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pursuitseternal · 1 month

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“Knowledge is a dangerous weapon:” Bookworm!Tav, Vampiric Spawn Powers, and Breeding—“Bites” Update 📚

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.6K of banter and breeding

Based on an anonymous prompt

(HBD @lipstickghoulie )

Summary: You have always loved your books and a challenge, when your Vampire Rogue learns his starvation has kept him from his full powers, you take him up on his challenge to teach him the skills that are his due. As you draw closer together, he finds that one bit of information you have failed to teach him… how to make a dhampire

CW: light mocking of Astarion’s ditziness, Spawn Spidercrawl, catching powers and feelings, flirty touching, creepy silent vampire moves, Breeding talk, no babies just breeding, Mating Press™️

Ao3 link | Series link | Masterlist

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You always knew he was… dumb. Thick headed. Unobservant.

Okay, at times the comments from his thick, rosy lips were just plain stupid. “That lever… must do something…” That was a wonderful moment, one that earned him your eyes rolling so far back in your skull they hurt. “We have some words and some… circles…. Wonder what they do….” Another example of his unparalleled intelligence.

Not to mention the countless times he failed to remember any of the major gods and their shrines as you passed through crypts and defiled chapels.

For as handsome as he was, for as sultry and seductive as you found him, he was… smoothed-brained. But as your journey forced you closer together, you couldn’t help but think some of it may be merely pretense, he was a magistrate after all. He was abused and tortured for centuries, surely that does things to one’s mind. And he was always reading. Every day, every night at camp, his beautiful aquiline nose stuck in a book, crimson eyes devouring the words at a breakneck speed.

One to even rival your own thirst for knowledge.

Maybe it was that you allowed the poor Spawn a chance to drink living, thinking blood for once. Your own. Maybe that was what began to take his little, stupid moments and turn them into something endearing.

Not that he was gracious when you corrected his ignorance. Every time, he gave that adorable, grumpy harumph and then defended his comments, or… since he started feeding from you, he’d just look at your neck still freshly marked and lick his lips. That really shut you up. Set you on fire.

But it wasn’t until you needed him to reach that last little chest up on the crumbling ledge inside some dank cavern that you realized his ignorance wasn’t wholly pretend.

Astarion, vampire spawn, didn’t know just what he should be capable of. He looked positively befuddled when you told him to just climb the brick wall. His sass had been sharp, “I’m not some spider, darling.”

“But you can spider climb, you dolt,” you had laughed imitating his tone, trying to call his bluff on skills he should have, at least according to what you had read in your book. A Spawn should scale such a wall with immense ease.

He just narrowed his crimson eyes at you, a snarl on his lips as he shook his head. “I have never performed such an act, darling, nor have any of my brothers and sisters, those of us Cazador kept for his bidding. Better check your precious facts in your precious tomes before you throw your assumptions on my prowess… dear.”

You still shiver at that night. Back at camp. When you ignored the way he bristled as you approached him in front of his tent. He had sneered at you, readying his next acerbic quip for you… Until you sat so close beside him, settling the heavy book in his lap. Leaning in, you point to the page. Traits and Strengths of the Vampiric Spawn.

You felt him cease breathing, his left hand clutching at the edge of the book growing even whiter. “Astarion,” you breathed. Leaning in more, you looked into his eyes, his gaze scanning the words so quickly on the aged vellum. And then he shoved you by your cheek out of his sightline. He needed to finish this.

“Why, I should be positively remarkable, assuming your book is correct,” he sighed, as if he saw a vision, a dream fulfilled. One where he was powerful.

You nodded as his crimson eyes flashed at you, wide with wonder. “You mentioned Cazador never let you feed enough, and not from thinking creatures.” He nodded, skeptical even as his eyes fixated on your lips. “Well, what you did not know was that denying you a sufficient diet meant also restricting you from your full powers, even as a Spawn, Astarion. You should be able to climb up walls and ceilings, move swifter, lift boulders too much for even Karlach to manage. You should be able to heal almost instantaneously, without potion or feeding.”

“And now?” he replied, that little tremor of hope in his voice unmistakable as his hand traced over the page of your book.

“Well, it’s a difficult deduction, since you have our unwelcome illithid parasite. But now that you are feeding regularly, even from thinking creatures, you should find the effects more than just making you feel… happy,” you rambled on. Even as you kept talking, his eyes glued their gaze to your neck, your lips. If you weren’t mistaken, they even dipped down the v-shaped cut of your tunic.

“So… the more I drink from thinking creatures, the stronger and more powerful I will be?” he murmured, a slight grit in his throat as his eyes definitely darted down your bosom now.

“Y-yes,” you rejoined, sliding back just a touch.

And he slid that touch closer, and then some.

“You’ll help me, won’t you, darling? You’ll help me learn these skills? Give me all I require to access my full potential….” His eyes looked wet, the ruby irises glowing in the flickering firelight. “Please?” he adds with that smirk and that single arching brow of his made you stomach flutter and heart thump so hard in your chest.

“I…” you started, but he only seemed to lean ever closer.

“You know, when I was a Magistrate, back in the City, I would have craved someone with intelligence like yours. We would have been rivals, colleagues…” his eyes dip once more shamelessly up and down your seated body. “Perhaps lovers even,” he breathed. “I always surrounded myself with those of highest intellect, darling. Intelligence is so… undervalued by many, and knowledge is a dangerous weapon, but I see you, my darling. Won’t you please come to my aid now?”

“We… we can try,” you had whispered, barely able to the let the words from your lips with how you seemed to seize under the intensity of his stare.

“Wonderful,” he purred, catching your cheek, your chin in his cool palm. “I just hope we don’t have to wait too long…”

You squirmed as his thumb began to brush beneath your lip.

“…to put my new strengths to the test I mean, of course.” He smirked that little bit more twistedly. More seductively. And you knew he heard your heart beating in your artery, your blood rushing under his touch in your veins to pool lower. It was his nature, and you knew more of it than he did.

“Of course…” you breathed. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Then it’s settled,” his voice was thick in his throat, you relished the way his other arm stole around you, clutching at you back to bring you all the closer under his heady spell of charm and seduction. “All that’s left is to seal our new arrangement somehow…”

He pushed that heavy book off his lap, sliding to bring you into completely flushed against him. You’re sure your pulse was raging so loudly, it’s deafened his pointed and twitching ears. That chilled, corpse-cold touch under your chin tilts you up just… so…

You melted, closing that distance between your lips. Every logical thought dispersed in the wind of your desire, that panting breath that passed from your lungs into his.

That’s how this all began, and where it had brought you to this moment, where he clings to the ceiling of a massive cavern filled with both the stink of Gnolls and the vile creatures themselves. Dagger gripped in between his glinting fangs. He readies himself with a look of pure and dark excitement. He loves this. He misses this when it’s just you all back in the quiet of camp, where he tests his ever growing strength and climbing abilities, where he drinks from you every night before he hunts in the dark.

Where he slowly makes you more and more aware of your awakening body the more he touches you and caresses and kisses you. Always every night. Always between your increasingly intellectual discussions about vampiric powers and the moment he sinks his fangs into your skin to feed. He always leaves you after dark, his own belly sated, while you… you grow all the hungrier. Needier. You want more debate, more analysis, more of his body covering yours as he drinks you down.

But not anything more. Not yet. Even as you knew he was edging closer to asking you for sex. Even if he didn’t know all the… implications. After all, knowledge was a dangerous weapon.

You shake your head to free yourself from the longing thoughts of past nights and burning expectations of the night to come. You give him the signal, watching him release with flawless precision, dagger in hand now, as he falls from his spider-perch.

The Gnolls never see you coming, not before your endearingly ferocious Vampire Spawn lands with preternatural grace on their heads and vivisects them before you even reach their location.

He pants as you get at least one good shot from your bow, right for the last twitching body on the ground.

It’s not until you smile, satisfied, you notice that Astarion’s pale skin is riddled with scratches and tears from the beasts’ claws. He holds out his arms, rolling up his sleeves and smiling. Enjoying the sight of his vampiric body healing before his eyes. That crimson gaze practically glows as he looks at you over the carnage. “See something you like, my sweet?” he purrs, arching that brow, just for you, as if the others in your party aren’t even there.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, turning to find the coveted chest of supplies, that Zhentarim sigil on it is no deterrent to you. Not when your Vampire Spawn can charm anyone to do anything now. “We better head back to camp,” you kneel before the strong chest, trying your hand to pick the iron lock.

“Tch,” his voice brushes your ear, physically tickling the small stray hairs that make you gasp. “You know I’m far more skilled with my fingers, especially when it comes to slipping inside…” You shudder to feel him crouching right behind you, his thighs pressed against your ass, his waist brushing your lower back. “…Slipping inside chests, locks, that sort of thing,” he adds louder, just to appease your unease. That dexterous touch has only grown all the smoother and stronger and sneakier now that he has fed well for a while.

He is so sneaky in fact, only one of his hands actually works the lock pick for a moment, the other quickly skates up your leg, tracing the inner seam of your buckskin breeches almost to the peak of your thigh. He laughs in your ear as you muffle a noise under your own palm.

“Soldiers, you really need four hands to pick one lock? Haven't you gotten better, Fangs, now that our fearless leader has let you suck on her and tutor you in being a Spawn?” Karlach chortles, her feet swaying side to side in that perpetual motion dance she seems to do.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Astarion throws the barb over his shoulder, letting you bury your face to hide the tweaks of ecstasy at the corners of your eyes as his fingers keep moving higher… higher. “Some silent performance only you get to savor, it seems?”

“If I didn't know better…” Gale’s pedantic voice draws closer.

“There now,” Astarion crows like the proudest rooster of them all, his hand quickly leaving the edge of your mound to twist that pick and pop the lock just as Gale peers from behind. “Look at all this loot,” he groans and stands, satisfied as he folds his arms over his chest. “Good thing you have a strong, well-fed Vampire to bring it back with us. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

He smirks down at you, hand extended to help you to your feet. Back to the rest, he flashes you that fang-toothed smirk that he knows sets your pulse galloping out of control. Pulling you up, he has to steady you in your legs, near boneless as they are with just that tease of pleasure. “Calm yourself darling, you're making my undead heart hurt sympathetically from all that… excitement,” he rasps right into your ear once you’re on your feet before him, releasing you in favor of bags of treasure and potions and loot to stuff in his pack.

Your mind is racing as your trod back towards your little camp well off the Risen Road for good measure. Thoughts scramble, worries peak their heads up, and you can’t stop thinking about the rest of what you have learned reading about vampires. Necessary research for you, particularly since Astarion has seemingly added flirtation and seduction into your witty repartee this last tenday. So far, you’ve managed to keep his wandering eyes from those pages when he glances through your tomes. He seems to prefer every little dip of your skin where he can see it at any rate. So far, you’ve managed to keep his hands in places on your body that are not too dangerous, yours on his as well.

But something inside you knows that tide is shifting. He wants to offer you more in exchange for more… and… well, if it doesn’t just make your body thrum with life in ways no books had and no previous interests had either.

He has beaten you back to camp, haphazardly tossed the loot for the rest of you to sort out in the center of camp. You know he’s waiting in his tent, now that the sun has begun to trek lower and lower. It’s time for your research, for your indulgence of his strength, and… whatever else might happen.

His tent is dimly lit as you enter, a mess of blankets and pillows, some fine and some in tatters. Stacks of books in the corners have replaced the blood bank bottles you first found here to clutter his space.

But no Astarion.

You tilt your head confused, settling down on one pillow, more or less intact, reaching for an apple he keeps in his stash of food just for you. Just to replenish you between his own feedings. As you bite into the hard skin, as the juice fills your mouth, you reach for a book, some ancient law book he found in the ruins of that village. Must make him think of his old life.

The pages are old and soft in your fingers, your eyes absentmindedly skimming the long words and complex sentences as you chew.

Peaceful. Until you realize it’s far too quiet.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, that feeling of being watched creeping up your spine. Turning, mid bite, you peer into the shadowed corner of his tent behind you.

Two glowing red eyes stare at you from the dark, just a hint of glinting teeth as he smiles and drinks in your fear and surprise. He laughs to hear you hiss as you jump in your seat. “There you are,” he croons from his darkened corner. “I’ve been waiting.”

“F-f-for what?” you force a smile and force your breath to steady all at once. He slides closer, settling down right beside you, and you notice your worn book in his hand, the smile on his face is sultry.

And predatory.

And for a moment, you regret teaching him as much as you have about his untapped powers.

“When were you going to tell me about your little bit of… research… on the side?” his voice is chilling, his brow arching as he flips the book open right to the back.

Right where you had been trying so hard to prevent his eyes from skimming, his ambitious brain from devouring the knowledge.

Your body is hot and rigid, and you know from the way his pointy ears twitch, he hears your pulse. You know from the way that his nostrils flare that he smells your arousal, the slick that dampens your underthings just to be this close to him again after his little stunt today.

“If my observations are correct… and they usually are…” he purrs, even though the stack of evidence to the contrary is vast. But you bite your tongue as he continues, your heart leaping at the topic he is about to breach. “You sound and smell eager to discuss this topic if dhampires, my darling.”

You swallow, watching so heated and frozen as he slides so gracefully to place the weight of that tome in your own lap, his fingers removing the half-eaten apple from your fingers to toss to the side. Then he brings their sticky, juicy tips to his mouth to suck them clean.

You moan, unbidden, at the wet and vigor with which his tongue cleans every crevice of those digits.

“Now, I’d hate to be left wondering just why my intelligent, little darling would withhold such a vital… potent… part of my unrevealed powers as a vampire?” he sets your hand back on your thigh, a little extra brush of his fingers, returning to trace that seam inside your breaches as he had before. “Is she… curious? Afraid? Is this why she has been just so hesitant during our…” he grips your chin, turning your head with commanding force until there is nowhere else to look but his deep crimson eyes, “…late night trysts?”

“It’s not something one just… brings up, Astarion,” you try to flatten your tone, even as that one hand still traces up and around your thigh. “It’s just not… done…”

Something about his eyes softens, “It would be important to discuss, you know, for there is more that I would like to share with you than just witty banter and blood…” his tone dips low into a rumble. “It’s not something I would have known, not a concern I would have shared until I knew of it…”

“There’s more to it than you might know,” you squeak as his fingers press into that slot between your legs. “Now that you’re well-fed, you’ll feel actual….”

You swallow the word. His touch presses hard enough into your folds through your breaches to make them soaked. And you, wanton you, you give a breath and a buck of your hips to keep his fingers there.

“Pleasure,” he smirks, eyes scanning your face as your force your eyes back open, halfway at least. “Yes, I gathered as much. The more I feed, the more I come alive… alive enough to perhaps even bestow a new life…” he squints a grin at you, your mouth slack as he draws that touch just as hard again, “…perhaps one day.”

You arch your body, trying to slip closer. Your secret is out, your anxious thoughts over clandestine information dispersed in the air. And so, the next words from your mouth just build on all that you had been swallowing down.

“Yes, perhaps one day…” you sigh, leaning back on your hands to try to give him full access to your cunt. “Perhaps one day, we could test out those powers together.” Your voice shakes with excitement, it’s pressed with the sincerity you feel for him.

“Oh, my love,” he smirks and reaches both arms around your waist. That newfound strength pulls you flush into his lap, until your molten, silk-soaked center presses against where he’s hardening. “You always know what to say… Seems like quite the power that will take much preparation and proper timing…” He brings your fingers back to his lips as he kisses them softly. “I’d have to feed on more than just a bear and more than just sips from my little treat, sweet as you are…”

You nod, once or twice, before losing yourself in the bliss of his tongue on the tingling inner skin of your wrist. Barely more than a lap before his fangs pierce your skin and suck you down. Your very essence, your living blood pools in his belly, you feel it coursing in his veins. It fills him and hardens him beneath your hips in an instant.

“Well, practice makes perfect you know,” he croons, bloodied lips barely hovering off your own. “I can tell from your scent you are not… in season…. And I have only had the single little taste.”

You pant, writhing at the scratch of your clothing, you long to rip it off and toss it where your book has long since been abandoned. “Sounds right to me,” you hiss, arms tucking around his neck to lower those arrogant stupidly handsome lips to your mouth.

Astarion’s throat rumbles with a growl, the taste of your blood fresh in his mouth as he rolls you on your back. Primal. Feral. He’s your powerful vampire, blood in his body, lust in his brain. And you want to put it all to the test—your own little experiment to match his enthusiastic desire for you. His touch is lightening fast and strong, pulling off your clothing, swift and sure and careful until every inch of your bodies are bare.

Strength hums in his muscles, even as his hands gently caress your cheek, your neck still sore from all his feeding. His body presses you into the pile of blankets that cover his plank of a bed. His hips grind your belly, your thighs are pulled almost against your chest until you’re spread wide open for him. But for every jolt of his cock as it prods above you and drips his early cum on to your belly, his kisses on your lips are sweet, gentle. A silent movement of gratitude for all your willing aid. Those fingers drag their slightly warmed touch around your breast, kneading it tenderly. With every arch of your back, you can almost catch the base of his cock inside your folds.

And you shake. You quiver. You’d had a few lovers, mostly boring and few and far between. But never has your body burned for anyone like it does for him.

As if his vampire touch is calling your blood to pool beneath it. Not one traditional strength, but with Astarion, you aren’t totally sure he doesn’t have some unnatural ability to command your body. To make your blood pound and sing just for him.

“What a good girl,” he rasps, a grind of his hips to send that cock near your navel, over your skin. “I can feel your heat for me from here. Just waiting to be fucked full.” His mouth descends quickly but carefully, only taking a single nipple in his lips. Sucking hard, he pops off with a loud wet noise.

Almost as loud as your moan.

“So ready, aren’t you?” His question weighs you down, your eyes half shut to savor the way he drags back with that length, sliding it in just an inch or so into your aching sex. “I’m waiting…” he growls, and you sob as he pulls even that little bit of his tip back out.

“Yes, hells below, yes,” you pant, hands flying to claw into his ass. Pulling him towards your throbbing core.

That blunted tip prods just barely inside you again. “You want me to fill you?” he rasps.

You nod, your teeth biting your lip hard enough to bleed.

“You want me to fill your belly like you let me fill mine with your sweet blood?” he grips his arms around your shoulders, pressing harder into, cock sliding in another little bit. “Fuck you so many times, my cum will drip from you for days?”

“Yes, Astarion…” you breathe, his mouth devouring your words, ready to swallow your cry as he does, finally, fill you.

You feel the gravity of his body crushing you, his legs braced with every tendon taught as he snaps his hips into. It’s so deep, so driving the way he fucks. And every thrust slaps your flesh and smacks his balls against your ass, but you love it. His breath dampens your collarbone, arms wrapped so tightly around you, you can do nothing but hold on for dear life. Your thighs burn from how they’re bent into your stomach almost, your folds leaking with arousal, and the drag of his cock touches every part of your walls and slams against your channel’s end.

He licks your shoulder, wet tongue lapping up to the artery in your neck. Where it pulses and dances in time with his beat inside you. Flushed and boiling, speared on his length, you pant, suffocated deliciously until you burst. Your visions swimming and muscles contorting in his press, you scream for him. You can hear your arousal, your slick, coating his thighs as his thrusts only increase with speed.

Lifting his head, he sweeps a hand down your sweat-drenched belly, palm bracing just below your navel. His push is relentless, hard and gradual enough you feel it behind your belly, how he gives you resistance from outside against that constant ramming of his cock at your deepest point. It’s enough to throw you into another coil of bliss instantly. “Good girl, so wet and dirty and waiting to be filled…'' he finally speaks through his panting. And he pushes on your belly once more, grunting with each fuck as he comes undone.

As he thrusts and spills his seed, prodding the full length of him to the deepest point yet. You can feel it almost sticking through your skin as he pulses. As he spills, burst after burst, he still rams that end of your cunt.

Beads of sweat drip from his forehead as he looks down your body, and how your skin is wet and flushed and marked from where he gripped you so fiercely.

He smiles and licks his lips. You try to clamber out, but his hand only comes to rest on your shoulder. “Ah ah,” he tutts his tongue at you, slipping out, only to take two of his fingers to play in your mix of cum, slipping it back inside you over and over again. “You’ll need to practice too, and you’ll need to rest to keep all of me inside of you.”

You shudder, a smile wide on your mouth, aroused and embraced, half hidden behind the back of your hand as you cover your face.

“Tch,” he chides you, pulling that hand from your face, “none of that, my darling. I’ll watch every bit of your blush darken your cheek until you’re ready to go again.”

“Again?” you choke. Your hips already feeling stretched and sore, you lay them flat and try to ease the aches.

“Oh yes,” he purrs, “you’ll have to build your strength the old fashioned way, my treat. Now,” he gives your ass a little smack on the side as he lifts it, “on your knees, darling…”

You finally take a breath, freed from his wiry, heavy frame. One cool hand settles between your shoulder blades to have you rest your head on his bedding. But that other hand pulls your hips up, slipping through your juices and teasing your clit until you buck back against his belly. You breathe contentedly, savoring the way his fingers caress you, worship you.

You close your eyes, wriggle your hips, already craving that stretching fullness inside you. A future with him at your side during the day as your strong, well fed vampire… and on your back and knees and belly and any way he would want you during the long nights with your virile lover.

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snejkha · 3 months

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Tieflings for grabs this time with extras/

If you would be interested in buying them send me a message at [email protected]. I wont hold them so first come first serve//

Payment is going to be via a Paypal invoice (you will have to send me your paypal email and all).

As always feel free to share this around/ I will update this post once they are bought //

Moss Staff SOLD

Onyx Halberd SOLD

Seafoam Sickle SOLD

Crimson Dagger SOLD

Snow Bow SOLD

Lilac Tome SOLD

All sold// Thank you so much/

#my dumb art #adoptables #adopts #adopt #adoptable #tiefling #dnd adopt #dnd

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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Last Light Inn Gale

I was thirsty tonight. NSFW18+ Minors DNI

Summary: This picks up in the Shadowed Lands from Gale's POV where he tells Tav how hot they are after battle. Light banter from fellow companions Karlach and Shadowheart. Features Gale *ahem* enjoying himself, thinking of Tav once they reach Last Light, right before he goes to sleep.

There is nothing quite like it, the chemistry when two bodies yearn to become one. The way one’s cells quake with anticipation, excitement, and fear - fight or flight kicking in. The way the body responds to the voice of their lover, or one yet to be.

“Hello?” Tav was waving a hand in front of Gale’s face and he started, rejoining reality before his face turned crimson. He had been deep in thought, admiring Tav as they dodged, attacked, and ravaged their foes once again. His mouth was dry, his knees weak... he felt like a schoolboy again. It was not yet two days prior Elminster had found them, delivering Gale’s fate.

Now instead of having lifetimes ahead of him, Gale had mere months at best. To once have so much time, to have it violently ripped from you, is a dreadful fate. Becoming one of the faceless, though, forever trapped in a melded wall of unclaimed spirits… no. Gale could not endure such a fate. He hated being rushed, hating feeling as if he had so little time to do what he wanted but he knew that was simply a fact. Now was not the time for inaction. Suddenly the words came tumbling out, like a bad batch of Hundur sauce.

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side,” he paused for a moment, considering his next words, “I once… read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for… other forms of stimulation.” He swallowed though his mouth was dry, “Have you ever read anything on that subject?”

Tav blinked at Gale rapidly and suddenly he wondered if he should have said anything at all. He had been so confident Tav felt something towards him… the late night conversations around whatever tome he was reading, the way she would collect various herbs and fresh vegetables where she could to give him a wider range of ingredients for their meals. He was so sure of it, so sure that his statement would not be misplaced.

He was suddenly very aware of the looks of shock on Shadowheart and Karlach’s faces. He bit down on the inside of his lip, a nervous habit and swayed a bit on his feet before relief sunk into him as Tav spoke: “I’m not much of a reader,” she said softly, but with a knowing glint in her eyes that made Gale’s heart flutter, “But I’ve seen some very informative diagrams.”

Informative diagrams. Gale cleared his throat, shifting to conceal his growing arousal. Thank the gods he was wearing a loose robe.”You have? Oh…” he took a deep breath, a smirk toying at the corner of his mouth, “Then might I suggest we pool our knowledge. No sense in letting valuable, first hand experience go to waste, after all.” He tried to steady himself, his brain not quite grasping yet that Tav had indulged him. That she had accepted him. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking, but standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair,” Gale’s face softened, his lowered voice cool, “it only makes me want you more.” Before he pained the remainder of their companions anymore he continued, quickly - it was unwise to linger here in the Shadowed Lands when reprieve was so close ahead. “Unfortunately this is neither the time nor the place to indulge in such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside… for now. Did you need anything else?”

Tav froze, seemingly bewildered. Gale worried if he had said the wrong thing, wondered if he still had her favor until he saw the blush that spread across her cheeks, just kissing her skin. It seemed somehow more radiant in this blueish, dark night.

Although his imminent death lay ahead, Gale knew when the moment was right, he would tell Tav everything. He couldn’t bear to face the notion that Tav would never know the depths of his thoughts, his ardor, his adoration of her. Every waking moment he spent with her he felt more and more alive, more so than it seemed at times with Mystra. He would share it all with her - it needed to be perfect. And, the only way to perfect anything is to practice.

“Gale - did you just,” Shadowheart breaks the awkward silence lingering between the four as they began the short journey to Last Light Inn. “I’m sorry, did you just tell Tav you wanted to have sex with her by citing a book?” Shadowheart chuckled mockingly, though not out of malice. Gale took it as him replacing the brother she never had, or could remember so he didn’t let it bother him too much.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Gale said and the way Karlach began to crack up made his ears burn even though he knew they did it in jest. Gale took most of their joking in stride compared to some of the other, more volatile companions, and so he was often the source of everyone’s humor. The light banter they threw at him was doing some good, anyway, or at least Gale knew that’s what Tara would think. “Besides, it’s more than I can say for either of you.”

He paused for dramatic effect, his tone teasing though serious, “I know who each of you is pining for. You all think I’m not listening when I’m sitting and reading my book as you sit and drink around the fire late into the evenings…” Gale turns around to face them and smirks, one of his eyebrows raised, “Just because I have a book in hand doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy indulging in people’s personal lives. So, unless you’d like me to recommend how you should approach each of your yet to be lovers, I suggest we change the subject.”

Tav interjected jarringly, “Is Mystra always such a demanding goddess?” They were nearly to Last Light Now and Gale was pulled violently to a different train of thought.

“Erm,” he felt as if he couldn’t remember a thing about Mystra for a moment before continuing, “She expects those who seek to use the Weave to do so honestly, and with respect for its potential to destroy, as well as it’s potential to save.” He paused for a moment, thinking carefully before choosing his words, “I doubt she’s asked many of her followers to blow themselves up. That’s a fate she’s bequeathed exclusively to me. She wouldn’t ask such a thing if it weren’t our only means of survival. However much she’s annoyed at me.”

Gale heard Karlach begin to ask, “So, Tav, are you going to let the wizard“ and Tav began to speak over her, louder. It made Gale grin, the butterflies in his stomach almost overwhelming him. If he could, he would take her here and now. But there was still so much to do and he needed time to get it right.

“How are you feeling,” Tav gazes into his eyes in a way that made him stop walking for a moment before collecting his thoughts. “It can’t be easy, facing the possibility of death…”

Even this made Karlach and Shadowheart stop snickering, and Karlach chimed in. “As someone with loads of experience on the matter, I find it best to focus on the positives. What good will it do robbing grief from the future? The future isn’t here yet.” Gale felt a surge of both regret and relief as she said this, entirely forgetting for a moment that they shared similar plights, similar fates. Karlach and Tav talked about it often, how Karlach wanted to face the end of her existence, but Gale had only just learned of the task he was given.

Gale was terrified. Hearing Karlach’s generous advice gave his spirit a gentle nudge in a more optimistic direction, even if by a hair. “Oh, well, you know me-“ Gale said, catching back up to Tav “ever the optimist. The truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least now I knew my death will have purpose. It won’t be a distant ‘bang’ in the footnotes of history.”

“Damn, that’s beautiful mate. Truly poetic.” Karlach says, “We will both go out with a bang, you can count on that. But before that happens,” she inhaled in such a way you’d think she was delivering difficult, somber information, before saying, “it looks like.. we need to get laid.”

Gale immediately looked to Tav for her reaction and they locked eyes. His breath hitched and he felt as if he would suffocate, but there was not time to say anything further. They’d arrived and their welcoming at the inn was lukewarm at best.

Everyone had settled for the evening, scattered throughout the property. Tav was busy gathering information from Jaheria and speaking with the Tieflings who made it to Last Light. Gale knew Karlach wouldn’t be telling any of the others about what he said because she was too busy flirting with Dammon - upon their arrival, they found him to give Karlach's engine the second upgrade she deserved and now she was on a similar mission. It made Gale chuckle a bit to himself, wishing her the best. But what of Shadowheart?

She won’t share because, well, he thought to himself, she’s Shadowheart, first and foremost. Second, She is a Cleric of Shar. Secrecy and discretion may as well been invented by them.

His thumb grazed his lower lip nervously, unwilling to bank on Shadowheart’s absolute silence. It took a moment before he found her, standing by the water and idly drinking a bottle of wine on her own. “May I?” He said, sitting beside her.

Shadowheart smirked, “Please,” she took a long gulp from the bottle, turning to Gale and offering it to him. He held up a hand, polity declining.

“Although I would love to indulge I.. have quite a lot on my mind and would be terrible company. I just wanted a moment of your time, if that’s alright with you.”

“What if I said no?” Shadowheart looks back out onto the water, grinning. Gale shifts uncomfortably, never quite sure where their relationship stood. The only people she seemed to open up to were Tav and Astarion, to Gale she was a particularly difficult book. “You don’t need to ask, or tell me anything. I can be discreet. Besides,” she giggles and little from the wine and hiccups once, “It would be no fun for me at all if I couldn’t hold this over you. You think I’d hand this power over to everyone else?” She scoffed, “Not a chance. You have nothing to worry about, your secrets safe with me.”

“Thank you,” Gale said it like a prayer answered, “I appreciate your discretion, truly. And if you’d like any practical advice on how to…”

“Go.” Shadowheart held up a hand, glaring at him, “Before I change my mind.”

Gale was in his bedroll, had somehow finessed his way into his own room while his companions were bunked together. He realized it was likely because no one felt like debating with him for hours about the merits of Wizards needing exceptional amounts of alone time to best prepare their bodies and minds for battle without distraction.

Tonight, though, Gale’s thoughts drifted. For the first time, he allowed them to go to Tav, the old fashioned way - through the sheer power of imagination. He knew he wanted to worship her, to taste the bud between her thighs as his last meal, to caress every curve and supple inch of her skin.

Before now, before learning of what task lay before him, he only partially indulged the storm of desire that brewed in him, to be with her in every sense of the word. Too much excitement and he worried the orb would destabilize. Now that it had been put to rest, if only momentarily, the need to act on his desires returned in full force. Primal urges hadn’t been an issue in his isolation.. or even early in their journey, for the matter. But Tav was so generous, so compassionate even to those she hardly knew… the way she smelled, the sound of her laugh, even how downright unpleasant she was every morning until she ate something. It drove him wild, the yearning for her deepening by the day.

He felt that familiar thrum between his thighs, blood pulsing as he twitched to life, he poured some water and unscented oil onto his palm before slipping a hand between his undergarments to grab his erection.

Gale sighed, thinking of Tav’s lips, what it would be like to kiss them. What she will taste like. He thought of exploring her body and mind within the weave, bestowing pleasure upon her through every sense, in a tantric, almost surreal experience. He moved his hand slowly, deliberately against his erection as he thought then about taking Tav traditionally, in his less than worthy mortal body, but…. oh… to feel the warmth of her skin against his… to kiss and lick down her neck…to her chest to taste those pillowy breasts... to bite her nipples gently before licking and kissing lower… He was moving his hand urgently against himself, his back arching a bit, biting down on his lip, completely lost in the idea of her. He thought about licking across her hip bones and caressing her inner thighs, spreading her legs to taste the sweet nectar that lay between. To become intimate with every fold, every layer, to taste her so fully with his tongue swirling and pulsing into her as his hands gripped her waist.

Gale was shaking now, the urgency at which he stroked himself growing, moaning as he thought of her, wishing his hand was hers. Wishing that she was here with him now. His eyes rolled back as he thought of Tav bent over a bed, he ensuring her comfort and desires being met before thrusting into her, slow and deliberately at first and then with ferocity, imagining how warm she would be, how wet… how eager… how her pussy would grip around his erection, hungry for him, and how he would push deeply to please her. About how they would share both their minds and bodies, how he would tell her how much he adored her, how beautiful and sexy she was as he claimed her entirely, lightly biting her supple flesh while his fingers would explore every inch of her and all at once Gale cries out, “Gods above, oh fuck,” and he erupts, his dick twitching sporadically as the familiar sticky wetness fills his hand and cloth. Gale breathes heavily, dizzy, his face hot, and cleans himself properly before lying back down.

As Gale drifts into a less than restful sleep, he wonders how glorious the experience will be if it felt so extraordinary just imagining it.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 art #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #bg3 brainrot #god gale #gale #gale smut #gale x tav #bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bauldur’s gate #baulders gate gale #baulders gate tav #bg3 fic #gale bg3

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'

🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.

You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.

The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.

“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.

“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”

Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.

Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’

“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.

“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”

‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”

Your brows twitched irritably.

Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.

“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.

Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.

“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”

“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.

Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.

“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.

You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”

Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.

“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”

“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”

Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.

“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”

And then you were gagged once more.

The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.

“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”

You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”

He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”

You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.

You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.

Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.

“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose.

“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.

Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”

His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.

And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—

Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.

Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.

You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.

‘Wait,’ that look said.

And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.

The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.

You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.

There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.

Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.

“What’s going on?!—”

With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.

And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.

With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.

“Not so fast, you little cretin.”

And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—

There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.

Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.

“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.

“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.

“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”

“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”

“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”

“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”

“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”

You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”

“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”

The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.

“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.

“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.

You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.

You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.

The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.

He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.

From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.

And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.

You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.

He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!

And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.

But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.

It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—

You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.

“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.

You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.

Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.

“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”

The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.

“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"

“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”

You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.

“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.

Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.

“What white teeth you have?” you tried.

He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.

You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.

And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.

Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.

You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.

A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.

Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.

He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.

“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.

And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.

You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.

You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”

“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”

“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”

When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.

“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”

He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.

You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.

“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.

“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.

“A what?”

“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”

You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.

“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”

“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”

He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.

“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”

Then why—

You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.

“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”

“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.

“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”

You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—' was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you.

“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”

You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.

“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”

“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”

Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”

“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”

You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.

“Uhm, hello?” you tried.

“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”

“It talks,” you blanched.

“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”

“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”

“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”

Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.

“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”

Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.

“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.

“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”

Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.

The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.

The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.

Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.

One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.

And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?

“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.

“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”

You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.

“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”

Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”

However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.

“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”

Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.

“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.

You shrugged.

“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”

Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”

The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.

“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”

There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—

“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.

And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.

But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.

“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”

“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?

“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Silver Twst #Rollo Flamm #Slight Rollo Flamm x Reader #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 4

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lakefu · 3 months

Text

The Climb

Summary: Tav and Astarion learn that vampire spawn are supposed to know how to climb walls and ceilings.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Its just fluff, really. Post-game married tavstarion.

Word count: 1.3k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Pst… Astarion,” Tav whispers, trying to grab the elf’s attention.

Crimson eyes dart up from behind a large book that's being read across the table.

“Can you uh… uhm…” Tav nervously looks around the room. There’s a lot of people here, some are even glaring at her. Since when did libraries become so popular on a Thursday afternoon?

Tav scoots her chair as close to him as possible and continues to whisper.

“I’m reading about vampires,” she admits, and he turns to look at her with a tilt of his head.

“Oh whatever for darling, you have the real deal right here. I'm sure whatever tome you've plucked from this dreary establishment is nothing but a fairy tail anyways,” he rolls his eyes and laughs, earning a “Shush!” from a nearby reader.

Tav smiles wearily, and makes sure to keep a low tone. “It says that vampire spawn can climb up walls… and ceilings”.

Astarion laughs even louder now and the librarian scolds him from across the room. Tav mouths a “Sorry” over in her direction and she sighs. After an “incident” had gotten the couple banned from the library closest to their house, she wasn't about to get in trouble at the second closest too.

Tav focuses her attention back to Astarion. His eyes are on his book, but they aren't moving. His knuckles seem whiter than usual as they grip the sides of the pages.

“Have you ever… tried to climb up walls?” She asks innocently enough, but his eyes flash up at lightning speed.

“Have you ever tried to climb up walls? No? So why would I?” He hisses, and the librarian stands up from her desk.

Tav jumps up from her seat and grabs Astarion’s hand, encouraging him to follow her.

“Thank you so much, I'll bring this back in a few days!” She gestures at the book in her hands and then back at the librarian, running out the door with lover in tow.

***

Pacing around the bedroom, Astarion keeps his eyes glued to the book and continues muttering under his breath. Tav sits on their bed and watches the vampire’s erratic movements with concern. She feels a bit of regret telling him about the book in the first place, since the last thing she wanted to do was put any new worries into his life.

“Hey, you're probably right… It's probably not real. Just made up for a good story,” she tries to reassure him.

“No,” he states simply, and ceases his pacing. Facing the wall near the bed, his fingers trace the pages of the book for what feels like the hundredth time.

Harmed by Running Water. Check. Forbiddance. Check. Sunlight Hypersensitivity. Check. Spider Climb.… What?

He presses the book closed with such a force that Tav could have sworn she saw a poof of dust fly from the pages.

“Everything else in here is correct. Why would this one thing be a lie?” He sighs and leans over to place the book down on the nightstand. His hands move to massage his temples, never letting his gaze leave the wall ahead of him.

“It’s not like I was given an instruction booklet the moment I was turned, you know. I had to figure everything out for myself,” he spits out, words full of a poison that makes Tav shiver.

He raises a singular finger and presses it against the wall.

“And clearly… I couldn't even do that properly,” he says softly, dragging his finger down the wall.

He appears to look straight through the rough surface, clearly lost in a deep, distant thought.

Tav scooches off the bed and approaches him gently, wrapping her arms around his waist with a careful squeeze. Standing on her tip-toes, she reaches upwards and plants a soft kiss on his porcelain neck.

“I don't know what to do, love,” Astarion whispers, and leans his head into hers.

Tav closes her eyes and considers the situation as she feels cold fingers caress her cheek.

“When you hunt… when you feed… you feel a bit feral, don't you?” Tav smiles up at him and studies his confused expression.

“‘Well, ‘a bit’ might be a slight understatement, but yes. And it’s all a matter of control anyways,” he hesitates, and waits for further explanation.

“Yes, exactly!” Tav exclaims, taking a step back and feeling optimism swell back up within her. “You should focus on those types of feelings. Allow your body to tell you what to do. Try to relax, focus, and you’ll do fine!”

Astarion scoffs, but Tav can tell that he is taking what she said to heart. He squints at the wall once more and adjusts his posture.

“I can uh… move the mattress over here if you're worried about falling or something,” Tav jokes, but honestly, she would do it if it made him feel better.

“Oh please- i’m the most dexterous person in this whole town. You know I always land on my feet,” he laughs and makes a grandiose hand gesture in Tav’s general direction.

So, he was feeling better then. Good.

Tav heads back to her previous perch at the edge of the bed and watches in anticipation of whatever the hells she was about to witness.

Nothing but silence filled the room for a long while. And then, quicker than a blink of an eye, he was simply on the wall.

Tav jumps back, mouth agape, and watches as the vampire continues his ascent up the wall until he is completely upside down on the ceiling. She nearly felt ill at the initial unnatural sight of it all, but in a strange way, it felt all too natural at the same time.

“Gods…” she whispers. “My husband is a spider”.

Astarion let out one of the deepest and most sincere laughs Tav had heard in a long time. He was having the time of his life.

“This is madness, truly!” He shouts from above, scampering about like some sort of creature that would normally not be allowed inside the house. “Tav, do you realize how much we can do with this? Where we can go? Where we could sneak into?” “I'm so proud of you dear, really, and- wait what did you say? We?” She jolts up from the bed and walks over to his point of initial ascent, as if beckoning him to come down and talk.

“Yes darling, I can carry you on my back, I'm sure of it”. He's crawled off the ceiling by now but is still nearly halfway up the wall. Just enough to meet Tav at eye level, only a bit more upside down than usual.

Tav doesn't know what to make of this proposition. It might be the one of the most unorthodox situations she’s ever heard of, and yet, it's still a bit… romantic? She feels her face run red.

“Do you realize how insane you sound right now?” She questions with eyes widening and shooting up a toothy grin.

Astarion takes one hand off the wall, still managing to maintain a balance, and reaches down to hold Tav’s cheek.

“And when have we ever been sane, my love?” He crawls a few more inches down the wall until he’s in a spot where his lips can reach her own. A sweet and selfless kiss is planted upon her lips, and they enjoy this new position for a few moments before Tav stumbles away. She’s not even the one who’s been upside down and yet she feels more light headed and flush than he does.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” She exhales, and takes a satisfied step back to look at her curious lover.

Gods, what is he about to get them into?

#astarion #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #fanfiction #astarion fluff #spawn astarion #bg3 #tavstarion #my fics

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little-star-library · 2 months

Text

Satin Sheets

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

18+ only (mdni please)

Summary: This is just a short little drabble that I brewed in my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about what domestic life with Astarion would be like and I got ahead of myself with this one. Just some spicy fluff with our favorite pale elf.

Genre/Tags: fluff, spicy, little spicy anyways, soft Astarion, slight Dom Astarion, light teasing, blood, blood drinking, sexual themes

Word Count: 2,000+ words

Astarion has always had a taste for the finer things in life, vampire or not, and he has spared no expense when it comes to spoiling you absolutely rotten. And after all that you and your ragtag group of friendly weirdos have been through to defeat the Netherbrain, he took it upon himself to find the “perfect slice of paradise”, according to him, for the fresh start that the two of you so rightly deserved being the heroes of Baldur’s Gate and such. Even if he still remained to be a creature of the night after killing Cazador and refusing to fulfill the right to profane ascension, Astarion yearned for a new life with you by his side and that’s all he could ever want for as long as you’ll have him.

Now searching for your new home was no easy feat as your bosom companion was rather selective in his choices, but you both settled on a little cottage on the outskirts of the Lower City that was a bit of a fixer upper. With a little love and care, along with a generous amount of gold that may or may not have been acquired in an honest manner, your humble abode began to take shape into the ideal sanctuary that Astarion dreamed of. He made sure to include everything that you both could possibly want even if you insisted that he was all you needed to be happy and content, but he insisted on fulfilling all of your desires one way or another. So over time, you and Astarion worked together to create the perfect atmosphere that encompassed a personal reading nook with floor to ceiling bookcases to house all of the books and tomes you collected during your adventures, a small garden for you to plant and grow your favorite herbs and flowers; along with many rugs, furniture, and paintings to decorate the space. But Astarion claimed the bedroom as his domain to furnish. And who were you to deny him?

To say that he lacked any ambition for interior design would be a severe understatement and it certainly showed when it came to his plans for your shared boudoir. Out of the few rooms that were in the cottage, the bedroom would always be Astarion’s favorite. The room itself wasn’t very impressive to him at first glance, but with great determination there came even better possibilities. In the end, the bedroom felt more comfortable yet quaint in his perspective, but in more of a romantic sense nonetheless. Besides the fireplace, there were a smattering of candles placed throughout the area to engulf it in a dim glow along with furs and rugs that lined the wooden floor so Astarion could walk freely without having to dread about the cold temperature of the floorboards. However, the crowning jewel was the four poster bed that stood in the middle of the room with the fluffiest of mattresses, a canopy of crimson red velvet to shut out the sunlight when needed, and a matching set of the softest satin bedsheets that cradled you in a delicate and tender embrace you would never want to let go of.

“Now isn’t this cozy, darling? I think I would go as far to say that this room is the very heart of the house, aside from yours, of course.” His honeyed words always sent your heart a flutter no matter the subject, but he did have a point. Other than the more obvious activities that took place within those bedsheets, you both spent most of your time as of late in bed lazing around and whispering sweet nothings to each other without a care in the world. It truly was paradise to experience something like this with Astarion, to see him so at ease and be able to feel the warmth and love that you held only for him without any further obligations to chain him down. And like so many other occasions that you’ve shared in your bedroom, that is where you currently found yourself now.

The sun had begun to descend for the day and neither you or Astarion had made any motion to draw open the curtains of the canopy. Over time, you began to adjust your sleeping schedule to be more accommodating to your lover’s needs despite your ambitions to discover a way for him to be able to walk in the sun once again. But in the meantime, the two of you basked in the encompassing darkness because this somehow never bothered Astarion, not like this at least, not when he had you wrapped around his frame as he rested atop you and with his head laying against your chest to listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of your heart.

He always awoke from his trance before you so he could admire your presence while you slept and it always made him melt inside knowing that you willingly chose to be in such a vulnerable position all because you trusted him with your life. You looked so peaceful as you slumbered through the day and he looked upon you with an overwhelming amount of admiration, a soft sigh escaping from his lips at the sight. He thought it was truly selfish of him to wake you, but he yearned to hear your voice and feel your loving caress over his body. Your touch was always so gentle and he could never get enough of it.

As gingerly as he could muster, Astarion shifted his weight and started to litter kisses across your chest, starting at where your heart rested and up to the crook of your neck, nibbling gently at the marks he left behind the day before when you offered to let him feed his sanguine hunger, lingering there for a moment as you began to rouse from your slumber. He continued his trek of loving pecks across your jawline and to your cheeks and across your forehead before you puffed out a long exhale with the faintest smile that signaled his trickery at work. With one last dawdling kiss at the corner of your lips from his, you rose a hand to entwine into the crown of disheveled curls that lay over his head, lightly scratching at his scalp which resulted in him falling back into your arms to lay his head upon your chest and practically purring at your gentle affection.

“Awake already, my love? I hope I’m not disturbing your rest.” The low timbre of Astarion’s ‘morning voice’ reached your ears and it sent a shiver down your spine, but you knew all too well of his intentions as you could feel the smirk growing across his face against you.

“No, not all,” you breathed out. “But I was having such a wonderful dream.”

“Oh, is that right? Won’t you tell me about it?” Blinking away the remaining remnants from your sleep addled eyes, you peer down to find those familiar orbs of crimson gleaming in the dark already locking with your gaze that was filled with his fondness and endearment for you.

“Well let’s see,” you closed your eyes and pretended to recollect on your dreams as if they were fading away, but the truth was that you could never forget those vivid visions that your mind had conjured. This earned a playful nip at your sternum from Astarion and it made you squeal in surprise, the sound of him chuckling in response to your squirming only further tested you, but you didn’t have the nerve to complain. You loved it when he was playful with you like this.

“Don’t keep me waiting, love. The anticipation is killing me.”

You looked upon Astarion once more and smiled sweetly at the sight before you. He watched your eyes flutter with his chin resting against your solar plexus and you couldn’t help but lower your hand from his hair to cup his face, stroking your thumb across his pale cheek absentmindedly as your other hand brushed down his arm that was wrapped around your waist. His smile matched your own and let out an unneeded sigh of contentment as he grasped your hand to place a kiss at the inside of your palm, making your breath hitch slightly at the simple gesture. He truly was a vision both in your dreams and reality, a beautiful and somewhat ethereal being that you would instantly gravitate towards.

“It was much like this actually,” your voice barely above a whisper. “Our limbs entangled with each other’s beneath these sheets, gliding across the bed while we take our time caressing and kissing our bodies, mapping out the spots that made us whimper and sigh with pleasure.”

The thought alone made you squeeze your thighs together in search of friction and you could feel a blush rising from your neck to the tip of your ears. Astarion’s eyes seemed to darken in the already dim lighting at the subject of your tale and you could tell that you had his rapt attention by now as he rose from his position to lay on his side with his chin resting in his hand to stare down at you with a look of growing desire consuming his facial features. That sight alone left you breathless and you couldn’t take your eyes off his own gaze, licking your lips in anticipation of his next move.

“Go on, darling. Tell me everything.” His voice emitted a low growl at the sensation of his member hardening against the soft satin, trying to rein in his control before he lost all sense to take you right then and there.

“I-I remember you taking me into your arms,” you began, a slight chill running down your spine at the hungry look in his eyes. Oh gods, those eyes. You knew that look very intimately. It always made you weak at the knees and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying in bed, you’d be quite sure that he would have you lying in a puddle instead. Trying with all your might to not break eye contact with him was rather difficult, but you couldn’t stand to not see his reactions. “And you devoured me in more ways than one, as if you were completely starved until I begged you to stop, making me cry out your name while you took your fill.”

Your breath was shaking towards the end of your sentence, but Astarion was quick to silence you as he cupped your jaw in both hands at a better angle and leaned down to take your lips in a tender, desperate kiss. The sensation of his mouth was electrifying to say the least and you froze up in surprise for only a second until you hastily reciprocated his actions. There was a familiar pool of warmth that sank in the pit of your core and it grew and grew into a rising flame when your beloved vampire started to tease your bottom lip with the edge of his fangs and a lick of his tongue, silently requesting your permission for entry. You complied willingly and gasped at the touch of his tongue, the two of you moaning softly as you explored each other’s mouths. He tasted utterly divine in what you could only describe as him with the slight undertone of your blood and a hint of red wine he indulged in the night previous. It was simply intoxicating and you never wanted this moment to come to an end. You were floating in a cloud of bliss with only thanks to his attentive ministrations as you held onto him for dear life, tangling your fingers in the curls that rested at the nape of his neck and tugging oh so gently to tease him even more. This earned you another bite from those gorgeous fangs, pricking your flesh until you felt a drop of blood pool to the surface of your lips which Astarion gladly lapped up, making him groan in delight at the taste of your precious essence. But before you even took notice he pulled away suddenly and rested your forehead against yours, the ghost of his cold instinctual breath entwined with your warm gasps of excitement as you tried in vain to regain your breathing. It was all for naught though as you looked up to Astarion and the oxygen left your lungs to see him panting with the pupils of his eyes blown by his carnal thirst that he only held in his undead heart for you.

“Maybe,” you wheezed. “Maybe I’m still dreaming after all.” A chuckle rumbled from Astarion’s chest at your statement and it made your blush darken at the thought of amusing him. It pleased you to know that you could have these little moments of teasing banter that came as a second nature to you both.

“Perhaps you still are, my sweet.” He quipped back, stroking a few loose hairs behind your ear and kissing you at the tip of your nose. “But if this were a dream, then how does it end?”

His smile was infectious and you were completely enamored by his sultry flirting. He knew you couldn’t stand to be teased by him for so long and he knew which buttons to press to get you right where he wanted you. It was infuriating, but you loved it all the same. Brushing your nose along his own, you leaned up just enough to kiss him briefly and wrapped your arms over his shoulders.

“What if there was no ending?” You questioned him. “What if we stay in this dream forever, in each other’s arms just like this?”

“Oh darling,” he thumbs at the bottom of your chin to catch the remaining blood that dribbled from your lips and sucks it into his mouth, licking it away as you whimpered at the sight. “You had me at forever.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #dungeons and dragons #18+ only #18+ content #fluff #smut #little star library

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

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Wrapped Around Your Finger

Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: Hannibal decides to switch things up a bit, relinquishing his power to you.

WC: 1.8k words

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ only, minors dni), light bondage, femdom-ish? (not really tho lmao), oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don't do it at home), that's all I can think about so lmk if I missed anything!

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Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No.2 drifted out of the living room speakers. Outside, there was a thunderstorm, rain falling heavily and ceaselessly, the wind howling. There would be glimpses of lightning between the drapes, and you counted the seconds before the low growl of thunder would follow.

There was a fire in the hearth – yes, a hearth! You were dating a very fancy guy , after all – crackling softly. The room smelled pleasantly of firewood and old books and him. You had a glass of white wine in one hand, your body loose and languid, warm all over.

It was simply the perfect night to stay in.

You were slightly bent over, looking at a section of his book collection. Cookbooks were the vast majority, which wasn't surprising, but your interest was also piqued by tomes on art history, natural sciences, and even anatomy.

You picked one up at random and leafed through it absently. Dr. Lecter -- as you sometimes still liked to refer to him -- was such an exciting man, knowledgeable on things that you had never even imagined. He had undoubtedly expanded your palate, but you had to admit he'd expanded your mind quite a lot too.

You wore no pants, only the shirt Hannibal had been wearing earlier, which just barely reached your knees. He was down to his briefs, lounging on a chaise and absolutely devouring you with his gaze.

"Are you going to read to me?" Hannibal asked, directing your attention back to him.

Though his tone was teasing, he secretly wished that you would. He did love your mellifluous voice, especially when reciting sonnets. Or moaning his name to the wind, like a ravenous wolf called to the full moon.

You blushed, a bit timid that you'd been caught so utterly distracted. "Sorry, just poking around..."

He smiled, feeling a little smug. "Find anything interesting?"

“Hard not to.” You said, approaching and swinging one leg over him, straddling his hips.

His free hand immediately came to rest on your thigh, thumb tracing fire on your skin.

Your voice hitched as you added, “Y-you know, you can tell a lot about a man by what he has in his home.”

“Oh? And what have you discovered about me?”

You chuckled, setting down your glass. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You leaned down to plant a kiss on his lips, adding, “And you like being in control.”

“I suppose I do,” he returned the kiss with fervor, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. You shuddered against him, and he pressed closer to you.

“Oh, but that reminds me…” he continued, suddenly pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

You plopped down on the chaise as he got up and headed down the hall to his bedroom. You watched his muscular back as he retreated, biting your lip. You felt a little lightheaded from the sudden influx of arousal, so you lay back, rubbing your thighs together. He always knew how to get you going, but he did have a bit of a tendency to be a tease. He wasn’t like Will, who loved getting straight to the point.

Not that you were complaining about either of them.

When Hannibal came back into the room, he handed you a black box. There was a piece of paper with your name on it on top, and you traced your fingers over his refined penmanship. Your eyes then widened, and you couldn’t help but panic a little bit at the prospect of forgetting something important.

“A gift?” You squeaked.

“Of sorts,” he smirked, utterly devious.

“What for? Oh, Hannibal, you shouldn’t have.”

“Just open it, darling.”

So you did, sliding the top off to reveal the last thing you had expected – lengths of crimson-colored rope. Not just any rope either, but silk rope, the expensive-looking kind. You blinked, momentarily shocked, but when you looked up at him, his smirk had only grown.

“I thought we could do something fun– turn the tables a bit.” He purred, kneeling before you. “You have been such an angel with me, and perhaps it is time I surrendered to you.”

“And you want me to…” you trailed off, eyes flicking down to the ropes in your lap.

His eyes were a bewitching flame that kept you captivated. “Yes, sweetness. And perhaps next time, they can go on you. It’s only fair, you know?”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

You smiled, all sharp teeth ready to sink into his divine flesh. You captured his lips in a fierce kiss, pressing yourself flush against him. You felt his teeth graze your lower lip, making heat pool in your belly.

When you pulled away, you tied his arms behind his back, one resting over the other. You figured you’d keep it simple tonight, even if you were already imagining all of the patterns you wanted to tie all over his body. You could make him into an utter masterpiece – not that he wasn’t already one.

You kissed his neck and up to the back of his ear, feeling his chest heaving against yours.

“You okay?” You whispered against his skin, and he nodded.

Your eyes roamed over him, your hands soon following, sliding over the expanse of his chest. Up to his shoulders, down his arms. Then they stopped at the edge of his briefs, fingers teasing the elastic.

“This is all mine, isn’t it?” You said, biting your lip.

“Yes, my darling, all of me,” he breathed, and his breath hitched as your hand wandered lower, cupping his length over his briefs. “And what parts of you will you give to me?”

“The tastiest bits, of course,” you smiled, and his eyes mirrored the hunger you felt. “Stay on your knees for me, will you?”

Stepping back, you ever-so-slowly began to unbutton the shirt you wore. He was unable to tear his gaze away from you and all the skin you were revealing. You still had Will’s teeth marks on your inner thighs, now a faded pink and yellow. His eyes lingered on this detail, and he swallowed hard.

You let the shirt fall off your body, pooling on the hardwood floor. Next, your thumbs hooked on the sides of your underwear, a little lacy black number you knew he loved. Your hips swayed as you pulled it down ever so slightly, looking coy as you teased him.

He strained against the ropes, wanting to touch you, to retaliate for this delicious torture you were making him go through. But he needed to be good, he reminded himself. He was rather enjoying how things were unfolding, after all.

You felt a sudden thrill at watching him squirm, loving that you had such an effect on him. Your underwear also fell to the ground, and you approached him slowly, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“So, would you like a taste?” You asked huskily.

In response, he eagerly leaned forward, which made you chuckle a little. You bent down until your lips were only a hair’s breadth apart, and you whispered, “Can you say please?”

“Please,” he breathed, and you pulled back a little as he tried to kiss you. “Please, I want to taste all of you.”

Satisfied, you planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips before standing back up. You ran a hand through his hair, pulling his head back a little. Then, leaning on one of his shoulders, you draped your leg over his other shoulder, pulling him closer.

In the next moment, his face was buried in your cunt. He was absolutely ravenous, licking you with an almost trance-like gusto. He shifted against his bindings once more, wanting to add his hands into the mix, but to no avail. His frustration only fueled him on, and you dug your hands into his hair once more.

Arching your back, you completely lost yourself to the sensation, baring the column of your throat to the skies as your eyes fluttered closed.

“That’s it, right there,” you encouraged, words melting away into a moan.

You let out a shuddering breath as his tongue began to trace slow circles around your most sensitive spot. Then his teeth were then added into the equation, adding just enough pressure to make lightning bolts of pleasure shoot through you. Almost involuntarily, you began to rock your hips, seeking more, more, more.

Greedy thing, he thought to himself, both amused and absolutely bewitched. He hummed deeply in approval, and that coil in your stomach wound tightly, just on the brink of snapping.

“H-Hannibal,” you breathed, muscles tensing. “I-I’m gonna…”

With a keening wail, you stumbled over the edge, heat rippling throughout your body. Your legs turned to Jelly as you gripped his hair tighter, grinding your cunt against his face with wild abandon. He moaned deeply, utterly lost in the all-encompassing feeling of you. You panted, your movements slowing as you rode out the aftershocks, coming down from your high.

You straightened, pulling your leg back and letting go of his hair. He smiled up at you beatifically, the lower half of his face glistening. He loved the sight of you trembling like that, face and chest flushed, eyes glassy with stars. How you would feign demureness after orgasm, as if ashamed to have displayed such carnality; Such wantonness.

We are made of flesh and fault, he recalled you saying once.

A moment later, when you were feeling much more merciful, you untied him and lightly massaged his arms. But he immediately descended upon you, kissing all over your body – adoring every inch of you. Your thighs gripped his hips, urging him closer, and he happily complied. When he sank into you, it felt like two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, where they belonged.

You clung to him, digging your nails into his biceps. Your eyes once more fluttered close, but he immediately said, “No. Look at me.”

You complied, gazing into those intense amber eyes of his. “Good girl,” he praised with a small smile, giving you a quick kiss.

The words were like a flame licking over your skin. He could feel you clench around him, which elicited a low moan. He went harder, faster, his pace losing control. You could tell he was close, and you stretched up to kiss him, biting his bottom lip. His muscles tensed and he cursed under his breath, your name soon following. He reached his own climax, holding you close to him.

Then the two of you lie sprawled on the floor, breathing hard, limbs tangled. Your head lay on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. You kissed him on the ribs, right atop it, and sighed contentedly.

“So, about the next time we do this…” you trailed off, a playful edge to your tone.

He chuckled, stroking your hair. “Oh, you have no idea what I have in store for you.”

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#hannibal x fem!reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal smut #minors dni

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twinvictim · 4 months

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Merry Christmas!!! My gift for the Silent Hill Secret Santa! this was a gift for @bluegrowlmon based on their prompts. I thought Heather and Harry in the hospital post-game would be fun and cute <3 this was really fun and I hope you like it. thank you @heather-garland for putting it together <3

#silenthillsecretsanta2023 #scrapbook #crimson tomes #silent hill #harry mason #heather mason #silent hill 3 #been awhile since ive drawn something and finished it im happy going for a slightly different style with some things either way <33 #merry christmas!

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nottragic-stilltoothsome · 7 months

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Astarion and Tav live post-Absolute in Baldur's Gate, with three cats, two named in true Astarion fashion, like Carnage or Bloodlust, and the third one, Scratch, a curious kitty that sometimes barks, but complies with the "no animals bigger than a peacock" decree (unless someone'd think to cast disspell illusion, but then, who'd be so ungrateful to pester the great defenders of the city like that).

Their home is somewhat peculiar, too.

A beautiful mansion gifted to the adventurers for their heroic deeds stands empty most of the time because of their travels, as if killings immortals and lifting centuries old curses weren't enough adventures for a lifetime.

The mansion seems very much lived-in, but then again, in a strange way. Even (or perhaps especially) on sunny, summer days the windows are closed shut and obscured with heavy curtains, forbiding any stray sunrays from entering.

"Curious", passing citizens might think, only to blame such habits of the residents on the nosy reporters of Baldur's Mouth, who wouldn't hesitate from peeking through windows, just to get a glimpse at the most popular baldurian couple.

If one of said citizens was invited inside, they'd be greeted by a big portrait of the couple (painted by *the* Oskar Fevras!, the guest might have fawned over the exquisite taste of their hosts) hanging right in the center of the hall, opposite to the door. As if instead of a mirror, that a guest'd instictivly look for in such a spot.

The guest would, perhaps, marvel at the unexpected dichotomy of decorations: what was clearly war-thropies, souvenirs from shadowveiled lands and cursed magic tomes, is presented right next to valuable art, gracious furniture and silverwear. Same sort of duality one could discover looking at the residents: battle scars surarounded by rich, silk fabrics and precious stones, golden goblets with fine drinks raised to lips used to commanding armies.

Astarion'd often mention, that everything tastes better from golden goblets and everything feels better in silk.

The goblets were yet another unusual detail: no matter the time of the day (or night, which appeard to be the preffered time the for masters of the mansion to receive guests), master Astarions' was filled to the brim with wine. He must have taken a liking to a particular kind, since it was always the same, crimson red and somewhat thick-looking.

The guest would be welcomed to a spacious living room, that was full of life indeed.

When the inhabitants stay at home interim their adventures, their house bursts with laughter and chatter and sometimes heated debate. From the Blade of the Frontiers to the High Harper, from the great Wizard of Waterdeep to the Paladin of Selune, from the one-horned tiefling to the githyanki with a silversword. The menagerie of powerful personage was never, however, received as guests, but rather as dearly missed family (although Master Astarion would not admit that under any circumstances, despite having made a significant improvement in the art of communicating in ways more genuine than through sarcasm). Their bonds, forged under the threat of the Absolute, were undeniable and lifelong.

Astarion and Tav often travel, not ready to hang their weapons on the wall just yet, but they both enjoy comming back to their own house, to rest and prepare for whatever the next adventure holds.

Astarion, somewhat reluctantly, became accustomed to being a hero, the good guy. He was relieved to discover that in the name of "goodness" he could unleash unthinkable carnage just as well as working with less moral goals in mind. And, in this case, people were certainly more inclined to part with their gold for his sake.

"Funny" he'd say, "I never pictured myself a hero". And after a short, thoughtful pause, he'd add "but it's really not at all suprising I'm amazing at being one".

Not all was always well, ghosts of the past lingering in the shadows of sleepless nights or in the nightmares he dreamt when he did fall asleep. It was a long process, the healing, because it was not only the body that had to heal - but at least at this time, it was demons of the past, not present, that troubled him and they got weaker with every passing day.

Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the destruction of the city, cause rebuilt, it didn't look exactly like the one where he suffered for so long, with Cazador's pretentious castle right in the middle, standing out, not at all subtle, forcing him to remember what he'd rather forget. Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the lack of reflection, for how he couldn't see the scars carved into his back starring back at him, for how he wasn't constantly reminded of everything that happend - and all the awful things that could have happend - anytime he looked at himself. The awarness that they are always there felt burning, burning along with every other memory of torture he had endured, that didn't leave a scar on his body, only on his mind. Some days, the presence of the scars was itching. Nearly painful.

And some days, they didn't matter at all.

They were merely a part of him, of his story, that he has left behide to live a new life.

As it often is, it depends on the day.

With Tav by his side and Cazador gone, even if still bothered by the past, he was truly happy. He was happy, when they slashed through enemy outposts, leaving behide gore. He was happy, when Tav sat in his lap in the morning (despite the fact that there was a perfectly good chair unoccupied right there, as he'd remark, feigning annoyance that he didn't feel and Tav didn't belive in), still in the nightwear, smelling of toothpaste and morning coffee, reading the newest edition of Baldur's Mouth.

He can't walk in the sun, no.

But he was truly free. Truly happy. And whatever the future holds, he knew it was going to stay that way.

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brabblesblog · 3 months

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Two months after their first year as the Ascendant and his consort, Astarion hatches a plan to bring him and his beloved closer.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night Originally beta'd by @leomonae and @kringle-c

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Ban and Astarion by @redreart

Astarion exited the carriage, scanning his surroundings before approaching the shop in front of him. The storefront looked worn; one would even think it abandoned, if not for the slightest trace of movement visible through dust-covered windows. There wasn’t any indication as to whether the shop was open.

He looked up at the sign, at the barely legible lettering on it; the paint was chipped and faded, an obvious victim of neglect. A small sigh escaped his lips. Glasscraft and Son.

Ban Glasscraft. That was all she had deigned to tell him the day they’d met; she had been cagey about her past ever since. In his efforts to seduce her he’d tried to ask her the usual, vapid questions, but had gotten nothing in return. Those were the only inquiries he never got a response to, but at the time he hadn’t really cared. She’d just smile and change the topic and he’d allow it; after all, the goal was to win her favor, not to actually get to know her.

And then what were lies had become truth, but by then there hadn’t been enough time.

His knuckles rapped against the door.

“Have a seat, Lord…” The older gentleman trailed off, watching Astarion stand by the proffered stool.

Astarion eyed the seat warily. “Ancunín.” It looked dingy, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to subject his trousers to it. “I’m perfectly fine where I am, thank you.”

The man nodded. He took a seat in front of his desk, gnarled hands picking up a leather tome. He offered it to Astarion, who approached and took it with no small amount of hesitation at the sight of its stained cover.

“In there’s all of our designs,” the man said. “You can have the frame inlaid with gold or sil-”

“Gold. Silver doesn’t complement my complexion,” Astarion said airily, adopting the manner of a mildly bored nobleman flawlessly.

“Master…”

“Glasscraft, my lord. Roderich Glasscraft.” Roderich stood and came closer; he was bald, a whole head shorter than Astarion, and as he tilted his head to peer at the book Astarion lowered it so that he could see.

“Yes, well.” Roderich tapped one of the mirrors illustrated on the page Astarion had opened the book to. “This is a little dated, design-wise. But it would still look rather beautiful, I think, in the appropriate home.”

Astarion thought the mirror looked relatively contemporary, but didn't comment. Instead, he pointed at the illustration with his index finger. “How much would one of those be, Master Glasscraft? Inlaid with gold.”

Roderich hemmed and hawed, unsure. He hadn’t sold a single full-mounted mirror in what felt like years. He didn’t remember much, didn't want to, really, not after…

Best not to think of that.

“Six, seven thousand?” he surmised. “I could accept a deposit-”

Astarion waved him off. “I’ll be paying in full.”

Roderich stared at him for a long second, shock upon his face. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat. “Very well, Lord Ancunín. I shall draft up the quotation and the work order this instant. May I know where this mirror is to be delivered?”

“The Crimson Palace,” Astarion began, reaching into his pocket to pull out his pouch. “A little north of-”

“The - what’s it now?” Roderich frowned. “I’ve never heard of that place.”

A pregnant silence filled the shop. Normally the name of their home would have been enough; people had heard the news of Cazador Szarr’s erstwhile estate falling into the hands of a certain Lord Astarion Ancunín, who had been firmly referring to it as the Crimson Palace. Roderich Glasscraft, however, seemed to have missed that tidbit.

Resisting the urge to snap, Astarion took a small breath. Just because he no longer loathed hearing his former master’s name didn’t make it particularly pleasant to mention him.

“The former Szarr Mansion,” he provided, terse.

Roderich paled. “The - Szarr Mansion. Cazador Szarr?” While he’d never been the most informed person, Roderich had heard whispers about that nobleman - whispers of dark, decadent parties, of hushed disappearances.

Add to that the fact that Cazador Szarr had been the only nobleman in Baldur’s Gate to never have purchased a mirror from Glasscraft and Son - nor from any other mirror maker.

Whispers, just whispers. But Roderich couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine.

“Yes, the very same property.” Astarion made a show of inspecting his fingernails, feigning nonchalance. He gathered that the man before him had probably not heard about the change in ownership of the palace - and how could he? If the condition of the shop was any indication, he doubted this man had ever done anything other than sit here.

“I’ve… inherited the mansion, upon his passing,” he remarked lightly, “and have renamed it to the Crimson Palace. I would appreciate it if you were to use that name from now on.”

“I- yes, my lord, of course.” Roderich bowed effusively. He realized belatedly that the man before him was unusually pale, with bright crimson eyes. He hadn’t seen his mouth open widely enough to determine the presence of fangs, thank the gods, but was that-

A small, circular scar on the man’s neck, barely visible above the lip of his shirt collar.

Roderich almost wanted to scream, but one thing held him back: it was daytime, and he’d seen Lord Ancunín exit his carriage and walk into the shop, hadn’t he?

Astarion tilted his head at the man, hearing his heartbeat spike. He knew the sound all too well - the sound of cornered prey. He wasn’t here for that, of course, and quickly figured out a way to assuage the man’s worries before Roderich had any chance of ruining his plans.

His hand reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a small mirror. He peered into it, angling himself so that Roderich could clearly make out Astarion’s reflection in the glass.

Astarion sighed, sweeping away nonexistent curls as if they had fallen into his eyes. “Thank you, Master Glasscraft. When can I expect the mirror to arrive?”

The sight of the man’s reflection calmed Roderich. He took a breath. “In two tendays, my lord. Possibly sooner, depending on how sourcing the materials goes.”

“Very well,” Astarion drawled, putting his mirror away. He couldn’t help himself and shot Roderich a grin that was a little too wide, revealing the very tips of his fangs for a split second. “Are you able to do it in one? Of course, you will be handsomely compensated for the inconvenience.”

He needed the mirror delivered when Ban wasn’t home; he knew she’d be in Rivington for most of that day, meeting Shadowheart.

Roderich didn’t miss the bright flash of sharp teeth, shuddering. He felt a bit bad; obviously this Lord Ancunín wasn’t what he thought he was, with both walking in the sun and having a reflection.

“It can be done, my lord,” he said, a little too quickly.

Coin changed hands, then Astarion left the shop with the contract.

The moment he arrived home, Astarion rushed to their study. Heading to his desk, he stuffed the contract into a drawer.

“You don’t even say hello to your wife anymore?” a voice called out, and he slammed the drawer shut, momentarily panicked. He turned to face her, rearranging his features into something resembling composure.

“Saw the carriage arrive,” Ban added by way of explanation; she’d watched him march towards their study like a man on a mission. A rather curious sight, one that piqued her interest, but she put off questioning him about it for now.

“Ah - well. I wanted to put work aside as fast as possible,” he stammered out, approaching her and wrapping his arms around her waist in one swift move. “So I could… ”

He nuzzled into the top of her head, inhaling deeply, inwardly begging himself to calm down. “Mm. So I could focus on my dearest darling.”

“You’d get away with a lot less, you know, if you weren’t so-” The words died in her throat as a hand traveled south from her waist to the curve of her ass, squeezing it.

He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes. “If I wasn’t so… what? Care to finish that thought, love?” Teasing, light. He knew she’d noticed his poor attempt at hiding the contract, but hoped he could at least distract her from prying further right now. He tried to herd her back out the door and hopefully to their bedroom.

“Roguish,” she provided, “handsome, dashing…”

“Keep going,” Astarion smirked. They made it past the doorway, Ban walking backwards. He gently crowded her against the wall of the hallway, caging her with his arms.

She stared up at him, considering what to say next. He was nervous, that much she could tell - as if there was something he wanted to hide, yet despite himself was also begging for her to see.

Free me. Find out, so I don’t have to keep lying.

“Sweetheart,” she began. The words were on the tip of her tongue, to ask him what was wrong; but there was that look in his eyes that said not now, please, and so she didn’t push, opting for playfulness instead. “You really think you can handle all the words I have to describe you with?”

“Try me.” He attempted to lean down for a kiss, laughing when she dodged it and slipped out from under his arms. As much as he was doing this to hide the contract from her, he was also enjoying himself.

“Let’s see. Pompous. Mischievous. Conceited… Do you still want me to keep going?” She began rattling off words, raising a finger at each, as if counting them off. She ke[t walking backwards as he advanced on her, but not towards their bedroom.

The servants all murmured greetings as they passed; they both ignored them.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Astarion countered, a brief flash of fangs visible as he grinned at her. He noticed her taking a left and he tilted his head, curious. He didn’t question it, though, simply following her as she rounded the corner of the hallway, leaving enough distance to properly give the impression of prowling after her.

Ban reached the double doors at the end of the hallway, pushing them open to head out to the gardens.

“Here?” Astarion said, more amused than anything. The groundskeeper approached them, weary eyes immediately recognizing his masters’ intent. He quickly snapped a command to the other gardeners to clear out.

She watched them go, then made her way to sit on the stone bench beside the fountain. “Why not? This place is ours, no? We’re afforded privacy here.”

As the doors were shut behind them he rounded on Ban, the dangerous glint in his eye unmistakeable. He arched an eyebrow. “Honestly, I wouldn’t care if they saw us - if anyone saw us.” He knew she did, though, if only slightly more than he, and for her sake he took one last cursory look around the garden, finding no other soul present.

With their privacy assured he straddled her, his weight settling comfortably on her muscled thighs, lips moving to press against hers. The smell of the roses, of the freshly trimmed grass mixed with scent of her skin - altered, but still the same - stirred some memory in him; his hips twitched and his eyes fell shut. There was still that fear, that worry that she’d obviously seen through what he was trying to do, but Astarion reassured himself he’d tell her anyway. Soon.

Whenever soon ended up being, anyway.

He didn’t want to risk this yet, their endless days of seemingly nothing but happiness, the hours of bliss seeming likely to stretch on into eternity.

“Lie down,” he murmured to her, completely missing that impish grin and the look that crossed her face. As she began to shift under him he let his body follow suit, ready for what would come next-

He felt himself lose his balance, his weight shifting off-center as something shoved him, and he managed a strangled gasp as he landed in the fountain.

He landed on his ass; the water was freezing. His undead body wasn’t harmed by it, but it still felt unpleasant. He sat, clothes now drenched and his hair sopping wet. Indignation filled him; the first thing he wanted to do was scold her, but begrudging amusement won out.

“What was that for?” He looked down at his clothes, his ivory shirt soaked. So much care taken not to dirty them at the shop, only for them to end up drenched in fountain water, anyway. No harm done, but still.

Above him, Ban stod, laughing. She reached out, offering him a hand. Her laughter was infectious; he found his lips forming a smile before he could stop them. Still, he took the proffered hand and let Ban yank him up onto his feet. Astarion stood there for a moment, admiring her strength, then groaned as he belatedly realized that his shoes were also waterlogged and likely damaged.

“Sorry,” she said, although she was anything but. “I think another word would suit you here - gullible.”

For a moment Astarion scrambled for something to say. I could have dissolved! came to mind, but he thought that would only add to her malicious joy. Instead, he opted for disarming her; his hands found the laces of his shirt, and he began to untie them slowly. He let his fingers linger on the exposed skin, allowing her time to savor the sight.

“You ruined my clothes,” he snapped with feigned indignation, fingers still unraveling the laces with a painful lack of speed as he kept his eyes on his prize. “I think some… compensation is in order.”

“As if you don’t get it every single day, Astarion,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. A little seed of concern took root at his words, ones which sounded all too familiar and all too like his former views on sex. She scanned his face and found that yes, he was just playing here, the twinkle in his eyes telling her he was alright.

He smirked. “True,” he acknowledged. With the laces loose he pulled the sopping shirt over his head, tossing it at her to catch her off guard. It smacked her in the chest with a wet splat, then fell to the ground.

He stepped over the lip of the fountain and onto grass, the squelch of his shoes unwelcome and unpleasant. Leaning down to take them off, he sighed softly as he slipped them off and set them by the bench. “Those shoes were wyrmhide.”

“Are wyrm-hide,” she corrected. “They’ll be fine. Don’t be so-”

The rest of her words were swallowed by his mouth. In a heartbeat he had closed the gap, devouring her lips, hands grasping her ass and kneading. All thought disappeared at the feel of Astarion suddenly being everywhere, and Ban let a small, choked gasp escape her.

He pulled back enough to peer at her face. “You were saying?” he purred, smug. He always knew exactly how to derail her train of thought, a talent that he had admittedly abused in the past. Nowadays he merely uses it to tease…

Well. Maybe he was using it to distract her from the contract. Astarion considered this a necessity at the moment, however, at least until he was ready to approach her with the information.

Besides, he knew she saw through most of his guile now. Ever since they’d reconciled, her perception had only been increasing - vulnerable as that made him feel, there was also a sense of joy at being seen again.

“I was going to say quit whining,” Ban replied, although the intended effect was lost with how breathy the words came out. Astarion’s eyes crinkled in genuine mirth, and he took her hips, moving her around to face the bench.

She’d let him win this round, she thought. Probably.

He growled against her ear. “Make me.” There was no real bite to the words, only sensual challenge. As he nudged her forward she took a step back towards him, pressing her ass against his clothed cock. He hissed, the fingers on her hips digging in hard; a small, playful warning.

“Seems like I already did.” Ban slowly undid the laces of her trousers, huffing in satisfied amusement at the sound of his low groan behind her. The hands on her hips aided her in pushing her trousers and underwear to her ankles, their movements clumsy and rather impatient.

Every inch of the firm, muscular ass that was revealed made Astarion’s already miniscule amount of restraint decrease. He lowered himself, sitting on his haunches, fangs already bared. All thought of the contract, of his worries, were temporarily gone - all he saw was that expanse of skin and the thought of the delectable heat that laid hidden between her legs. He pressed a kiss to one ass cheek, and let his fangs drag against the supple skin, a quiet request for permission.

Her lips curled into a small smile. “You may, sweetheart,” she said; and the moment the words left her she felt the sharp sting of fangs, sinking into the meat of her ass. A gasp escaped her lips as Astarion tore further into her flesh, the pain exquisite. She felt the soft suction of his mouth as he fed; the fingers digging into her hip traced a meandering path along her skin and raised goosebumps in their wake, before slipping between her legs to find her clit. The combined sensation of his mouth and those fingers caressing her there made her instinctively bend over, hands gripping the stone bench and elbows locking to keep herself stable.

How annoying, really, that all her husband had to do to waylay her plans was this - not that she was complaining. Whatever it was that he’d attempted to keep hidden wouldn’t be hard to find if need be, seeing as she’d seen him shove it in the drawer. Moreover, she did plan on asking him about it after this little tryst. But for now…

He licked off the last rivulets of blood; languidly lapping at her wounds in long, slow strokes, then stood back up. He took in the view of Ban bent over, so obviously wanting him. The thought, of course, went immediately to his cock, his hand absently ghosting over the bulge in his trousers.

The thought of taking her here in the garden, in nature, brought forth a flash of memory: that night in the clearing, when they had first been together. The thought made him wistful; his lips curled in a smile.

“Taking your time?” Ban teased, curious at the sudden pause in Astarion’s movements. He worked his own trousers off without ceremony, the quiet sounds of his belt being unbuckled and the rasp of damp cloth against skin the only noise as he pushed what was left of his clothing down and off.

Now completely nude, Astarion approached her, pressing his cock along the cleft of her ass. “Just remembering something,” he said, voice rather somber. Ban immediately noticed, and even as she could feel him slowly rutting against her she frowned.

“Astarion? Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. Merely remembering how far we’ve come.”

And how much more there is left to go.

It wasn’t that right now was bad. He was happier than ever - most of the time. His astuteness allowed him to curtail most situations where Ban would inevitably begin to withdraw from him. However, Astarion knew this wasn’t enough; that there was still so much hurt left to heal, and as much as he wanted it now, he had no choice but to wait. Knew that she didn’t completely trust him either, even as he laid his heart and soul in her palm every waking moment.

It felt unfair at times, in an if I have to do it why can’t she way, but he let it go every time. He loved her too much to ever really push her into something she wouldn’t willingly do, especially after his behavior those first six months after the rite.

Astarion let those thoughts linger for a moment more, then returned his focus to his cock - not a difficult task, with how aroused he was. He was hard, the tip flushed pink and aching to sink home. A quick swipe with his thumb to spread his precum over the head, and he gently grasped Ban’s hips, guiding himself down, past her ass to her warm, wet entrance. The heat was pleasurable, and he stilled there for a moment, his length lightly pressed along her folds.

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” Ban said, and the playfulness was gone, replaced with mild concern. She didn’t turn around, couldn’t see him, but Astarion’s voice merely seemed pensive rather than anything more worrisome.

“Quite,” Astarion reassured her, rubbing his cock back and forth against her clit. Her slickness let him slide smoothly against her, and they both groaned. Of course he was alright; niggling thoughts aside, she loves him, and that was enough. For now.

He rubbed against her one last time and finally pushed in, parting her folds, cock sinking into her heat without another thought. Home.

Ban felt him thrust into her, his length filling her, that all-too-familiar feeling of being stretched that quickly transitioned into pleasure as he took his rightful place within her core. She braced against the bench as his hips began to roll.

A soft fuck escaped Ban’s lips as Astarion began to move. He chuckled, stilling for a moment. “What was that, love?”

“Do I really need to explain?” she snapped. Long, elegant fingers dug into her hips, their grip tight. He drew himself most of the way out, then suddenly plunged in, hitting her spot hard.

“No,” Astarion drawled, the confidence back in his tone. “It would be pleasant to hear, though.” His thrusting was fast, insistent - pulling out and then slamming back in with enough force that it left Ban breathless and holding on for dear life.

Ban’s vision swam, the green of the grass and the red of the roses blurring together as Astarion fucked her. The sound of his ragged breathing, the feel of those talented fingers digging into her skin, the feeling of his cockhead hitting her spot with every stroke - these were things she’d never tire of, she thought, even if they did this every day for all eternity. She’d been craving him, addicted to him, ever since that night in the clearing - no, even before that. She’d wanted him since the moment he asked for help on that godsdamned beach.

The sound of their lovemaking fills the air; it was a raw, primal thing that was full of need and desire - an attraction so strong there wasn’t room for anything else when they were lost in one another. Astarion chased it, that heady feeling slowly uncoiling from his core outwards, that need to explode and to give her what she deserved, to love her with his body, even as he feared that it may be too late for her to ever fully love him back. Because of him, he reminded himself. Not her.

“Hear what?” she teased, and he smirked at the challenge in her voice. With a slight change in the motion of his hips, he rolled them instead, dragging his cockhead against her favorite spot with every thrust. Ban felt the shift; the increased friction made her clench around him.

The tightness around Astarion’s cock intensified and he groaned, the idea of their little contest almost forgotten, but not fully. He kept the pace relentless, and he let out a pleased laugh as anything else she wanted to say dies in favor of a low, needy keening.

“That,” Astarion said, his pace only increasing. He could feel his climax approaching, the fire beginning to burn low in his belly. Quickly he pulled himself out and in one hungry move he knelt and spread her open to lap greedily at her clit, before plunging his cock back inside her and resuming the same punishing pace.

Ban let out a loud whine; the sound only pushed Astarion closer to the edge. Fingers digging in deeper against her hips, nails sinking into skin, his own hips slamming home even harder, he fucked her, all other thoughts and concerns blissfully gone for the moment.

He snaked a hand between her legs, fingers slipping down her mound to stroke her clit in that rhythm only he knew, making her buck against him. The position wasn’t the best, with Ban bent over and elbows locked straight, Astarion curled over her; but it didn’t matter, not when the only thing that existed was them and the love-born lust burning within them.

Astarion knew he wouldn't last much longer; even now he was skirting the edge, barely holding on. He focused on keeping the rhythm of his fingers consistent, their path unchanging, as his own hips juddered and lost their pace. She was close, he could tell, from the way her voice caught to the way her hips canted backwards against him; wanting more of him inside her, as if he wasn’t already buried from root to tip.

“Fuck, Ast-” was the last thing she managed to say before she came, her body jerking hard and her walls clenching around his cock; his fingers continuing their ministrations as she erupted. The feeling of being squeezed as he thrusted, the way her walls hugged him and the sudden surge of warmth from her did him in, and he felt his cock pulse, finally spilling inside her.

He heard her moan his name and he called out to her in turn, as they both drowned in the ocean of their desire.

When the world finally resumed spinning Astarion opened his eyes. He was still buried inside her, and he gingerly pulled out. He pulled his hand away from her hip, a little sheepish about the marks his fingernails had left on her skin even as they already began to fade, her vampiric nature beginning to heal them immediately.

“I love you,” Ban said, as she straightened up and faced him. She felt weak-kneed and light. “Can we head to our room, Astarion? Bathe, maybe? I mean…” She gestured at their surroundings. “I do feel slightly dirty.”

Astarion laughed. “It didn’t bother you that time in the clearing. Why have scruples about rolling around in the dirt now?”

“Says the man who panicked about his clothes getting wet,” she countered.

Astarion leaned back against the walls of the tub, Ban resting against his chest. She’d been silent, and he hadn’t dared ask why, correctly guessing the cause.

“Astarion… ” she began calmly, carefully. “What was that thing you were in a rush to put away today?”

Shit. He weighed his options and settled for the truth. “Something I got for you,” he offered unhelpfully.

“Is that so? Then why were you so secretive about it?”

“It’s a gift,” Astarion said, a tad stiffly. “A bit of decor for our bedroom. I’m sure you’ll indulge your husband in his little surprises, won’t you?”

He didn’t really know what to say, knowing he was deflecting by talking about the mirror itself and not the information that was truly at the heart of the matter.

She sighed and acquiesced. “Fine. I can wait.” Ban shifted, nuzzling against his chest; he wrapped his arms around her and sighed.

“Good.” He was relieved, and he pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’ll find out what it is soon enough, and I’ll tell you everything then.”

A promise, layered in another, lesser one. One he swore to abide by, even if she didn't know he’d made it.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there." Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygamer-blog

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meatballhead-usagi · 1 year

Text

A Forgotten Realm (Barbarian! Bakugo x Reader)

You have been an archaeologist for years now but ushered into the darkest and forgotten corners of the museum. Your chosen specialty was in the once renowned City of Musutafu - which unfortunately for you has been seen as a farce, bordering on the make-believe and whimsical in high society. But you know the forgotten empire that was Musutafu was real, it just had to be with all the fragmented evidence found over the years, but several journals discredited its authenticity and cited that there was no conclusive evidence that Musutafu was anything more than myths and storytelling from much greater (and more realistic) societies. You never regarded these setbacks, even when they landed you in the basement of said museum, cataloguing donations and doing the linguistic legwork your superiors were far ‘too busy’ to do themselves. But when a strange journal turned up on your doorstep, outlining the archaeological find of the century, you embarked on the expedition of a lifetime. To bring back something to show that Musutafu really did exist. But you didn't expect to actually find a forgotten world, thriving and hidden. Nor the crimson-eyed prince who ruled there.

TAGS: barbarian!katsuki bakugo x female reader, slowburn, reader is an archaeologist, archaeology themes, all characters are above 18, kidnapping you from your camp. Word Count: 3.1k

Usually when people ask you what you do for work, you hesitate. You usually politely answer with anything other than what you really do. You say instead a scholar, or a linguist, that you work in the cataloguing department for the museum. You don’t say you’re an archaeologist for the pure fact that many of those around you have a completely different idea to what you do, than what the reality of it is. People imagine that you embark on adventures to unearth riches, march your way through jungle and over mountaintop to reach the forbidden mysteries withheld there, that you travel across the horizon to discover what may lay there.

You don’t. You, despite your brilliance and intellect, have found yourself holed away in the museum’s basement for years now. Going over dusty tomes and relics, cataloguing them for storage and rotating which artifacts are in the displays – all important jobs of course – but not quite where you imagined yourself either. You’re not entirely sure just how you ended up here, or why your work wasn’t taken as serious as your colleagues, but there you are. At your desk, alone, late into the evening as you dust through ancient Mesopotamian artifacts and package them for storage. “Don’t you ever go home?” A voice calls out from nearby, and soft footsteps cause you to look up from your work. You hum in response as a purple-haired man walks from his desk to yours – a tired look in his eyes as he examines the latest thing to have captured your attention. “Mh, of course not. Not when there is work to be done still Shinso,” you offer him a polite smile, “I won’t be much longer. Just have to pack these away.” You quickly begin to put your tools away and return the artefact to its bed of hay and secure box. “You work too hard, y’know. Don’t be too late.” Shinso gives you a soft nod before he yawns and cranes his head over towards the door. “Remember to lock up when you leave.” “I will, thank you.” You smile at him again and heave the box up into your arms, delicately holding it as if it were going to shatter with the slightest mistouch. “Get home safe, I’ll see you in the morning.” Shinso gives a satisfied nod as his eyes travel over your form curiously but he hesitates to move for a moment. He lingers as if he wants to continue the conversation before turning to leave. “See you in the morning, Y/N.” He calls back and throws his hand up in a casual wave as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You wave back and almost lose your grip on the box in your arms quickly returning both arms to the box to hold it correctly before turning on your heel to put it in its designated storage spot. This definitely isn’t where you had imagined yourself when you decided to pursue this field of work, but it pays the bills and keeps you warm, fed and a roof over your head. The mind numbing commute from work left you dead tired, and the trek up the four flights of stairs to your humble (albeit tiny) city apartment reminded you of the hours already spent on your feet. You’re practically collapsing as you open the door. The hinges were rusted and old as you threw your body weight against it several times to encourage the damned thing open. It relented. You kick your shoes off and hang your coat before your foot nudged against something. Something hard. Reaching down to pick up the strange parcel that had been somehow rustled through the mail slot, you cautiously examine the address of the sender. “No sender… Where did you come from?” You murmur and flip the parcel over to tear through the beige paper. “Down the chimney, of course.” That wasn’t your voice. You didn’t say those words. Who said those words? A lamp light clicked on and illuminated the silhouette of a young man. A mess of yellow blonde hair, with two longer face framing pieces were the first thing that caught your eye followed only by the smirk plastered against lips. He looked almost bird-like, but charming all the same. “Wh-Who are you?” You demanded, mustering up your best attempt at bravery.It earned a modest smile from the avian intruder. “My name is Takami. Keigo Takami, but you’re welcome to call me Hawks.” He rose from the seat he was in and adjusted the cuffs of his red jacket,seeming to take a nonchalant approach as to not intimidate you. Not yet, anyway. “I’m here on behalf of my employer. He believes that you may be able to help with that little package I’ve so nicely delivered into your dainty little hands.” Your eyes drift back to the package in your hands before flicking back up to the blond who had now crossed one arm over the other, watching you in amusement. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” He teased with an admonishing chuckle. You go back to unwrapping the curious package in your hands to be met with a book. A book with Musutafu’s insignia inscribed on the cover. Your eyes are as wide as dinner plates now as your fingertips brush the cover. Its real. The lost city of Musutafu is real, and here is your evidence. You cautiously open the book and eagerly begin to skim the pages, taking in the words written and the imagery of the city. “Where did you get this?” You breathed out, barely a whisper, as you looked back to Keigo. He simply smiled and shrugged softly. “Found it whilst digging in a tomb. Thing is, no one knows how to read what’s in it. Not a single soul but you. Took a while to find an expert in the non-existent you know.” He stood straight and smiled reassuringly at you. “Suppose all those years in the basement of that museum really gave you time to study the language, huh?” You laugh. You don’t mean to – its almost like a knee-jerk reaction to the sudden thoughts whizzing into your mind. “Expert? I wouldn’t say I’m an expert.” You are cut off by Keigo giving you a look. A look saying you’re being too humble for your own good. “Shame then. We need an expert in gibberish to come with us.” He sighed and rest his cheek in his hand, very clearly baiting you into a response. “Come with you where?” You answer a little too quickly. “To Musutafu, of course. We’ve got a team assembled and we’re embarking on an expedition,” He says it as if it’s the simplest thing on earth, “And my employer has reserved you a seat on board, if you’d join us.” You don’t even hesitate to say yes.

When Keigo ‘Hawks’ Takami made his introduction in your humble apartment you didn’t expect to find yourself in a ship not even some 36 hours later, traversing along the thrashing waves of some godforsaken ocean surrounded by your newly acquainted colleagues; Hawks, who was second in command and charming as ever; a Commander Enji Todoroki who captained the ship Endeavour, and the expedition team for your financier - one Mr. Toshinori Yagi.

You also hadn’t expected a maelstrom to engulf your ship like the metallic meal it was, and spit it back out in an underwater volcanic cavern. But as the fates take, they also provide. Many good men and women were lost to the sea, and you were all reminded by Commander Todoroki that your team was that remained and you’re all to ensure you look out for one another. Your enthusiasm hadn’t died, unlike the Endeavour, and it was visible to your colleagues. You were left in charge of traversing through this cavern to find a safe place to camp and allow time for the expedition party to recuperate and figure out how the hell you’ll be escaping from this volcanic shaft. You did so diligently, and as you led the few dozen survivors along a pilgrimage further into the cavern the fates blessed you again with a clearing - and a ruin. A sanctuary where you’d be able to regroup for now. “And as water gives life, it also takes. Be safe and well with she who shelters from the tides wrath.” You muse aloud as you read an inscription on the entrance to a ruined temple, inspecting the polished stone for signs of danger before you gave the go ahead for other survivors of the wreckage to set up shelter within its walls. “This seems like a shrine devoted to the Musutafan goddess of water, or of safe travels.” You say as you turn your attention to a crumbling statue in the middle of it all. The statue depicted a woman kneeling with her arms up in the air - offering something to the heavens above. Only her hands were empty, and all else that was visible was the waterfall behind her and the lush shrubbery that covered the long forgotten stone. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. “Maybe the goddess can give us some luck then, or a blessing.” Hawks spoke as he carted a tent kit over his shoulder and past where you’d set up your own little workstation. Thankfully you had managed to shave your books by some miracle in the wreckage. “We don’t need a blessing. We just have to get out bearings, collect something from down here, and get home.” Commander Todoroki’s voice was a lot sharper and pointed than he intended. You look back to the statue, taking out a sketchbook and beginning to jot down her features. “And you’ll be able to get us home, Commander. But in the meantime I’m going to be doing what I was bought here to do-” “Decipher the jibberish?” Hawks teased. You snort in response. “Uncover what happened here, yes. Uncover Musutafu and show the world that it really existed.” “There will be plenty of uncovering to do later, Miss L/N.” The Commander’s spoke again to stop Hawks from continuing with his jilting. “Right now you’re to get your nose out of those books and help set up camp.” You can only nod and hesitate to put your sketchbook down, looking out over the ruins once again. You couldn’t help but be amazed by them and believe this place was real. Something, however, caught your eye. There was a slight movement from far behind the statue, towards the back of the shrine and the cavern wall, but you brushed it off. Could have just been air from the waterfall moving a plant around. You turn and walk back towards the rest of the troops when Hawks called for you to come help him prepare a fire and portion out the rations to the sick and wounded. Under the cover of the cavern’s darkness, eyes peered out from behind some very well camouflaged greenery. Teeth drawn and weapons sharpened as several figures watched from the shadows. You, and your people, looked strange to them. What was the odd garments you wore, and what was with the strange sticks the men carried? What was their purpose? You were outsiders. Outsiders were not meant to be able to find this place. A soft nudge from a red haired male drew the leader’s attention to you - a woman who sat away from the rest of the group inspecting the writing on the walls. Bakugo’s eyes narrowed as vermilion orbs focused on your body language, trying to figure out what your purpose here was. You were isolated from the rest of the group, he figured they were all warriors or healers of some kind or another based on their actions. But you were willingly venturing away from the group, busy keeping yourself occupied with examining the writing upon the stone pillars of the temple. In this forgotten place, in the crumbling and lifeless old ruins and why were you fascinated by these old rocks? Bakugo clicked his tongue softly as he turned to the members of the hunting party and signaled for them to surround the encampment, observe, don’t get caught. Several other young members of the party nodded and split up, following the young prince’s orders. His ashen blond spikes shouldn’t have been able to be concealed by the darkness of the cavern, but they were, and his boots shouldn’t have been silent as he stalked his way closer to you. He stopped short when he was close enough to watch you without your notice, examining what you were doing exactly. “Vahemna... What does that mean...” You spoke softly as your fingers traced over the words on the wall of the pillar. Bakugo’s eyes widened in shock when he recognised his mother tongue among the words that came from your lips. Could you speak their language?

Bakugo remained silent in his position, hidden by the foliage as he watched you. He was curious already with the way your mouth moved and the softness to your words as you navigated his mother tongue. He smirked to himself, fascinated by your own accent and how it melded with his language. You were from the surface.

Once the camp began to sleep the war party began to move - the members tip toeing their way between sleeping soldiers and the wounded as they inspected the outsider's things. Several of the others found themselves stealthily digging through the various things in the camp - looking at the guns your Commander had bought upon insistence, the card game a few of the others had played over dinner, the medicines and first aid items which you'd all lugged with you from the watery wreckage. A few of them held up items to each other and goofed around, making silly faces before earning a stern glare from the prince. He didn't even have to say anything to exercise his authority. Bakugo was more concerned with you though as he approached silently. You were quiet as you slept on a bedroll, your back to him and your things as he began to examine them. He crouched down by your sleeping figure and picked up the book carefully, eyebrows furrowing when he recognised the insignia inscribed on the cover. "Nis forten ji grinnesh?" Kirishima whispered as he came over to the prince - his words were strained and hushed as the bulky male tried not to disturb you, but his eyes widened when he saw the book too. Bakugo tucked the book away securely in his fur cloak, nodding to Kirishima. You, however, stirred and sighed softly as you began to wake. The presence of the two people by your sleeping form was what roused you from your sleep, but also the sound of a whispered conversation. Your eyes fluttered open and met Bakugo's, wide in horror as you froze. These two men standing above you both looked at each other, and then back at you for a moment before jumping into action. The blond slapped a hand over your mouth and yanked you roughly from the makeshift bedroll, his muscly figure holding you close against him as he began to move quickly back in to the shadows and the plantlife. Your scream was muffled enough by his hand that your camp mates didn't seem to stir at all, and your jerking and struggling only made Bakugo's grip on you tighten as he moved faster. You could feel just how rugged he was, but you could also feel how he was holding back from using his full strength over you as he absconded. Left with little other option, you bit down on his hand. Hard - hard enough to draw blood. Bakugo hissed and removed his hand from your mouth and shoved you into the other male's arms, the redhead restrained your arms behind your back in another tight grip. A bubble of gruff laughter came from Kirishima's lips as he held you back. He was clearly amused by the face his friend was making. Bakugo was less than impressed as a fierce scowl darkened his face and this gave you an opportunity to take in his appearance properly. Aside from the scowl, his facial features were sharp and his eyes caused your skin to burn under his line of sight. He wore thick, white fur-lined boots, knee pads and a pair of dark blue pants barely secured around his hips with a thick belt of sorts. You took in the sight of his Adonis belt, the toned abdomen as your eyes trailed upwards. The prince was almost completely topless minus the fur cloak he had around his shoulders, and the beautiful layers of beads which drew your attention to his very board chest and large pecs. Bakugo narrowed his eyes as he examined his hand - the movement causing you to oggle and the orange material around his arms and the bulging mass of muscle that could rip it at any second if he flexed too hard. "Tch... Iknoz kil wegge lys dira." He spoke in a low grunt. Your brain began to search your mind for the translation. "We should just kill her now." is what this man said to the others as he watched for a reaction. "No!" You piped up and shook your head, jerking a bit in the redhead's hold, "Fhyro, fhyro di kil!" You plead. Please, please do not kill! Bakugo's scowl faded into into a wide smirk when you did open your mouth. You could speak the language. He had been right. This had Kirishima slowly beginning to loosen his grip on your arms as you fell to your knees. Bakugo crouched down in front of you and roughly grabbed your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, examining your face. He tilted it around as he examined your features curiously. You were certainly pretty for an outsider. "Wyros rif nagae?" What is your name? The redhead asked quietly, craning his head to the side in curiosity to get a better look at you too. Bakugo gave a soft hum as he let go of your face and rose to his feet again. The rest of the war party encircled you, all faces were shocked to see you speaking their language. "Nagae? Mi nagae ich Y/N." Name? My name is Y/N. You reply as you look around at your captors. "Vha rih schok dus mi lykiri? Hah?" Why have you come to my kingdom? Bakugo crossed his arms over his chest as his intense gaze burned through you. You looked surprised. His kingdom? You didn't know how to respond in his own language. You looked troubled as you hesitated to answer that there wasn't supposed to be a kingdom here.

Looking for more? Here’s the masterlist!

#Katsuki Bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #barbarian bakugo x reader #barbarian bakugou #fantasy mha #mha #bnha #bnha katsuki #mha katsuki

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linkemon · 8 months

Text

Learning headcanons 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Midterm exams are coming up at Night Raven College. Reader and Grim face the terrible danger of science. You need to use all possible means...

Riddle Rosehearts

• Definitely one of the best students you could ask for help. He dedicates himself to studies. Unfortunately, getting him to help someone is nearly a miracle. Maybe apart from the people from Heartslabyul who are teetering on the verge of not giving a damn, and it's not a pleasant situation because they are at risk of losing their heads...

• Cater caught you in the corridor and told you how the prefect had cleverly taught him everything. However, he made you closer to giving up on your request. Why would Riddle agree? You'll bother him unnecessarily and he's so busy...

• A day later, Riddle stopped you in the hallway and offered to help. As it later turned out, he overheard your conversation. The fact that you gave up on his help because you were thinking about his tiredness made him feel warm near his heart and his cheeks turned crimson. Of course he would never admit it.

• The first thing he did was give you a thick tome of knowledge you needed for your History of Magic exam. His own study guide. After what he had been through with Cater, he could almost predict that neither you nor Grim would be able to handle it but he had faith in you.

• When he saw that memorizing wasn't helping you at all, he decided to try other methods. He patiently explained things to you in various places on campus. Whether it's during a unbirthday party or while looking after hedgehogs. You began to associate facts with objects and situations that reminded you of various events.

• You passed the exam with one of the highest scores. You threw your arms around his neck in joy the next time you met him, which made him blush once again. Trey didn't let him live with it for the rest of the day.

Leona Kingscholar

• There is no shame in falling off a broom several times. It can happen to anyone. However, when someone is at risk of failing a semester, it is a cause for concern. The president of the Spelldrive club should be the perfect tutor, right? At least in theory...

• Leona is not an ideal candidate. In fact, he's the worst possible and you know it. Unfortunately, Ruggie told you that if he can't help you himself, the prince is your last hope.

• You had to promise to help Leona for free for another month for him to even agree to help you. And even when he did, it didn't look like he really wanted to move his lazy tail.

• You spent your days trying to force him out of the botanical garden. Sometimes you just gave up and took a nap. Time passed and you weren't making any progress. One day Grim came up with a risky idea. You told Leona that if he didn't help you, you would look for help elsewhere. For example in Pomefiore... It worked! He stood up lazily and casually, saying that the herbivores would finish him off one day.

• The last few days have been a time of intense work. You can't count how many times you've listened to complaints and come to terms with it. It must be admitted, however, that when you rose too high and the fall really threatened to break your limbs, the boy caught you in his arms. He held you a second too long, maintaining eye contact, before unceremoniously dropping you right onto the dusty track.

• Coach Vargas was surprised that you could even stay on the broom. Still, he said that if you didn't complete the entire obstacle course, there was no way you would pass. When you collapsed at the end, you felt pure frustration, certain that your hard work had been wasted. However, the teacher congratulated you and gave you a passing grade. You will never know that Leona in the meantime blackmailed him and told him that he would leave the club if he didn't let you go for another semester...

Lilia Vanrouge

• Why did you ask him for help with alchemy? If it were history, he could teach you so much. After all, he knows facts that are not even in books...

• His war experience made him quickly explain to you how to make healing potions and poisons. As for the rest... Well, he needs to learn some recipes someday too, he said with a laugh.

• Be prepared to be asked questions unexpectedly. He will often surprise you or Grim by hanging upside down and asking questions. If you will answer well, great for you. If you answer wrong, you will get booped on the nose.

• He will make sure that you do not forget about having fun and rest while learning. He's been through this with Malleus and Silver, so he knows when to say enough is enough and make a break.

• Breaks consist of tea and eating cookies he baked himself. He loves the way you eat them even after he confused salt with sugar again, which he found out only in the evening.

• He will definitely be waiting outside the room to find out the results of your exam. And after everything, he will ask for a kiss on the cheek as a reward for his help. He is sure you will pass. Kufufufu...

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #lilia vanrouge #headcanons

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writers-potion · 1 month

Note

Do you have any tips on how to name a story/book? Bc I’m really struggling to come up with something good

Book Title Ideas!!

Fantasy Book Titles

"The Chronicles of Eldoria"

"Realm of the Shadow King"

"Echoes of the Lost Kingdom"

"The Crystal Throne"

"Legends of the Eternal Dragon"

"The Hitman's Apprentice"

"Sorcery of the Silver Moon"

"Beyond the Enchanted Forest"

"Tales of the Arcane Isles"

"The Last Guardian of Light"

"Crown of the Winter Realm"

"The Fireborn Chronicles"

"Winds of the Wandering Mage"

"Secrets of the Starlit Citadel"

"The Frost Queen's Curse"

"Whispers from the Ancient Tome"

"Sword of the Celestial Knight"

"The Phoenix's Prophecy"

"Echoes of Eternity"

"The Shadow's Embrace"

Romance Book Titles

"Swiping Right"

"Romantic Vibes Only"

"Coffee Shop Confessions"

"The Social Media Sweetheart"

"Chasing Sunsets"

"Love Notes and Lattes"

"Lost in Translation"

"The Dating App Dilemma"

"Love in the Fast Lane"

"City Lights and Romance"

"Instant Chemistry"

"The Modern Love Story"

"Love in the Clouds"

"Swipe Left for Heartache"

"Heartstrings and Harmony"

Mystery Novel Titles

"The Enigma of Midnight Manor"

"Murder on the Moors"

"Whispers in the Shadows"

"The Secret of Willow Creek"

"Death at Darkwater Bay"

"The Puzzle of the Poisoned Pen"

"Ghosts of Greyhill Mansion"

"Vanishing at Verona Villa"

"The Mystery of Moonstone Manor"

"Murder in the Misty Woods"

"The Case of the Crimson Cipher"

"The Secret of Sapphire Springs"

"The Silent Suspect"

"Echoes of the Old Mill"

"A Lethal Legacy"

"The Mystery of Midnight Hollow"

"Murder Among the Magnolias"

"The Cryptic Conundrum"

"The Haunting of Hawthorn House"

"Deadly Deception in Dahlia Valley"

YA Novel Titles

"The Echoes Between Us"

"Invisible Constellations"

"Catching Shadows"

"Threads of Serendipity"

"Bloom and Blossom"

"Growing Pains and Paper Planes"

"Dandelions in the Wind"

"Whispers in the Quiet Hours"

"Crossroads of Everlasting Echoes"

"Forgotten Names"

"The Color of Tomorrow"

"Redefining Normal"

"Footprints in the Sand"

"The Art of Glowing Up"

Paranormal Book Titles

"Mystic Bonds"

"Wolfblood Chronicles"

"Twilight's Enchantment"

"Soulbound Serenade"

"Nightfall Destiny"

"Nightshade Kisses"

"The Crimson Courtship"

"Bloodbound: A Tale of Moonlit Passion"

"Witchcraft and Whispers"

"Enchantress' Embrace"

"Heartbeat Hex"

"Welcome to the Coven of Desire"

"A Moonlit Affair"

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 3 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

The library is dim except for the oil lamp casting its snug ochre radiance, illuminating the page you’re reading. The window here is forever shuttered and draped to keep the sun off the assorted books and tomes, making you feel safe. Well, as safe as you can feel while sharing quarters with Astarion. Your fingers rub the harsh, bumpy surface of the book's old cover as your eyes feast on page after page.

“What are you reading?”

You close the book momentarily to let Astarion get a look at the cover.

“Ah,” he smiles, “I lent you that some time ago. Did I not?”

You nod, “I never got to finish it.”

Astarion lays on the lounge beside you, “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

You cock your brow at him, and your nose crinkles, “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of book you would read.”

He laughs, “Why’s that?”

“It’s well written, and there are gory bits, but it seems to boil down to a love story, and I can’t imagine you reading romance.”

“Do you think me incapable of romance, my dear? I was romancing people before you were alive.”

You smirk at him, “I’m positive you can feign romance exuberantly. I can’t imagine you being truly romantic, though.”

He waves dismissively, “What’s the difference? It’s all a show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but one has true feelings behind it, which makes it romantic. It’s not the “show,” as you say.”

He chuckles, “This is starting to sound an awful lot like a challenge, and I do love a good challenge.”

You frown, “I’m sure Elowyn would love a demonstration.”

He scoffs, “You said there must be true feelings behind it.”

What does that mean?

Does he even feel anything anymore?

Questions you want to ask him but choose not to because you don’t want to know the answers.

Astarion looks around the room, “Why do you read in here all the time? I thought you would be out in the courtyard, or at least in a room with a window. You used to love the sun,” he muses with a dreamy, faraway guise.

“I liked the sun. No one loves the sun more than you do."

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” his mouth twitches, “You and I used to watch the sunrise together often.”

“That was before,” you sigh at the memories, “This is now.”

He looks around anxiously while rubbing his hands together, “We could again if you wanted to.”

“I’m frightened that you will get angry with me, and in that rage, you’ll cease protecting me,” you retort bluntly.

His brows furrow with a resigned sigh, “Do you think you will ever trust me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

He sits upright and looks at you intensely, “Indeed, I do.”

Why? Why does it matter to him if I trust him or not?

Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

“You have your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckles, “It’s a good thing we have an eternity ahead of us.”

Unless you kill me.

Biting your tongue, you swallow that retort. Astarion has been remarkably pleasant for several days and seems more himself than you can recall since he became the Vampire Ascendant. You’re not keen on upsetting him for something so silly and becoming reacquainted with the version of him that lurks in his ire.

“Why did you recommend the book to me?”

He glowers at you playfully, “I have no doubt you will figure it out sooner or later.”

So, there is a reason.

“You could just tell me,” you purr.

“Darling, where is the fun in that?”

Astarion stands and kisses the top of your head. Running his finger along the books, he picks one, “I will be reading in the courtyard, in the sun I love so much according to you, if you would like to join.”

You give him a curt nod, but once he’s left the room, a small smile meanders its way across your lips. Astarion having the ability to walk in the sun safely for the rest of his days after living centuries in the dark was one of the reasons you had helped him with the ritual. You didn’t want to be the one to damn him to an eternity of darkness as a spawn. As far as reasons go, you know it wasn’t a good one compared to the cost, but what’s done is done, and the reasons, good or bad, don’t matter now.

Letting your eyes roam the page of text, you try to distract yourself with the story, but your mind keeps drifting to Astarion, the courtyard, and the sun. Astarion asking if you could ever trust him again confuses you, and admitting he wants you to only mystifies you further.

Why does he want or care about my trust?

Could I ever trust him again?

You’re surprised by how much you long to trust him again. There had been significant trust between you at one point, but that utter conviction got you to this spot. When Astarion had Cazador kneeling before him, he said he knew what he was doing and asked you to trust him, and you did so blindly. Thus, assisting in turning him into whatever it is he is now.

I should have known better.

Closing your book, you descend the staircase on shaky legs. The mere thought of going and sitting in the sun still strikes terror into you. You’re still adjusting to having windows again. More than once, Astarion has caught you attempting to slink past the window, staying out of the sun as much as possible, or just standing there staring at it apprehensively.

He would giggle at you and make his silly, taunting quips, but he would also comfort you and tell you that you were safe with him, at least when it came to the sun.

As long as he’s not angry.

The door to the courtyard is open, and the bright mid-morning sun washes over the dark wooden flooring. Astarion sits on a bench bathed in the golden light, eyes down, skimming the page of the tome. He looks at ease and happy, and you can’t help but smile to yourself and cherish that view. Glancing at the rays warming the floor, you swallow your growing doubt.

Trust has to start somewhere. He will have no chance if I never give him one.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he coos without looking up from the page.

“Promise?”

Astarion stands, puts the book down and comes to the doorway with a tender smile, holding his hand out to you, “I promise. Come.”

Biting your lower lip, you slide your hand into his. Astarion coercers your body to move forward out into the courtyard with gentle force. Paving stones warm your bare feet as they pad along the ground, and the sun’s heat permeates your cold skin.

This is the first time you’ve seen this place in daylight, and it looks substantially less foreboding. At night, the courtyard’s high stone walls cause it to appear small and closed off. In this light, it seems open and pleasant.

A well-groomed tree towers off in one corner, providing some shade. The green leaves flutter in the slight breeze. Another bench sits under the willowy branches.

Astarion gently twists your arm, forcing you to pirouette as if you were dancing an elegant courtly dance, and you giggle at his playfulness.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gods, he’s so close.

As it often does around him, your ability to be rational and keep yourself grounded slips at his proximity. You can hear his heart beating and smell the bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy you’ve come to love.

You’ve felt frozen inside, numb, for so long, but his touch reawakens your purpose and thaws the ice that has solidified your fiery spirit and kept it subdued in the void his absence left.

“I missed you, you know. When you left,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes at the authentic vulnerability, and your hands grasp Astarion’s arms. Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, you attempt to regain the plummeting authority over your body.

Astarion holds your waist tenderly with the same firm protectiveness you remember. You keep trying to convince yourself the man you loved died that night, that Astarion is gone, but here he is, standing before you.

Is this him, though? I still don’t know.

Astarion uses his index finger to bring your eyes to the vivid scarlet of his, which are staring at you with a searing ardour. You’re paralyzed by that gaze, carried away by the deluge of instinct and longing coalescing.

“Can I kiss you, Astarion?”

He smirks, “Little love, I thought you would never ask.”

His lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut. Your body wilts into his as if drawn in by his gravitational pull. You let yourself drown in him. Your senses scatter, and you’re swept up in his undertow.

His tongue persuades your lips to part, and he skillfully traverses your mouth. You purposefully find one of his fangs, and you run it delicately over your tongue, causing a shallow wound that weeps blood. He growls as the taste of you detonates his hungering desire.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I love it when you do that."

You smile against his lips. You know it drives him crazy, and that’s precisely the point. You want to fill him with you; claim him as he has claimed you. You want him to be addicted to you so he can think of no one else.

Astarion bucks his hips into you, and you grind yourself against his hard length greedily. You clench at the delicious friction against your swelling flesh and whimper demandingly. A deep growl in his chest vibrates against you as his hand ravenously roams over the contours of your body.

You let your splayed hand coast from the taut muscles of his abdomen to his chest lazily, savouring his silky, soft skin on your fingertips. His chest heaves under your hand, and you can feel the rapid, excited thumping of his heart.

Astarion grabs your thighs and hauls you up. Reflexively, you wrap your legs around his hips, securing yourself to him.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors, yes?”

You giggle, “Astarion, are you shy? I thought you enjoyed being the centre of attention.”

He kisses your neck, “I plan to make you scream my name until your throat is hoarse. Would you like everyone to hear your wanton incoherent cries?”

Even though you’re more than accustomed to his alluring taunts, you still feel the heat rising to your face. Thankfully, you’re dead, and your skin can’t redden.

“And if I did? Perhaps they would learn something,” you tease flirtatiously.

He chuckles while putting you down once you’re safely hidden in the manor, “Darling, the prudes of the upper city would surely perish on the spot if they saw what I’m about to do to you.”

Gods, yes.

Your walls spasm and clench at the carnal depravity that courses through your thoughts in vivid splendour. You tug his shirt out of his breeches, and he pulls it off, anticipating your request. His fingers undo the ties of your shirt, and he slips it off. Those hooded red eyes brimming with lust consume the sight of you gluttonously.

“You’re perfect,” he purrs deeply.

Your chest swells and falls as you pant purposeless air. For so long, you’ve felt fear, loneliness, hunger or nothing at all, but right now, you’re high on the love and desire overflowing in you, and you refuse to give it up.

You throw yourself at him in desperation to keep this moment alive. His lips meet yours with the same dire need. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck while your other hand undoes the ties that keep his pants secured to his waist.

His thumb traces the lower curve of your breast, and you groan, feeling your nipple already harden in anticipation of his touch. His fingers graze the sensitive peak. Your body quivers, nerves humming as liquid lightning rolls down your spine, and your clit pulses in tempo with his teasing fingers.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been touched, tasted?"

You were the last one to touch me.

This isn’t something you would like to admit to him. You don’t want him to know how hopelessly in love and devoted you are to him. Astarion knows love, and he knows how to play with it, and you don’t want to give him more ammunition to play with you like a toy.

Reaching into his pants, your fingers find them wet with pre-cum, and your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him again. You grasp his cock, and his hips jerk with a panting grunt.

“Needy thing, aren’t you,” you taunt mockingly.

His eyes narrow, hypnotizing and brimming with lust, “I know you’re skirting around the question, darling.”

Astarion’s fingers glide past your waistband and trail down in an anguishing slow progression that makes a whine slip from your lips. He parts your wet folds, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that is howling for his touch.

“Hells,” he kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “I bet they didn’t make you this wet.”

You sag into him and sigh, “Astarion…”

He teases your swollen flesh, circling the aching border, “Did they make your body shake with need?”

The first direct touch sends a shockwave rocketing through you, and you whimper, knees buckling. You are forced to let go of your grasp on his cock and secure yourself by holding onto his arms. Astarion smirks proudly. The pads of his fingers stoke and massage, and you moan loudly. The coiling tension builds and intensifies as his tempo does.

A knock on the door startles you, and you try to jump away from him, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you in a steadfast grip.

“Ignore it,” he barks, “we’re busy.”

Another hammering rap on the door makes Astarion growl in frustration. His brow pinches in a dark scowl.

A pleading voice muffled by the door arises, “Master Ancunin! Master Ancunin!”

Pulling away from him, your body mewls in dejected objection at the discontinuation of sensation, “I think it’s for you.”

He groans and grins seductively at you as he sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you choke in a quick breath.

“As sweet as ever, my dear. My memories did not do you justice.”

The banging on the door resounds through the manor again with the same pleading shrieks from outside. Astarion rolls his eyes while he does up the ties of his pants. Not bothering to put his shirt back on, he moves to answer the door. You take quick steps backward to remain out of sight of the visitor.

“What is it?” Astarion sneers.

“Master Ancunin. Please forgive my intrusion, but your presence is urgently required.”

“We are not set to convene until tomorrow night,” Astarion snarls with an intensely domineering inflection.

“I know, saer. I am dreadfully sorry about this violation. I throw myself at your mercy.”

Astarion sighs, “And what exactly is so urgent?”

The man’s voice hushes significantly, and you can only catch small snippets here and there, but not enough to put together what’s happening that seems to require Astarion’s attention immediately.

“WHAT?” Astarion thunders.

Despite the booming shout, the intonation in his voice is dispassionate and unexpressive. You slink further back, knowing that whatever he was told has provoked his rage.

“Go. I will be there momentarily,” he slams the door harshly, cursing under his breath, “Fuck!”

Glancing around the room, you try to find a place to hide from him. You could go back into the courtyard, but if he’s angry and he decides you’re an easy target to take it out on, he might just let you burn. The stairs to your room lay too far away and would mean crossing paths with him.

Astarion turns the corner and jumps as if surprised to see you there. His eyes meet your face, and you’re relieved the crimson pools remain warm with liquid affection.

He must see the terror illustrated on your face because he frowns sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re angry.”

He nods curtly, “Yes, but I am me, for now - you have nothing to fear.”

You gulp, “For now.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever that man told him, it agitated him significantly.

He clears his throat, “I must go deal with this.”

He bounds up the stairs quickly to his room and must dress at a breakneck pace because he returns rapidly, fully dressed in his overelaborate coat, looking mouth-wateringly dashing.

Astarion heads for the door and tugs it open but hesitates, pivots and takes long strides toward you. Reflexively, you step back, frightened that the anger won.

Astarion kisses your forehead and the back of your hand, “I will try to be back for your lesson tonight.”

You nod, “It’s okay if you aren’t. Be careful, Astarion.”

He smiles, “As you wish, my love.”

Once Astarion is gone, you quickly run around and close all the heavy curtains, plummeting the manor into darkness. Sitting on the floor with your back against your bed, you close your eyes and reprimand yourself for letting things go so far.

Your role here is to try and figure out what’s ailing him and see if you can help him remedy it, not to continue getting closer to him, falling more in love with him.

If that’s even possible.

You wonder, though, if, by some miracle, you can find a way to conserve whatever remains of the old Astarion. Would you want to be with him then, or has the damage been done, and your relationship is doomed and wrecked beyond repair? Could you ever trust him again?

Gale is out looking for the Wish spell for you, but you ponder if you could use it to save Astarion from whatever evil plagues him. Could it be used to restore him to his previous self completely? Could it be used to turn back Ascension entirely? Would you do that to him even if it could?

Would I give up my one chance to be alive again if it meant restoring him?

You need to gather more information on what’s ailing Astarion. As well as the capabilities and limitations of the Wish spell, but you can’t tell Gale or Shadowheart that your motivations may have changed.

Where is Withers when I need him? He knew everything there was to know about souls.

You have a theory about what happens to Astarion, but it needs to be confirmed. You wonder if the Rite may have stripped away some of his soul, whether unintended or on purpose, and now the soulless part of him wars with the version that still retains the remaining bit of his soul, each contending against the other, vying for control.

You imagine the only way to figure this out is by talking to someone who deals in souls, but who? You’re still trying to work it all out.

With Astarion gone, you can finally let yourself get some much-needed rest. Laying down on your bed, you succumb quickly to your meditative state and slip into the tributary of your trance.

The walls of the Crimson Palace moan as they settle, cooling off after the hot sun beating down on them. You’ve been locked in your room all day, and those solemn whines are the only indicator you have of time.

The door to your bedroom snaps open, but you don’t even bother to look. You’re lying in bed motionless, staring at the ceiling of your pitch-black room as you have been doing since he locked you in here in the first place. Astarion keeps you corralled in here like an animal. You are not to leave without his approval, and if you do, the consequences are dire.

“My consort,” he drawls as he lights a candle.

“What do you want,” you say monotone.

“Get dressed, darling. I have need of you tonight.”

“No, thank you.”

“This is not a request,” he sneers, “You will come.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there?”

“Oh, pet, I will do so much worse.”

“I’m not going,” you mutter scornfully.

Astarion grabs you harshly by the arm and drags you down the hall to the kennels, “You do remember this room, yes? Do not make me put you in here, strap you to that device, and teach you why you will obey me.”

He drags you back to your room as you pull and fight him with everything you have, but he merely laughs at your pathetic attempts. He throws you onto your bed.

“Get dressed,” he commands, “Wear the blue one I have laid out for you. We are going to a party, my treasure.”

Your fingers linger over the silky blue material he laid out for you. The dress is glamorous, you suppose, but nothing you would ordinarily adorn. The gown is far too low in the front and back and leaves very little to the imagination.

Whatever he has planned for you tonight, you don’t want to know, but if you disobey, he will put you in the kennels, and you don’t want to visit that place again.

You pull the dress on. The neckline hangs down below your belly button, and the back is just as low. A long slit up one side allows a view of your leg. You cringe at the idea of wearing something like this in public.

Astarion returns promptly, dressed lavishly and looking far too handsome, “You look exquisite. This will do perfectly.”

Astarion escorts you to some overly sumptuous estate in the upper city. The ballroom is packed full of the city’s nobles and high-ranking officials.

“Remember to smile, pet. They need to believe we’re a happy couple."

You scoff at him, “I don’t care what they think.”

Astarion grabs your face harshly, “You WILL smile, or you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?”

You rip your face out of his hand and glower at him, “Fuck you.”

"Maybe if you’re a very good girl tonight, I will permit it.”

He introduces himself around the room, using his practiced manipulations to make connections, but he never introduces you unless someone pays you any attention, which they generally don’t. The only attention they pay is practically undressing you with their ogling eyes, and it makes your skin crawl.

Astarion directs you to a quiet side of the room, “Do you see that man in the maroon jacket?”

“What about him?”

Astarion grins sadistically, “I need you to go over there and distract him by any means necessary.”

You gasp, “Excuse me. What?”

He snickers, “You will distract him by any means necessary. Take him to a bed for all I care, as long as you get him out of the way.”

He wants me to do what?

“I will not!”

You yell it loud enough to gain the attention of some of the partygoers nearby, who give you awkward glances.

Astarion scowls at you, “That was very naughty, pet. Go now, do as I ask, and I will consider letting that little display slide.”

If I refuse, it’s the kennels.

You lean close to him and whisper, “If you try and make me do that, I’m going to make a big scene and embarrass you in front of all your new, very important friends.”

He leers at you threateningly, “Last chance.”

I choose the kennels over my body offered in exchange for whatever he’s planning.

You scream, loud and resounding, “No!”

The high pitch of your voice echoes through the entire room, thanks in part to the absurdly high ceilings. The once loud laughter and voices cut off into an awkward, hushed silence as all eyes in the room snap to you and Astarion.

Astarion plays it off perfectly with a warm smile, “Of course, my love. If you do not wish to go, we won’t.”

He’s going to have to do damage control later.

Astarion grabs your hand and squeezes it so hard you whimper while he walks you out of that damn party with the excuse that you are not feeling well. He trembles with anger, and you know you’re in for it when he gets you back to the kennels.

Back in the safety of the Crimson Palace, you burn him slightly and try to run to your room, though you know it’s little use. He disperses into gas and appears in front of you before you can make it even halfway there.

He grabs you, screaming in your face, “You dreadful little wretch! Now, I am forced to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Astarion, stop. You don’t have to do anything!”

He laughs like someone deranged, “How else will you learn to obey?”

“I will never obey,” you spit hatefully.

“We will see about that, my unruly, little spawn.”

He drags you through the halls while you scream, cry and beg him to stop. Your sandals skid across the wooden floor, shrieking as your feet try to find purchase.

The kennels smell like fetid blood, and you cringe as the scent assaults your nostrils. Astarion chains you to the wall, so you have no choice but to stand while he strips you bare.

He laughs menacingly, “You will learn to obey me, my consort.”

Astarion’s crazed laughing resonates through the room as he blows out all the candles, submerging you in pure, inky darkness. The door closes, locks and you’re left in silence.

You know you could get yourself out of these chains, out of this room, but the consequences if you do would be far more dire than being left in this miserable place naked and alone.

If you spend days, weeks or months isolated, starving, and stripped in the dark, you have no idea.

The sound of a beating heart starts to pulse on the outskirts of your trance, and the side of your bed depresses, rousing you from the memory. Your pillow is damp from tears shed as you were forced to relive that barbarity.

“It’s just a dream,” Astarion soothes, rubbing your arm.

No, a memory.

Does he even remember doing that or the many other similar atrocities he committed against you? If he does, he’s made no indication of it. One day, you will have to ask him, but you don’t feel like exploring that particular abyss of suffering with him right now.

You nod, “Yeah, just a dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Astarion glances at the wet spot on your pillow, “It seems to have upset you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. Did you deal with whatever you were summoned for, Master Ancunin?"

He smirks at your teasing, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “Perhaps multiple people. I cannot be sure."

“You don’t remember?”

He stares at his hands, “No. More often than not, I recall nothing.”

Does that mean he doesn’t recollect the kennels or the other horrid things he did to me?

“You lost yourself again?”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “I think so.”

Glancing at his clothes, you register that he’s not wearing the same thing he left in, “You changed?”

“I did.”

He must have been drenched in blood if he bathed and changed before coming home.

“Are you okay right now, or should I be throwing myself at you?”

He giggles, but it has a crestfallen ring, “You can always throw yourself at me, love. But I’m fine. I’m not angry anymore.”

You wrap him in an embrace anyway. His demeanour is melancholic and subdued, and you wonder just what in the nine Hells happened when he was out to have him coming home so miserable.

Astarion leans into you, the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile and sighs, “Thank you. Should we go out and continue your lessons?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, “I am rather hungry.”

He pats your leg, “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

The forest is tranquil, with nothing but a light wind rustling the canopy of the lanky trees. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, but not much of its light makes it to the ground, making the colours of the forest appear more subdued than usual.

“Gods,” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “your footwork is truly an atrocity.”

You roll your eyes at him, groaning, “I’m trying!”

“If this is you trying, darling, the realm will end before I can even teach you this.”

“Well, maybe if I had a better teacher!”

He inspects his nails absently, “You’re more than welcome to try and find a more adequate educator.”

Ugh.

“Can you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“It would be shorter to list the things you’re doing right,” he quips.

“Astarion!”

He strolls a slow circle around you with his fingers on his chin. His studious gaze is so intense you can virtually feel his eyes stroking your skin. Shadows skirt handsomely, if a little forebodingly, across the angular planes of his face.

You watch him heedfully, eyes tracking his course as he stalks around you. You’re always on alert with him. It’s hard to know what will set him off and what won’t, and you can’t afford to be caught off guard. Even so, a part of you luxuriates in these moments with him, and you admonish yourself for it.

“Where did I say you should keep most of your weight?”

“In my heels.”

“Ah, so you have learned something,” he tuts, “and where is your weight now?”

Your eyes cast heavenward, and you sigh, “I’m guessing not in my heels.”

“Correct. You’re tottering on your toes. Again,” he scolds, “Shift your weight. You’ll have far superior balance.”

You focus on your body and how it’s positioned. Your centre of gravity is displaced, and you’re rocking slightly from your toes to the balls of your feet and back like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. With effort, you manage to transfer your weight into your heels. The stance feels unnatural to you, and you struggle to keep yourself in it.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now, lower your hips. You’re still standing too tall. Everything will see you coming a mile away.”

The muscles of your thighs groan as you try to descend further into the crouch. You’ve been at this for hours, and your body is starting to drone fatigue.

“Lower.”

“Hells, Astarion! How much lower?”

Astarion crouches behind you and places his hands on your hips. Applying a gentle force, he pushes you further into the crouch. The muscles in your legs begin to twitch and tremble, and your balance starts to wobble.

He rises and walks around you again before crouching down in front of you with a cocked brow, “You’re very unsteady.”

Astarion reaches out and pushes your shoulder, causing you to overcorrect and fall forward onto him, knocking him over in the process. Something tells you he allowed you to push him flat to his back on the ground. He could have easily moved out of the way and watched your face grind into the earth.

Regardless, you find yourself sprawled out on top of him while you laugh loudly.

“Are all Sorcerers this unlawfully graceless?”

You smirk, “Do all Rogues possess such a smart mouth?”

He lays his head on the grassy ground and rolls his eyes at you with a grin, “Sassy girl.”

You move to push yourself up, but his arm comes around your waist, bracing you to him, and Astarion pushes the hair out of your eyes, “I really did miss you when you were gone, you know.”

Can I believe him? Can I afford to let myself believe him?

You swallow your rising sorrow, “Do you still feel emotions, Astarion?”

His vivid scarlet eyes impale you and imbue you with a profound solace that spreads through your body like a cascading wave of warmth, prickling your skin.

“You make me feel,” Astarion’s sombre, earnest intonation causes a breath to hitch in your throat.

Feel what - Obsession? Possession? Dominance? You want to ask him, but you don’t, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and that familiar rush of electricity jolts through your body and twists into your stomach. You trace his jaw with your index finger, leaning in and ghosting the velvety smoothness of his lips with your own.

Gods. I’m losing it.

Astarion presses into your invitation, and your lips mould together, charged with impassioned longing. His hand meanders into the back of your shirt, and you bask in the lazy, comforting strokes of his fingers against your skin. Using your tongue, you coax his mouth open, and he groans, giving you the access you crave.

You can feel your walls spasm and flutter eagerly, silently imploring him to fill you. Gyrating your hips into his bulging erection, he hisses as your swollen, aching clit, gorges on the mouthwatering friction. You whimper against him as your body cries for the release you were denied earlier.

Your eyes pop open momentarily and take in the forest that surrounds you. Memories of the forest the first time rush forward, and you push yourself back abruptly.

Astarion sits upright quickly and scans the surroundings, confused with your retreat, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” you pant.

His brows furrow for a second, and he looks around. Comprehension eases his features, “Oh, come now, was I that bad in the forest last time?” he pouts dramatically, “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Bad?” You shake your head, “No, Astarion. Those memories are sad.”

His brow cocks, “Sad?”

You run your fingers through your hair, “I should have known what you were up to.”

Once it rolls off your tongue, you wonder if you will regret telling him this. You’ve carried this guilt around since he confessed in the first place. He manipulated you because he felt he had to secure your devotion, thus establishing his safety.

If only you had been less infatuated with him, you might have seen through that guise and been able to stop him from putting himself through that again.

Astarion stands, concern creasing his face, “Love-”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

You cut him off, “Not here, Astarion.”

He nods curtly, and you begin the walk back to the estate. Once you get to the Lower City, Astarion offers you his hand to hold. It comforts you that he will stop you if you try to hurt someone. You’re not sure if he does it for your benefit or his. After all, if you did lose it and kill someone, you could end up exposing him, a risk he is unlikely to take.

The city streets are mostly quiet at this hour. The only sound you hear is your footsteps thwacking on the rigid ground until a random heartbeat starts repeating in your ears. You don’t give it much thought until her voice drifts out of the darkness. You recognize that repulsively sweet, harmonic tone.

“Astarion, darling! It’s been ages!”

Elowyn.

The woman saunters from the outdoor sitting area of a nearby inn. Her mulberry hair is pulled back, revealing her dainty face and ever-so-increasingly tempting neck. She wears a green dress that makes the sapphire of her eyes stand out.

What is she even doing out here at this time?

You clench your jaw. Something is off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. She has an air about her that makes your skin crawl, but it could be the utter loathing you feel for her playing tricks on you.

Astarion smiles pleasantly, “Elowyn. How lovely to see you.”

Elowyn’s eyes fall to your hand clasping his, and her eyebrows pull down into a slight, barely noticeable scowl. She leans in close, puts her hand on his chest and kisses his cheek, lingering there for far too long.

Your palms warm, and your muscles tense as your jealousy ignites the raging inferno of your temper. Elowyn smiles at you sweetly, but a hint of hostility in her eyes makes you want to relieve her of sight.

“How nice it is to see you again,” she grins brightly, “You appear to be in better shape than when I saw you last.”

Astarion’s brows pull down, “Better shape? My dear, whatever are you talking about?

Elowyn’s cordial laugh fills the air and makes you want to rip her vocal cords out, “Yes, last I saw her, she was quite drunk and heading to see you.”

Astarion thinks for a second and then chuckles, “Yes, she was quite drunk.”

He shoots you a glance and squeezes your hand, telling you to play along. You roll your eyes and scoff contemptuously as if you were going to inform this weasel anything about you or your life.

“She was quite rude to me that night, Astarion dear,” Elowyn sighs dramatically.

Is this bitch seriously trying to get Astarion to hurt me?

Will he?

He smirks dubiously, “Was she? How utterly awful.”

Elowyn pouts, “I do hope you will teach her a lesson. She threatened to kill me after all. She must learn respect.”

Respect? Her? HA! Never.

The notion is so entirely ridiculous that a snide snicker escapes your lips as your face contorts into a threatening grimace.

Astarion stares at her, scowling, “Watch yourself, Elowyn. Do not make me remind you of your place.”

Elowyn’s carefree demeanour falters to concern at the warning intonation of Astarion’s voice. She swallows hard and forces her dainty face to dress in an overjoyed smile, and she’s back to her usual flirtatious facade.

I wonder if she’s gotten him angry yet. If she has, how did she live through it?

Her hand is splayed on his chest, and she presses herself further into him, “I have missed you so. I came by the palace the other night to see if you wouldn’t like some company .”

Company? Ugh. As bad as entertainment.

You scoff at her loudly and try to pull out of Astarion’s grip, but he only holds on tighter.

You frown at him, “Let me go, Astarion. I wish to leave."

“No, you stay.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you growl threateningly.

This is not a request. It’s a command. You may pay dearly for taking this tone with him later, but right now, you don’t care; you would rather endure his wrath a thousand times over than spend another minute in the company of Elowyn.

Watching her put her hands all over him stokes the fire burning in your blood to unfathomable temperatures. As your fury increases, so does the likelihood that you reduce her to a pile of ash.

Why do I care so much?

I left him.

“It seems your pet spawn would like to give us some privacy. Let her go, my sweet Astarion.”

Pet spawn?

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

PS: I hate Elowyn - excuse me while I go break something to get over writing her.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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