Mortals were left drained after incubi were done with them but you were stronger, and with your protective wards around you, you didn’t feel as drained. Neither did he feed on you like he would on a mortal. Still, you felt a little delirious, almost euphoric as he tasted you.

You gasped and moaned as he almost made you come all over his tongue. You’d let yourself go under his irresistible touch. It was high time to get to business. “Don’t forget why you’re here, demon.” You managed to say before he slid his tongue inside you once more before pulling away and placing your lower body back on the wooden table.

“Of course. You need more than just my tongue, little witch.” He teased, keeping your legs wide open for him as he reached down and easily tore the rest of your robe off your body. You noticed his eyes got darker as he grabbed and fondled your breasts.

His shadow filled hands slowly trailed down your bare body. He reached your folds and once again teased your clit with his fingers, slowly sliding his one finger down your slit to your opening. His other hand grabbed his cock, guiding it over to your hole. You were drenched down there, he noticed. He was in a mood to play so instead of just sliding into you, he teased you by sliding his tip up and down your slit.

He rather enjoyed watching you hiss, and whine and whimper, and squirm on the tabletop. “You are going to have to put in some effort to fit me inside you.” He said, purposely pushing his tip against your tight opening, just applying enough pressure to make you lose your mind but not quite enough to slide in just yet.

Your voice trembled as you spoke, “Don’t… don’t play with me, demon.” You tried to sound as assertive as you could. But you ended up sounding like you were begging him to keep playing.

“No?” He cooed, almost in a mocking tone. “But you make such pretty sounds when I play with you.”

You arched your back, moving your hips forward, desperately trying to get his cock to slide inside you. You whimpered when he kept teasing you. “Please,” You murmured. Damn this demon and his enchanting touch.

He smirked. “Very well then.” He slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside of you, carefully watching you to gauge your reaction to his size. You felt his length stretching you like no one ever did. You gasped and moaned as he filled you up.

He grabbed your bent legs and spread them open, pushing them as far back as they would go before burying his cock fully inside your tight, warm hole. He held your stare the entire time, even as he pulled out and pushed back into you.

You gasped for air, the snugness of him feeling unbearably good. With your back flat against the wooden table top and you whined at the feeling of his cock moving swiftly in and out of you. You could feel your walls gripping him and milking him as he pounded into you.

“You feel just as good as you taste, little one.” He whispered as you threw your head back and moaned, feeling him moving in and out of you to the point where the only thing you could focus on was the snug way he felt inside you.

His large hands grabbed you by the hips, lifting your lower body just inches off the table and pulling you in each time he pushed inside you with enough force to drive you insane. Then… then you felt something pressing against your clit, rubbing it in sync with how he moved against you. His tail. The flat end of it, sliding across your sensitive clit while he fucked you.

You cried out loud, somehow managing to hold his stare as you slowly felt your brain getting foggy with intense pleasure.

“Look,” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, as he lowered his gaze to your lower abdomen. You followed his gaze and let out a gasp of both surprise and bliss. You watched how each time he pushed into you, a soft bulge formed against your stomach. “You’re so soft and delicate.” He said, his voice steady and calm as if he wasn’t rutting into you like an animal.

Mindlessly, you placed your hand right where the bulge formed each time and you felt it against the palm of your hand. You cried out in pleasure again.Your legs trembled as he held them spread open for him, not willing to let them go yet.

You closed your eyes as you felt your walls clenching around him and the pressure around your lower body felt tight and hot. The handsome demon looked down to where you clenched around his cock. And he sped up, moving the desk along with his thrust and causing books and scrolls and pens to fall carelessly on the ground.

Somehow, it felt like he fucked you deeper now. Faster. His damned tail moved against you in equal vigour, flicking your clit until you cried out again. He chuckled, watching you nearly come undone beneath him. So he leaned in and said, “Should I fill you up nicely now, little one?”

His voice, the surprising warmth of his body, the feeling of him inside you, the candlelight which made him look like a wild god. You whined, and said, “Yes, please.”

He smirked, letting go of your legs and instead leaned over your body so he could get close to your mouth. His hand grabbed your wrists and pinned them down on the table, above your head. This close, your breaths mingled. His heated stare, his warm body pressing against yours while his other hand reached up to toy with your breast. “So soft,” He whispered.

For some reason, that was all that you needed to hear, all the stimulation you needed to come undone, clenching around him violently as you did. He held your stare through it all and soon after, he spilled inside you too, grunting and gasping for air.

Your back arched off the wooden table as you felt his warm release filling you up. He pulled out a little and pushed inside you one more time before stopping, properly emptying himself inside you. You were still whimpering and moaning as he pulled out. You could feel his release slowly trickling out of you.

You closed your eyes for a few moments. And you fully expected him to be gone by the time you caught your breath and opened your eyes. But there he still was.

He picked you up from the table, cradled you in his arms and asked, “Where’s your bed?”

You lifted a shaky hand and pointed in the general direction of your bedroom, just outside your workshop and he began walking towards it. He stopped outside the dark doors and nudged them open with his broad shoulder, walking into your bedroom.

No one had ever been in here. Wherever you had your neighbours and friends over for dinner or the afternoon tea, you hosted them in the kitchen or the other rooms. He was the first person to ever walk into your bedroom and honestly, he didn’t look that out of place.

Your bedroom was spacious, mainly dark except for some candles which thanks to your magic could be left unattended and would never burn your house down.

“Here,” He placed you down in the middle of your bed and said, “I’ll take your leave now, little witch.” He spoke, smirking as he let his eyes roam your bare body one last time before turning around.

You reached out and grabbed his wrist before he would fully turn away. You managed to say, voice a little raspier now after all that moaning and gasping earlier, “You… um, in case this doesn’t work the first time around,” You spoke, hoping he read in between the lines, “And if I find myself in need of your, uh, help again. Would you come if I call?”

He grinned. “Of course. No need for shiny crowns next time, just leave out some warm bread.” He left you with a playful wink and a handsome smirk. And then just like that, as if the shadows of your room swallowed him whole, he disappeared.

—

For the following week that passed by, you paid extra attention to your body and with the help of your magic, you’d know if conception occurred. But also, you couldn’t bring yourself to forget the demon.

He’d been just as energetic and thorough as you expected him to be. But… he had also been much more gentle than you expected him to be. The bread incident made you giggle quietly to yourself now that you thought about it. And you did think about it each time you baked.

You were extra nervous the next time you sent out an invitation to him. The conception hadn’t happened, as expected because they rarely work the first time. Which meant that you needed the demon again. So as you waited for him to show up, awake this time, you found yourself feeling unnecessarily giddy.

You not only tried to lure him with your best bread this time, but also a cloak. Not that you minded his naked form but… you felt the need to give him something nice. Not quite like a payment, just a gift if you will. You had made the cloak in a way to accommodate his wings comfortably as well. And those broad shoulders, and strong limbs, and-

You were lost in thoughts of him when a voice spoke up from the corner of the room, “A cloak this time,” He noted, grinning already. “I think you like me quite a lot, little witch.”

You smiled at him. Your heart almost skipped a beat at the sight of him. The handsome demon came wearing the crown you’d made him the last time. And he looked like a god. Naked, golden skin, shiny crown, dark wings and those shadowy markings all over his skin.

“It’s just a way of thanking you for, you know, helping me.”

You didn’t feel so nervous when he approached you this time. You let him come closer until he was standing in between your legs again as you sat on the edge of your desk. He placed his large, warm hands on your thighs as if it were a habit and his tail wrapped around your calf, squeezing just a little to remind you of last time. You shivered at the memory.

“But do you?” He asked playfully.

“What?”

He gave you a cocky grin. “Like me?”

Well that came out of nowhere. You chuckled, “Yes. I wouldn't have sought you out again if I didn’t.”

He smirked. Then reached out to touch your face so gently that for a moment you forgot he was a demon from Hell. “I take it that you need me to fill you up again, little witch?” He asked so brazenly, while your face felt hot.

You managed to say, despite your racing heart, “I do. And I’ve even come up with a plan in order to ensure that it works this time.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “What plan?”

Your face heated up again as you said, “I suppose for it to work this time around, maybe you shouldn’t, um, pull away so soon after…”

“Ah.” The demon’s smirk denoted that he understood. “I see.” He said, “So you wish for me to remain buried deep inside that tight warmth of yours after I’ve filled you up.” He said, purposely just so he could watch you squirm. “I can do that.”

A sudden confidence shot through you, “Good. That is precisely why you are here, demon.” You sassed.

The demon chuckled before reaching out to grab you carefully by the jaw. His actions were slow and gentle, as if worried he might accidentally hurt you. “Careful with that mouth of yours.” He hissed playfully, “Don’t you know what happens to pretty little witches when they run their mouths like this?”

You held his stare, playing along, “No.” You whispered, “What happens to them?”

He leaned in and whispered against the corner of your mouth in a sinful voice, “They get pinned to the wall and fucked until they cannot think straight.”

You felt your heart racing faster. Your thighs desperately wanted to clench together but he wouldn’t let that happen. His tail slowly moved up and down your leg, stroking your skin and making you crave his touch even more. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, right? You were supposed to just take what you needed from one another and that should’ve been it. But… you didn’t mind this.

His mouth moved along your cheek and you lost your ability to speak. He kissed along your jaw and down your neck, then he said, “I can hear your heart racing, my little witch. Tell me, is that what you want?” He kissed along your collar bones and the top of your breasts. “Do you want to be pinned to the wall and fucked by a cruel, greedy demon like me? Hmm?”

“Yes…” You managed to whimper. “Please.”

He scoffed, kissing his way back up your neck before he reached your mouth again, “Alright, little one.” He breathed against your parted lips and moved the two of you with such ease and speed that all you did was blink and you found yourself away from the desk and now naked and pinned to the nearby wall, bare legs wrapped around his torso and his mouth pressed against yours.

His wings spread wide behind him, blocking the candlelight from reaching the two of you and shrouding you both in unnatural shadows. Almost as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anything else touching you except for him and his darkness. Not even light.

Your hands wrapped around his broad shoulders, pressing you tightly against his firm body as his mouth moved against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss as he undid the tie of your robe, letting it slip down your body until it fell to the floor.

His large hand cupped you in between your legs and he pulled away from the kiss, grinning at you like the Devil himself. “All that for me?” He asked, sliding his knuckles along your wet folds, smearing your arousal around. “How very immoral of you. Spreading your legs and getting all wet for someone like me.”

You whined when he slid a finger inside you, followed by another before he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which make you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand involuntarily, and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

“Are you ready for me now?” He mumbled, kissing down your neck, nibbling on your skin around your collar bones.

“Yes,” You cried out when he wrapped his mouth around your breast, sucking just enough to drive you wild, making you grind your hips against him, chasing whatever friction you could get.

His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you whimpered. You felt his body tense up against you as well and a quick moment later, he aligned his tip to your dripping wet hole and slowly pushed in.

His fingers dug into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours scratched at his shoulders as he filled you up like the previous time, making you whine and moan as he went. His body was familiar now. His heat, his scent. The sound of him breathing, his warm chest pressing against yours. And when you looked down, you already knew you’d find that bulge forming against your stomach each time he buried himself all the way inside of you.

When he began rocking in and out of you, your body remembered. The stretch of his thickness, the snugness of him, the way he started out with slow strokes and then gradually sped up into you. It was all familiar. Except this time, you could feel his back muscles moving along with each thrust of his. Each movement of his reminding you of the sheer power his sinful body contained.

“You feel even better than last time, little one.” He said as his devious tail reached up and wrapped around one of your breasts, pumping it before moving to the other one, and repeated.

His strong arms supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass, holding you against him, as he sped up into you. He fucked you relentlessly, with a little less caution this time. Your back hit the wall with each thrust and you couldn’t stop whimpering, whining and moaning as he fucked into you with the intensity only a demon like him could.

Your hands somehow slid beyond his shoulders, grabbing onto the base of his large, dark wings. He stilled. Then supported you up with one hand thanks to his devilish strength, while the other pulled your sneaky hands away from his wings and pinned them above your head. He began fucking you again and said, flirtatiously warning you, “Wings are extremely sensitive.”

That only intrigued you even more, but all that for later. You needed him right now. And you needed to come.

He leaned in and nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you immense pleasure, your mind a foggy mess. Your clit rubbed against his stomach each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace, earning even more moans and gasps from you.

Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace, pounding into you relentlessly. The pleasure built nicely as he took you higher. The bulge in your stomach forming and disappearing quicker now. Your moans were wanton.

“Ready for me to fill you up again, little one? Hmm? You’re going to be so full after this,” He whispered, leaning in just so his mouth would brush against yours as he spoke. “Perhaps you’ll still feel me in between your legs when you wake up tomorrow. Is that what you want? Huh? Is that why a pretty little witch like you invited a filthy beast like me? Because you wanted to be so full.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his thickness. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching down his shoulders and chest as loud moans escaped your mouth. He came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls before he filled you up with his warm release. Pumped you full of it until you could feel it inside you.

And just like you’d instructed him earlier, he didn’t pull away immediately. He caught his breath for a few moments before he moved, keeping you pressed against his chest, still buried deep inside you he pulled away from the wall and walked out of your workshop, towards your bedroom.

You felt a soft pinch inside your chest at the thought of him being so comfortable with moving around in your house.

He opened the bedroom door, still holding you close to him as he carefully laid the two of you in your bed. He barely fit in your bed which was in fact made to hold two people. He pressed closer to you as you both laid on your sides facing each other. “Are you alright, little one?” He asked softly. With genuine care.

You blinked at him lazily, feeling boneless because he’d worn you out. “Hmm, I’m alright.” You whispered, feeling his tail stroking your leg as if comforting you while his hands held you close to him.

He gave you a rare, soft smile. Then said, “Tell me about your shop.”

You smiled and answered, “Well, it’s a typical witch shop. I sell crystals, candles, herbs, and medicine. The children get hurt often, especially when they play in these woods, so I sell stuff that heals them even quicker. I have special crystals, laced with magic to help my friends shift quicker. The mermaids love them. The dragon folks up on the mountains love them too. The wolves wear them around their necks like necklaces.” You paused, “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, the movement also moving him while he was inside you so you whimpered in pleasure. He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead as if apologising and answered, “I’m just curious about your community here. It all seems so… peaceful.” He said.

“It is.” You gave him a faint smile. “Everyone is welcomed here. A family of moth people just moved in down the creek. They have the most adorable little children.” You giggled. “And-,” You stopped abruptly at the sight of the longing and slight envy in his eyes. “What is it?” You asked, sensing the shift in his demeanour. He seemed sad.

He gave you a faint, fake smile. “I’m just thinking about how nice it must be. To be accepted for being whatever you are. To have friends and not have people look at you and run away screaming.”

Your heart ached for the handsome demon. You reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, sincerely. “Is it that bad where you’re from?”

“It’s lonely.” He answered truthfully. You knew the feeling all too well.

Your thumb instinctively began stroking his smooth cheek. “And you can’t leave.” You stated, suddenly feeling very bad for the demon.

“Oh we can leave. I know a few of my kind who have left and moved elsewhere, but it’s not common.” He said, “There are not many places where beings like me are accepted.” Then he smiled and said, “I’m not like you, little witch. I have no skills. There’s nothing I can do to contribute to a lovely community like this one and have its people accept me as one of their own.”

You chuckled, “Well, I’m sure we could find something for you to do.” You said, “You have wings and can move at incredible speed, maybe you could be a mail carrier.”

He laughed. Truly laugh, louder than he ever had. And he looked like a god while he did. His boyish laughter echoed around your bedroom and if you could bottle up the sound and keep it forever, you would.

When he finally stopped and looked back at you, you could’ve sworn you saw something resembling affection in his eyes. “You truly are something, little witch. I’m very glad I met you.” For some reason, his words felt like goodbye.

And then it hit you. If you managed to conceive this time, maybe this would be goodbye. You snuggled closer to him, refusing to think about that right now, and said, “And I’m glad I met you, demon.” His wing wrapped around you and you fell asleep some moments after, cocooned in the warmth of his body and wing.

—

When you woke up in the morning, he was gone. The entire day went by in a blur. You worked at your shop, met up with your friends for afternoon tea, made yourself dinner and then you went back to bed. And repeat.

It was only two days later, when you sensed something different about your body did you realise that it had happened. You were expecting. And your heart sank, solidifying the fact that you would never see the demon again. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but you couldn’t get rid of the sadness.

But that was the initial plan, was it not? So what if you’d miss his handsome face, his cocky humour, and his touch. This is what you wanted, a baby. And now you were going to have one. And yet, you couldn’t help but miss him.

You thought the absence of him would not matter in time, but weeks later, it felt the same. Each time you made your bed, each time you baked, each time you saw a couple walking hand in hand, everything reminded you of the surprisingly kind demon.

But then one evening, as you returned home from your shop, you sensed something different in the air the moment you stepped inside your house.

And something stirred inside you, that pinch in your chest, the way your heart fluttered. You knew.

“You’re here.” You whispered, shutting the door behind you. You placed your basket down and waited. And then, as if he stepped out of shadow itself, one moment he was nowhere to be seen and the next, he was standing a few feet away from you.

Wearing his dark cloak and his golden crown. He looked like a forgotten, ancient god. One so handsome anyone would willingly worship at his altar. “I am.” He answered, looking at you with sad eyes.

You held his stare and both of you were quiet for a while. You hadn’t invited him tonight. It had been weeks since you last saw each other and seeing him right now, it hurt. It hurt even more because he seemed… lost, hurt and confused. And you didn’t know what to do.

Then his eyes trailed down your body, stopping around your midsection. You smiled and placed a hand on your abdomen, even though you hadn’t started showing just yet. “It worked,” You told him. “I’m expecting.”

“I see.” When he looked up to meet your eyes again he looked even more miserable. And heartbreakingly alone.

“Well,” You said cheerfully, hoping to make him feel a little better. “I was going to make dinner, would you like to join me? I even made fresh bread.” You said, smiling up at him.

He gave you a faint smile, noticing how you weren’t asking him what he was doing here. He nodded, following you to the kitchen and the cosy dining table.

–

Dinner went well. The conversation flowed. He asked you about your neighbours and friends, and your shop. He laughed at your jokes and you laughed at his. Yet once you were both done with your food, the tense silence was back.

Then, while he helped you put away the dishes he said, “I wanted to see you.”

You placed the last plate down and then turned to look at him. “I’m glad you came.” He was so tall that you had to extend your arm up completely to be able to touch the shiny crown on his head. It warmed your heart that he wore it. You smiled and asked, “You really like that crown, don’t you?”

He smiled back at you and said, “It’s my favourite gift I’ve ever been given.”

“Do you show it off to everyone?” You asked, teasing him.

His smile fell a little. “I have no one to show it off to.” He stated.

Your heart broke at the sound of that. You couldn’t help but lean in and wrap your arms around his torso. He was warm, his body heat wrapping around you as you hugged him. “I’ve missed you too.” You said.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and kissed the top of your head. “Can I stay for a while?” He asked, and the softness of his voice made you tear up.

“Of course you can stay,” You said, then pulled away to look up at his pretty face. “For as long as you wish to.”

So you and the handsome demon found yourselves on that favourite chair of yours, with you on his lap. You tried to read but then ended up engaging in playful banters with him until you slowly drifted off to sleep right there on his lap, with your face nuzzling his neck. He had his arms wrapped protectively around you, reminding you a lot of how the dragons guarded their hoards.

So you fell asleep, dreaming of random things until…

You were in the meadows. The sun was about to set so the sky was nothing but golden and pink and purple. But you weren’t alone. A little girl was holding your hand tightly.

Your daughter?

You looked down and she was barely tall enough to reach your knees but she squealed in happiness, pointing up at the sky. You followed her small finger and found a dark spot in the pink and purple sky above. A dark spot, like shadows, that grew and grew until it looked like it was getting closer and closer to the ground. It was. He was. Mighty wings flapping in the wind as he flew above you in circles until he landed on the grass with a loud thud.

Your daughter dropped your hand and ran to him, to her father. And he picked her up, holding her high up in the air, laughing as she giggled louder than ever, before hugging her close as he walked over to you. Once close enough, he bent down to kiss your forehead, curling a wing around you. As if it were a habit. As if he’d done it hundreds of times.

“Let’s go home, my love.”

You woke up, and immediately pulled away to meet his eyes. Incubi could infiltrate dreams with ease. And your handsome demon had done just that.

You held his stare in silence for a while. Then you managed to ask, voice a little shaky, “Is that- what you just showed me, is that something you would want?”

He grabbed you by the hips and pulled you even closer, “You are what I want.” He whispered, inches away from your lips. “You and…” He placed a hand on your not-showing-yet stomach. “Her. And however many more babies you would want from me. I want everything with you.”

Your eyes watered, and you managed a faint smile as you said, “And here I was taught that demons were heartless.”

He chuckled, and grabbed your hand and brought it up to his chest. He placed your palm down on the material of the cloak, right in the middle of his chest and said, “Feel that?” He pressed your palm against his chest. And you felt it, the steady beat of his heart. “I forgot it was even there. Until it began racing the other day when I thought of you.”

You blinked away the wetness at your waterline, sniffled and said, “How poetic of you, demon.” Then you realised, “I don’t even know your name.”

He laughed again, eyes filled with adoration as he looked at you. “I don’t have one. Then again, my name can be whatever you want it to be.”

Your heart doubled in size just looking at him. “Are you sure you want this? You’ll have to pull your weight. I’ll make you do chores.” You teased.

He smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it.” He smirked then added, “I’ll even carry mail around if you want.”

You couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. One that made him growl possessively against your mouth before he claimed it with enough passion that had you undoing the buttons in the front of your dress as quickly as you could.

He helped you in getting rid of your long, flowy dress. Then as you straddled his lap properly, he shrugged off his cloak and dropped it on the ground. And all it took was one silent, pleading look from him and you bucked your hips against his, your wet core rubbing against his erection and he grunted. His hands rubbed up and down your sides lovingly.

“Don’t tease me, little witch.” He whispered mischievously against your mouth, your warm breaths mingling. The fact that he was willing to just sit there and let you take whatever you wanted from him turned you ravenous.

You lifted off his lap and slowly lowered yourself down on his cock, or tried to because you still had trouble taking him given his size. But with a little help, he grabbed you by the hips to keep you in place and he pushed up into you. Making you cry out as you finally began sinking down on him. Somehow, he felt bigger this way and your body resisted just a little to fit him inside.

An arrogant smirk formed on his pretty face as he watched you struggle for a while. “Do you need help, little one?” He asked, and once you nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes, he grabbed your hips in place and gently began thrusting his hips up into you until you found a pleasurable pace.

When you felt that your body could take it, you began moving against him. Lifting up just the slightest, before sliding back down on his cock, you whimpered as he groaned, snug inside of you. In this position, the tip of his cock reached sensitive places you never knew existed.

“You’re so warm,” He whispered, his eyes locked in place where he disappeared inside you each time you moved. Lust-drunk, both of you. You leaned in closer, cradling his head as he took one of your breasts into his mouth while his tail wrapped around the other.

Crying out in overwhelming pleasure, you moved faster, impaling yourself down on his cock each time. You whimpered shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust.

His hand slipped between the two of you and he placed his palm against your abdomen. Your heart melted as you remembered the dream you just had. You cupped his face and he released your nipple to look up at you. Nothing needed to be said, the sincerity and adoration in his eyes spoke volumes. You leaned in for a soft kiss, moaning against his lips as his hand circled around your waist and he pulled your warm body closer to his.

He felt warm from deep within. Warmth he had never felt before. Your lips brushed against his each time you moved up and down his cock. He mostly let you set the pace and he took whatever you gave him, only guiding you up and down his cock when you needed him to.

You pulled away, bouncing on his cock as you stared into his pretty eyes. He whispered gently about how perfect you felt around him, wet and warm all for him. He panted against your cheek, kissing the side of your face and gripping your jaw with his hand. “You’re mine,” He whispered.

“And you’re mine.” You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and he kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came, hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him.

He came right after you, his warm release filling you up once again as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your warm body closer to him. “I’m gonna take care of you.” He promised.

You smiled, pulling away to look into his eyes. “You’ll never be lonely again. I promise.” You sealed your promise with a kiss on his forehead and he couldn’t have smiled any bigger.

“Do you have to go and bring back all your belongings?” You asked, kissing down his face until you could nuzzle his chest. Secretly not wanting him to leave even for just a minute.

“I don’t have any. All I have is the crown and cloak you gave me.” Something about that made you tear up as you looked up at him. He smiled at you, pulling you closer.

You sniffled, snuggling closer to him. “I'll make you a drawer full of clothes and cloaks. Some pants too. Maybe even a hat or two for when it gets cold.”

He laughed, kissing the top of your head. No one had ever cared for him this much, let alone a fraction of this. And in that moment he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, and the family that you two would have soon. “I’ll love you till the end of time, little witch.”

“And I you, demon.” You wrapped yourself around him, placing your ear right above where you thought his heart would be. In the middle of his chest and there it was, his steady and strong heartbeat.

—

Part 2 (just in case you wanna read more about these two)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #demon!bucky #marvel

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janearts · 7 months

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Roisia Lydgate: Character Overview

This is really more of a background introduction to her character, but I'm trying to put as much information in one place for future reference or for anyone who wants to get a better idea of her character. Details underneath the cut!

Meta-Knowledge

Roisia is my Source Hunter from Divinity: Original Sin, but I recreated her in Baldur’s Gate 3 as a way to continue her story albeit in a completely different universe. The story and events of DOS have since become part of her backstory, and tweaked to fit the world of Faerûn.

Name Pronunciation

I’m honestly none too fussed about pronunciation. Her name is an 11th century mediaeval name that would later become “Rose” in Middle English. Roisia is probably meant to be pronounced something like /ɹɔɪːsiːɑ/ (Roy-see-ah) based on other name variants found around the same time. Her nicknames, as given to her by her parents, include: Rose, Rosie, petal, pet, rosebud, bud, so on and so forth.

Personality

Roisia is charming, adventurous, with a voracious curiosity, and a deeply analytical mind. She believes that taking care of the dead and providing a voice for the dead is her life’s calling. She was formerly raised to be a Cleric of Kelemvor, but believes that her god has disowned her since she reanimated her father. She now believes herself to be deemed among the Faithless. She’s compassionate to those in need and is willing to break rules (and the law) to help others. While she is generally a law-abiding citizen, she is dogged in pursuing the whims of her curiosity and will likewise do whatever it takes to solve a puzzle, a mystery, or a murder… or simply answer a question that has occurred to her. She is sociable, prefers when everyone gets along, and will try to talk her way into and out of most situations. This includes charming, reasoning, intimidating, and/or deceiving others to get her desired outcome. Ultimately, she finds solace and comfort in the company of animals, the dead, and books. Her favourite animal is the noble spider, and she breeds and raises some species in her spare time.

Spells and Such

I tried as best I could to replicate Roisia’s DOS character. In DOS, she was classed as a Witch. Witchcraft spells in DOS are a mixture of Necromancy spells and Enchantment spells, and I chose my spells in BG3 to imitate the ones that you get in DOS. As a witch in DOS, Roisia also had the ability to talk to animals and summon a spider. (I cheesed this in BG3 with the Find Familiar spell—technically a Conjuration spell—and having her drink a potion after every long rest.) To be more in keeping with her backstory, I gave her a Guild Artisan background and invested skill points in skills like Medicine.

Backstory

Roisia grew up in Eastway of Baldur’s Gate. Her father worked in the Gray Harbor shipyard as a shipwright and her mother was a Mortarch, running the Eastway Cemetery & Lydgate Funeral Service. She was raised to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a Cleric of Kelemvor, and specifically as a Mortarch, from an early age. She assisted her mother in managing the burial customs and rites for the Lower City’s diverse community (from embalming to ritualistic cannibalism to poisonings), comforting grieving family members of the deceased, and tending to the dead buried in the cemetery.

Her life took an unexpected turn when her father drowned during a sea trial. Grieving for her father, Roisia made her first attempt at Necromancy. She unwittingly used a wish spell in the process and reanimated him as a skeleton. Because it was the wish spell, not her first attempt at a necromantic ritual, that bound the soul of her father to his bones, Roisia is determined to master the School of Necromancy and truly resurrect her father.

She is interrupted in her early studies by the appearance of Eustace, who recruited her into the Source Hunters, an organisation dedicated to eradicating dangerous magic users (like… Necromancers). “We need you,” he said. “… and you need us.” Roisia & Eustace (or Roy & Stacey as they became known to each other) investigated the mysterious murder of a town counsellor and uncovered a Necromantic cult in the process. As they adventured together, Roisia began to develop feelings for Eustace, but as their adventure concluded and they returned to the Source Hunter Academy, Eustace did not return those feelings. Dejected, Roisia left the Source Hunters and returned to her home in Baldur’s Gate.

To “cure” herself of her heartbreak, Roisia drew up a list of lifelong goals for herself. They are:

1. A cemetery or plot of land of her own to oversee. 2. “Tenants”/”Residents” (aka The Deceased) to house and tend to on this land. 3. To master Necromancy such that she can extend indefinitely her own life and the lives of her loved ones. 4. One (1) Spouse (*not of the squeamish variety) 5. Children (*ideally 3-5)

Refocused aggressively on her list, Roisia returned to her duties during the day and her studies during the night. She was abducted by the nautiloid one night while she was off to dig up a new test subject.

Playlist

#BG3 Roisia #Roisia #taggin #tatterings #here you go!#rosecanons #roisiacanons #Spotify

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sofipitch · 8 months

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One big theme in the locked tomb is the importance of community, and especially with the framework of those with a disability. Harrow in HTN has two different worlds she is interacting with, one in which the people around her don't give a shit to help her at all, and in that world she dies. Then in the river bubble most everyone refuses to leave her on her own, thye chose to help her, many despite not knowing her. Compare Ianthe's speech to Harrow in the prologue, the way she frames it is Harrow will not survive if she doesn't accept her help, and that Ianthe specifically is the only one who can. Her speech intentionally or not implied that she sees Harrow as weak. Of course Harrow rejects her help. Whereas when Harrow is asking the others to not help her defeat the sleeper, many frame it as helping her is just being part of something they already wanted to do or that they benefit from (the ones that come immediately to mind being Abigail, Dulcie, and Marta). They help her but don't make her feel like she owes them anything for doing it. Which is the opposite of Ianthe, when Harrow makes her the bone arm, Harrow doesn't want anything in return but Ianthe explicitly states she doesn't want to owe her.

The same is true in Nona, Camilla, Palamedes, and Pyrrha don't really owe it to Harrow to keep her/her body safe. It's obviously a lot of work, the equivalent to raising a child, but Nona is never treated as a burden. And I hate to imagine what it would have been like for Nona had she been alone, she said she couldn't even remember to walk at first. And this is all over the series, Dulcie lovingly saying Palamedes invented the breathing tube for her. Camilla and Coronabeth caring for Judith when they were captured. Even in places that aren't tied to disability, a necromancer and cavalier HAD to work together to complete the challenges. The way both of the Palamedes' detective short stories depend on the help another person lends him. It means so much for a story featuring characters with a disability to emphasize that it is okay to need other people, that we all do or will. That you don't need to push yourself to extremes to keep up (Harrow has this mindset in both books and in both she succeeds the most with the help of others, not alone).

To go even further, it isn't just about helping one another, but the importance of not keeping a score. Don't think you have to make up an equivalent amount of help to someone else. One of the things Gideon emphasizes as the most hurtful in Harrow's rejection is the rejection of her help. Palamedes says that he feels bad for using Camilla for his agenda and she answers that it was never his agenda. Him needing her body was something Camilla would never think twice about giving. They would do these things because they love them. This is just me repeating themes but I'm so used to the Western independent mindset, and disability porn of "if you just try hard enough" this series is a breath of fresh air

#tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth

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gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat · 7 months

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Group H, Round 1, Poll 9:

Propaganda under the cut

Ianthe Tridentarius

She is trying so hard to be the main character by lying and manipulating her sister, her cavalier, her mentor, her ?love interests? (Spoiler???) And also god. Not sure how it's working out for her but she does love to lie and manipulate

Worstie Ianthe is the DEFINITION of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. She is one of a set of necromancer twins that are the heirs to their houses rule. Except wait, only she is a necromancer and she has spent their entire lives doing necromancy for the both of them. She is constantly mean to their cavalier, Naberius, who she occasionally nibbles on like a chew toy, before eventually killing and eating him to ascend to sainthood. She goes to gods spaceship with another woman who ascended to sainthood who she has a crush on, this other woman is like…. Both incredibly mentally unwell and also haunted by at least 211 ghosts. Ianthes method of flirting with her? Gaslighting her about the corpse that keeps moving around and hiding under her bed. For no real reason tbh. She is clearly plotting to overthrow god, and at the moment that consists of her manipulating him while he’s too sad about his long term partners betraying him and subsequently exploding to really care. She dresses in terrible outfits and makes soup by burning onions to the bottom of a pot, putting meat in and some vegetables and then it doesn’t taste like anything so she puts in a few teaspoons of salt so it tastes like a few teaspoons of salt. She had her crush amputate her arm and regrow her a new one out of bone and it’s one of the horniest things I’ve read in my life.

"Gaslight = told her lobotomized (she helped), schizophrenic girlobsession that there was no corpse under their bed, even tho there totally was. Gatekeep = girl did NOT share the secret to god-like ascension. She kept that shit to herself until it was time to eat her boytoy, and by then everyone knew already. Girlboss = she has a non-necromancer twin sister, and literally Everyone thinks they r both necromancers because Ianthe is so good at it. She reverse engineered ascending to the aforementioned ascension without even completing any of the supplementary tasks. She held her own in a fight against a 10k year old lyctor. She becomes the figurehead of her entire empire. "

She uses a man as a chewtoy in the first book, literally gaslights the protagonist of the second book about a corpse, and elder-abuses God when he gets depressed in the third book. Nobody is doing it like her.

Dives headfirst with no regrets while basically laughing and covered in blood into murdering her cavalier once she realizes what the gothic locked room mystery/competition leads to while everyone else is questioning it, helps perform lobotomy on harrow so she doesn't remember the person she loves, manipulates everyone to get to the top

idk just everything about her

her relationship with her sister is incredibly Bad, she fosters codependency and views Corona(the sister) as an extension of herself. This does not stop her from keeping up the con that Corona actually has magic (She doesn't, it was always just Ianthe) for 22ish years and every single person who interacts with them falls for it. She killed a man against his will (most dying for this purpose specifically go willingly) and she consumed him and she will be burning his soul for eternity. She's completely repulsive and still somehow incredibly hot.

she takes advantage of the fact that the main character is prone to hallucinations. at one point she gaslights the mc into believing that the corpse under her bed isn't real just because she can. she reverse engineered a set of very complex trials on her own without anyone realizing she had the skills to complete them normally. she's also babysat god through his drunk and pathetic era.

Artist:@starcanist

Remy the Rat

Gaslight- 'hmm? Me? Steal papers? I'm just an innocent little ratty rat.' Gatekeep- I would debate he's gatekeeping food and taste from the other rats because they just don't GET it. Ugh! Girlboss- doesn't he own a rat restaurant at the end?

#round 1 #group h #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #ianthe tridentarius #cw ianthe tridentarius #ianthe the first #Remy #Little Chef #Ratatouille #runner's note: not to be biased but that's my absolute participant here. Let this fight be fun and challenging #also Ianthe. Queen of the greatest amount of propaganda

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kaykebitez · 1 month

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Arcane Arousals (Rolan x F!Reader)

Rating: Explicit Category: F/M Pairing: Rolan/Tav; Rolan/Female Reader Status: Complete Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6,838

Tags:

POV Second Person, Unnamed Tav (Baldur's Gate), Wizard Tav (Baldur's Gate), Location: Sorcerous Sundries (Baldur's Gate), Female Tav (Baldur's Gate), Tav is Not Described (Baldur's Gate), Banter, Mutual Pining, Teasing, Inappropriate Use of Telekinesis, Vaginal Sex, Clothed Sex, Desperation, Sloppy Makeouts, reader is a shit, Wizard Banter, You Tease Rolan Until He Snaps, Feral Rolan, But Still Kinda Submissive, Shameless Smut

Summary:

You're an accomplished wizard and in the wake of the Netherbrain's defeat, the hero of Baldur's Gate. In the aftermath of the mindflayer invasion, you move into Ramazith's Tower with Rolan, technically taking on the role of his 'apprentice', even though you have several years of teaching experience under your belt at Blackstaff, pre-tadpole. Rolan is insufferable, prickly, and very obviously into you, but he hasn't made a single move towards you, and it's starting to drive you just as crazy as his ego is.

So, one day, after taking verbal potshots at each other that wind up with Rolan giving a demonstration of a new spell he's learned... you decide to test his concentration. By any means necessary.

You also want to see just how far you can push the bratty wizard until he snaps.

AKA: You (Tav) tease Rolan until he can't take it anymore and you fuck on the floor. That's it. That's the fic.

READ ON AO3

Snippet Below the Cut

“Rolan, for the last time, Spectres & Spectral Weave Incantations belongs in the Evocation section, not in the Necromancy section,” you chide, plucking the tome from the dusty shelf in Ramazith’s library to pass off to one of several mage hands that float animatedly around the room. The noonday sun streams in the stained-glass windows, and sorting books would be a wonderful, relaxing way to spend an afternoon up here, if it weren’t for the insufferably prickly tiefling wizard insistent on mucking up your carefully-curated organization strategy.

Rolan whips his head around from where he was rifling through books on a different shelf, letting out an irritated huff through his nose. “By Vivri Arevi? The necromancer?” he says, the emphasis on the last word reminding you much of how one would speak to a small child. The tone has your hackles raising already, but more than annoyance is the overwhelming desire to put this pompous arse in his place.

“Just because the author was a necromancer doesn’t mean all of her writings are classified as Necromancy,” you say, directing the mage hand to shelve the book in its proper place across the way, watching as Rolan’s honey-gold eyes follow the hand with annoyance. “Honestly, have you even read the thing? You’d know within the first few pages it’s clearly an Evocation text.”

“I don’t know what kind of time you think I have these days,” Rolan says with a scoff. “But between running the shop and re-organizing this disaster Lorroakan left, there’s little time left in the day to pour over obscure texts.”

“Obscure?” You snort, stepping down from the ladder you’ve been perched on to place your feet on the floor. “That’s a second-year text for students at Blackstaff. I think I could recite the prologue forwards and backwards. Honestly, Rolan, as talented as you are you’re remarkably under-read.”

It’s a cheap shot, sure, and Rolan’s tail thrashes as he glares at you. But after everything you’ve been through together, this kind of bantering is normal for the two of you, and you flash him a teasing grin, even if the gleam in your eyes is a little mean.

“Is that any way to speak to your master, Tav?” he shoots back at you, all sharp teeth and smug satisfaction. Oh. You’re playing ball today, alright.

As the de-facto ‘master’ of the tower, that makes you his apprentice. Although it’s more of an in-joke between the two of you rather than a true master-apprentice relationship. You taught at Blackstaff Academy before you were forcibly abducted by mindflayers and infected with a tadpole. Your abilities zapped, you were forced to save Faerun with little more than a first-year’s spell knowledge, and unfortunately, the full scope of your talents haven’t returned in the wake of the netherbrain’s defeat. You couldn’t very well go back to your old life as an instructor at your level, so you stayed in Baldur’s Gate, Rolan graciously offering you a place to stay at the tower in return for saving his and his siblings’ hides multiple times over.

And so, on paper, you’re technically his apprentice, but it’s in name only. While your spellcasting abilities took a hit thanks to the tadpole, your knowledge certainly didn’t. Considering Rolan is entirely self-taught, you find yourself often teaching him things, when he’s not getting on your nerves or you’re not riling him up, that is. In fact, you’ve both grown as wizards in the last two months of working together, you in power and him in knowledge. It’s been an enjoyable working relationship, to say the least, and his company isn’t bad, either. You almost rather like living at the tower with him and his siblings; it’s less lonely than your solitary teacher’s dormitory back at Blackstaff, that’s for sure.

You eat dinner with him most nights, talking about all things arcane until your food’s gone cold and you’ve both sunk nearly a full bottle of wine. When Rolan isn’t trying to posture, isn’t trying to be the ‘best wizard in the realms’, he’s almost rather charming. You could even consider the two of you close friends.

But that doesn’t mean that Rolan, the bastard, won’t rub in your face that he’s your ‘master’ at any chance he gets.

Which is why it’s now become your hobby to knock this young brat down a few pegs each day.

It’s simply the natural order of things.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #rolan #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #x reader #fem reader #my fics #kaykewrites #bg3 fic

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spacebarbarianweird · 9 days

Note

Dadstarion prompt:

Caretaker takes the kid to a fair, playground, restaurant or shopping, just spending the day and having fun together

Ha! Take that. Pure fluff. What could possibly go wrong??

Synopsis: Tiriel and Astarion take Alethaine to a fair.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, fluff, a snippet into the future

Another fluffy thing I have written! And there is also a snippet into the distant future with adult Tiri who hasn't inherited her mother's macabre nature!

Alethaine's age - 12-years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Guide on How To Skin Monsters

Tiriel stops at the daggers’ stall. All of them look rather dull and Tiriel decides to search for something better for Astarion. Besides, he prefers to choose weapons for himself and Tiriel can always get something else – a book, jewelry, or a shirt. He always huffs when she brings him gifts, but she knows he is grateful for those little reminders of her care.

“Looking for something?” A merchant, a halfling woman, asks.

“Nothing in particular,” Tiriel says.

The halfling is definitely in the mood for talking and starts gossiping about a feud between two noble human houses, a serious plague “originated by giants” and someone’s wife cheating with an ork.

“Oh, and have you heard? There was a murder in Secomber! The whole family was slaughtered and by whom? A dhampir!”

Tiriel takes her eyes off the daggers.

“Yes! A half-vampire! Can you imagine sleeping with a vampire? But I think their mother was assaulted. Anyway, the dhampir grew up and slaughtered the whole family! Those half-undead are merciless cruel creatures, and they say there are so many of them!”

“Yeah… cruel monsters they are,” Tiriel mutters.

She heard of the slaughter, but there were no dhampirs or vampires involved. Just a young man possessed by a dryad. He was hanged a week later, but someone started spreading rumors his mother fucked a vampire and that’s why her child grew up so bloodthirsty.

Tiriel feels pale hands hugging her waist from behind. Alethaine presses her face against her back – she is 12 but she is still cuddly as a little child.

“Oh, is this your daughter? Such an adorable little girl. How old is she?”

“Alethaine,” Tiriel touches her fingers.

“I am twelve,” she says, trying not to betray her fangs.

“Oh… I am sorry… didn’t notice she was an elf.” The merchant apologizes and then proceeds to tell other gossip.

“Have a nice day,” Tiriel says, taking Alethaine’s hand.

“You too! And beware the dhampirs!”

“Beware the dhampirs my ass,” Tiriel says, moving further away from the obnoxious halfling.

“I can bite her,” Alethaine suggests. She is twelve, but elves mature slower than humans and half-elves and Tiriel notices her daughter sometimes behaves like a younger child.

“No, we are not biting people we don't like.”

“Dad wouldn’t mind if I bit her!”

“Hm, good thing it’s daylight then!” Tiriel rubs Alethaine’s ear. She knows her daughter too well not to notice the merchant’s words upset her.

Cruel merciless creatures? Alethaine cries her eyes out every time someone dies in the books she reads! Well, she mostly sympathizes with dragons and monsters – but also with orphan children, victims of arranged marriages and curses.

And little dead animals.

Little dead animals are a whole different story. It’s been three years, but Alethaine still feels sorry about an albino kitten killed by a stranger. The dhampir accidentally resurrected the pet and now Tiriel and Astarion also face the issue of raising a necromancer.

“Hey, don’t be sad!” Tiriel leans to a little dhampir. “Do you want anything?”

Alethaine doesn't answer. She stops by the book stall completely enchanted by a huge black volume covered in leather.

How to Skin Monsters.

Aletaine immediately flips the pages, and Tiriel sees intricate and creepy pictures of the insides of different beasts and monsters. She’d fought many of them in her lifetime (beholders in the Underdark are still one of her worst memories), but never ever did she want to look at their remains, let alone study them.

“Hey, don’t touch it!'' The merchant tries to take the book away from Alethaine’s hands, but the dhampir keeps holding it with her iron grip. “I think this book is rather dark for a little lady like you.”

“Mum, look, the cover is made of human skin,” Alethaine casually says. “No. It’s half-elf actually.”

“No it isn’t!” The merchant protests. “It’s… wolfskin!”

Liar, Tiriel realizes. She has good perception skills, and the merchant lies. And the dhampir necromancer has already passed the verdict.

Alethaine puts the book away and takes another one – a green volume with letters in Espruar.

“Is it just a collection of stories or the real guide on Feywild?’” Alethaine asks. “People who have never messed with fey write all sorts of fairytale stuff about pink unicorns and fairies who grant wishes.” She opens the book which is written with trembling handwriting. “Oh, I see. Looks like a feverish nightmare. So the writer has been there.”

The book merchant looks at Tiriel with a facial expression she knows too well.

What crypt did you find this child in?

“I have some ballads and traveler guides. Maybe...it is more for your age?” he asks

“Travelers guide on what places?”

“Icewind Dale, but it’s a rather uncomfortable read…”

“I’ve read about Icewind Dale,” suddenly something else attracts her attention and she points at a small book with a dragon on its cover. “Show me this!”

The merchant sighs in relief and reaches for the storybook. Tiriel looks at the pages – even though she still experiences issues with reading, she sees that it's just an adventure story about knights, princes, dragons, and treasure hunting.

Something her daughter stopped reading when she was five or six.

“I will take this too,” Alethaine declares.

“Eighty silver for all three,” the merchant says.

Too much, Tiriel thinks. Alethaine frowns but doesn’t try to bargain. For some reason, she is very shy when it comes to arguments.

“Thirty silver,” Tiriel intervenes. “And we are not telling anyone about the half-elf skin you’ve bound the book with.”

“It’s not made of anyone’s skin!”

“I can hear her screams,” Alethaine whispers, flipping the book pages. “They flayed her when she was still alive!”

The merchant gulps. Tiriel chuckles. So, this is true and the merchant knew it.

“All right. Thirty,” he mutters and Alethaine happily gives him the silver coins.

Alethaine puts the books in her black bag and wishes the merchant good night. The man mutters something not appropriate for children’s ears.

“Did you catch the scent of the skin or it’s more like your necromancy skills?” Tiriel asks, taking her daughter’s hand as they stand by the stall with needles and threads.

She shrugs. “I-I don’t know. Maybe both.”

“Do you know if Dad needs something to sew?” Tiriel still can’t really tell apart shades of the same color and all needles look the same to her.

“Take the black threads,” Alethaine says, touching the samples of fabric. “He’s always out of them.”

Tiriel nods. She doesn’t know why and when Astarion decided to make all his daughter’s wardrobe black, but here they are. Alethaine got from black onesies to black dresses, from black nappies to black skirts, gloves, and coats. Only her shoes and boots aren’t made by Astarion - and they are as pitch dark as everything else.

A few hours later, at sunset, they sit on the grass outside the market. It’s a beautiful summer sunset and Tiriel adores the light. Alethaine sits on her traveling cape and takes out one of her new books.

“Interesting?”

“Uh-um,” she nods, completely taken away.

Tiriel smiles to herself. She’s never been a stranger to violence and dark things – if you faint at the sight of a blood sacrifice, you won’t survive in the wilderness. But having a child like this takes everything to another level.

Death, dark arts, corpses – they have�� a special appeal to Alethaine, the same one Tiriel feels towards fights.

The sun sets and Tiriel sits beside Alethaine. Darkvision allows her to see in gray colors and Tiriel sees a picture of the monster inside.

“All right, now I understand who all these people were who hired me to bring them certain parts of the beasts I killed.”

“Dad is coming,” she says. “Or another vampire, but I think Dad scared all of them away.”

Tiriel smiles. “Good thing vampires hate the presence of each other.” She stands up and approaches the edge of the hill. Yes, Alethaine is right – Astarion has left his daylight shelter in the nearby inn. She can see his silhouette from the distance – white hair and black armor she can’t mix with anyone else.

She waves to him and he quickens his steps.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs in her ear the moment he hugs her. Astarion pecks her cheek and Tiriel rubs his left ear.

“Dad! Look what I’ve bought!”

Tiriel thinks Alethaine will show him the anatomy book, but, instead, she hands him the adventure story.

Astarion studies the first page, then another. Tiriel watches them carefully.

“I just don’t get it,” Alethaine admits. “Is it about how to enter the thieves’ guild or how to smuggle drugs?”

“None,” Astarion returns her the book. “It’s about how to find a job as a bounty hunter in Neverwinter.”

“Oh, I misread the symbols then,” Alethaine pouts.

“Wait, the book is in Thieves Cant?” Triel asks.

“Yes. Hidden deep under snotty stories,” Astarion answers. “And what are these two monstrosities?”

Alethaine proudly opens the anatomy book as Astarion studies the Feywild one. Tiriel barely prevents herself from laughing as she sees Astarion cringing at the pictures. Vampire or not, he saw so many disgusting and cruel things he hated looking at them.

Then Alethaine yawns.

“Let’s go home,” Tiriel says. It will take them till sunrise to return to Daggerlake. If they don't hurry they will need to set up a camp for the daylight - or leave Astarion behind which Tirel absolutely hates to do.

It’s not like it’s a big deal right now – thirty-two years since he gained his freedom, he has nothing to fear. More than that, Tiriel is sure there is simply no other monster in the area who could be a threat to Astarion. He is a vampire, an undead, a skilled rogue, a dangerous assassin.

But when he is alone, the nightmares slowly crawl back. The loneliness fuels his memories and there are so many of them. Thirty-two years are simply not enough. Astarion can handle that too – he’s learned to. But Tiriel doesn’t want him to face mental struggles if it can be avoided.

Alethaine walks in front of them and Tiriel takes Astarion’s hand in hers. They are her little family – everything she’s ever wished for.

She looks at Astarion and notices his lips are squeezed and there is some anxiety in his eyes.

Hunger.

“Go for a hunt, we will wait for you”.

“Nonsense, let’s return home sooner.”

Tiriel doesn’t push it. They agreed years ago that Alethaine isn’t to see him dining on her mother (because it’s absolutely a sexual thing and must remain behind closed doors) and also that she shouldn’t see him feed on animals (because her dhamprisim might get awoken – blood will tempt her and they don’t want their daughter to become more a vampire then she already is).

Of course, she isn't stupid, she knows her father drinks blood. She often sees bite marks on Tiriel when she forgets to cover them – but the process remains out of sight.

It’s already sunrise when they reach Daggerlake and Astarion walks forward not to risk staying in the sun.

By the time they return home, Alethaine rushes upstairs to prepare for sleep. She sleeps a lot, even more than a human would – and Tiriel wonders how much dhampirism affects her sleeping habits.

“So, is the book really about how to be a mercenary?” Tiriel asks closing the door to the bedroom

Astarion has already put off his doublet and now sits on the bed watching Tiriel.

He waits.

“Yes. It was a guide on how to find people who will give her a job as a mercenary,” he slowly answers as if he had to concentrate on speaking. His eyes are focused on her neck.

“And can she read this book?”

“She thought it was about smugglers and thieves. Her skills aren’t that good.”

Tiriel approaches Astarion and he tugs her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

Astarion is no longer a sweet caring elf – his predatory side is on the loose and he pierces her skin with his nails as the fangs are looking for the vein.

Tiriel wraps her hands around his neck and lets herself drown in painful pleasure.

“Take as much as you need,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

She feels like falling into the warm dark void and, when she almost crosses the border of no return, the tender hands let her go and she finds herself on the bed with Astarion carefully applying a bandage on her fresh bite mark.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing her with his blood-stained lips.

“Will you stay with me when I sleep?”

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Besides Alethaine has occupied the bathroom – she isn't getting out any time soon”

“Oh… and I forgot…” Tiriel points at her bag. “I’ve bought you some black threads and new needles.”

Astarion kisses her cheek. “Such a caring and thoughtful wild girl. Now I have something to occupy myself with while you are asleep.” He takes her nightshirt from the floor. “Do you have anything in mind? I noticed you’ve ripped it.”

“Me? Astarion, you rip my clothes all the time!”

He unfolds the shirt showing the ripped collar. “Yeah, I agree. My fault. So, what patch do you want?”

“Maybe a dragon? A black one?”

Astarion covers her with a blanket – the one she uses when she sleeps alone – and sits on the floor with the shirt and the needle.

“I have a daughter who likes seeing monsters’ inside-outs and a wife who likes murdering monsters. Can someone in this family enjoy nice and cute things?” He pouts.

“Imagine Alethaine having a child who enjoys such things. She will pout then, ‘no one in her family has taste for macabre’”.

Astarion chuckles, and Tiriel wraps herself in the blanket.

Safe. She feels safe.

And loved.

Sewing has always helped Astarion to concentrate. It’s been centuries since he needed to shut the darkness up. Memories of his enslavement, memories of the misery have faded away and feel like a distant nightmare.

But habits never truly go, and Astarion enjoys sewing patches and repairing clothes even though the old purpose of that process has long gone.

“You know, for someone who is an elf and was raised as an elf, you are very messy,” Astarion says looking at the ripped cape. It looks like it was chewed by a tarrasque.

“It’s not my fault! I was careful!” Tiri objects. She is making new arrows (as she lost the whole quiver while running from a particularly nasty behir in the Underdark the previous day).

Astarion chuckles. Tiri, his granddaughter, showed up at his place deep in the Fairgheight Range five years ago. Red-haired like her grandmother, she was eager to see the world beyond the Isle of Evermeet – and she still doesn’t show any desire neither to return to her parents nor leave him be and travel alone.

“What patches do you want?” Astarion asks and takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack.

“Well, I am an adult independent woman…” Tiri starts.

“You are thirty and you are an elf. You are basically a child.”

“Hm, you were a magistrate and mum would work for smugglers using her necromantic skills. Barely a child activity.”

“So?”

“I want a unicorn patch,” Tiri finally admits. “Or a butterfly. Don’t laugh, ar’o’su!”

“I don’t, damia,” Astarion finds white threads. “Besides, Alethaine has never been fond of cute and nice things.”

“Mum has her own idea of what is nice and what is cute,” Tiri touches a thin tiara on her hair. While all Tiri’s clothes are made according to Wood Elves traditions, her father’s ancestors, the tiara is pitch black and with a small skull in the center. It definitely belonged to Alethaine and then she just passed it to her only daughter.

Tiri puts the new arrows on the ground and lies on her bedroll to reverie. Her drake, Aurix, immediately nestles on her chest like a cat.

Astarion casts a glance at his granddaughter. She has a certain similarity to Tiriel – and Astarion knows she would have loved her. But half-elves have such an offensive short life span in comparison with elves she had no chance to see little Tiri. At the same time, her facial features are her mother’s and sometimes she speaks like her. There is something else, something unfamiliar – Tiri’s father and their ancestors.

And she loves cute and nice things - and cringes at the sight of monsters’ inside-outs. Necromancy scares Tiri and she admits she’s never been to her mother’s dungeons just because of how uncanny it was for her. And elves would often joke that their “witch-queen” just kidnapped Tiri because no way someone like Alethaine could give birth to such a sweet young woman.

Astarion pierces the fabric with the needle.

“Well, so be it, a unicorn.”

-- Tag list

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

Text

I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood.

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all.

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business.

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all.

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page.

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter.

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages.

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms.

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin.

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page.

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day.

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance.

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin.

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies.

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop.

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation.

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly.

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?”

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition.

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—”

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?”

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away.

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs.

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase.

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall.

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat.

For how many years? One, two? Five?

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service.

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him.

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself.

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him.

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan.

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite.

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her.

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief.

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone.

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration.

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much.

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes.

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder.

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise.

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked.

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting.

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?”

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders.

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain.

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

#rolan x tav #mutual pining #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #tav x rolan #sage and soldier #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #rebgrrl writes #underdark dreams #i think i love them

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