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atsadi-shenanigans · 3 months

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Valentine's Day Special

I did it! I got it finished! As a thank you to everyone who has given kudos and comments, and because Valentine's Day is coming up, here's a smuterific one-shot featuring: pegging, butt stuff, Astarion having feelings, Eleanor has dom tendencies she didn't know about, and Astarion getting nice things!

Rated a very, very E for smut.

Roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah I’d like to fuck you.

Or: Astarion bought a toy. Eleanor wants to give him a night he won’t forget.

“Legs up,” he says. “Pull your knees up. Better leverage.” You do. He leans back, bracing his hands on your knees. Moving himself so you hit his sweet spot ruthlessly. Another peek at you, pleasure painted over every line of his body. “Fuck me, Eleanor.”

The inn is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Two stories, shutters closed against the torrent, lantern light turning puddles and muddy streets golden.

You’re going to cry. Not that anyone will be able to tell in this storm. Poor Karlach has been hidden in a cloud of steam since the downpour began.

“Gods, I’m not taking another step unless it’s towards the front door of that inn,” Astarion says, voice pitched firmly into bitchy. “I am not slogging through one more minute of this filth.”

Filth being the inches-deep trough of mud the road has turned into. Y’all are coated up to the knees.

“A warm bed and a warmer bath would be nice,” Wyll says. And if Mr. Of-the-Frontiers “I’m used to sleeping on rocks” is saying that, you know everyone is thinking it.

“Fuck,” you say. Eloquent as ever. “We got gold, right?”

“Plenty,” Gale says. His hair keeps sliding over his face in rivulets of water. He looks like a sad, wet cat.

“Hope they got rooms.”

They have, in fact, got a packed-ass seating area, a handful of alcove bunks in a common area upstairs, and a single, small room with a modest bed (other travelers had the same idea when the storm hit).

Y’all’ve had a helluva day. Chasing down leads to some sort of bullshit or another. Half of y’all ain’t even here (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Halsin, and y’all’s new friends had split off to go hunt down something else).

Which meant when y’all triggered a bunch of undead critters in the shitpile of some tomb, y’all had to do a lot more work to clean up. Astarion took the brunt of it after the two of you (again) got separated from the others.

He stands there, hair plastered to his skull, not an ounce of pink in his complexion (and looking grayer than usual). That’s when the idea comes to you.

“Y’all mind if me and Astarion take the room?” you say.

Ain’t no way to be subtle about it. They all know what you two are about. Especially since that goddamn newspaper came out (it wasn’t neither of y’all’s fault the fucking graveyard grounds keeper was a nosy sunuvabitch who both took his job way too seriously, and took off sprinting to the Faerun equivalent of a tabloid newspaper after catching a glimpse of you.) (You’d finished by then, which was probably the only reason Astarion hadn’t run him down and shut him up.)

They’ve known you two were a couple for a long while. They’d assumed you two had been physical for longer than you actually had been.

“Really?” Karlach says, still steaming. “After all this?”

Astarion says nothing, though his eyebrows quirk in mild interest. The bags under his eyes are more prominent, the color almost bruise purple. His eyes are duller. He looks more corpserific than he has in a while.

You started it, he seems to say. So you finish it.

“I just wanna take a bath and lay in bed, and all my clothes gotta dry,” you say. “We both’ve seen each other naked.”

Clever mischief glints in Wyll’s eye. He’s the most solid out of all of you’uns. The one with the most rigorous sense of morality. Usually plays the straight-laced folk hero.

But the man’s damned charming, and his genial good will hides a wicked sense of humor.

“All the bunks have privacy screens,” he says. “We’ll all be drying out our belongings.”

Gale says nothing. Just stares into the middle distance as he hikes up a section of robe to wring about a liter of water out.

Wyll makes a show out of checking out the common room and y’all’s fellow travelers. “In fact, I see other couples doing just that.”

“I’m not saying we’re gonna fuck, but if we do, you really wanna sleep right next to that?”

Wyll snorts and waves a hand, smiling. “On second thought, I think I’ll pass.”

Karlach pulls a face. “In public?”

“Y’all said they got privacy screens. And you didn’t have no problem walking around tits out during that heatwave.”

“Which beds did we get?” Gale cuts in. He used up even his much-improved magic capacity trying to get you and Astarion out of that fucking trap sinkhole. He can’t even do his presto-tation cleaning spell to dry himself off.

So you end up taking the key and heading upstairs, Astarion trailing after you.

Bath water is something you gotta pay for, in Faerun. The tub’s in the room, and you’re free to haul up however many buckets from the well outside yourself. But that’s a lot of buckets to drag up a flight of stairs, and the inn keep don’t let customers heat it up over the fire themselves.

So a good hour after you and Astarion settle in, you finally got a bath drawn and steaming.

“You go first,” you say.

Astarion sits on the bed in nothing but his drawers, wrapped in a blanket. He don’t get hypothermia—undead and all—but he does get real achy in the cold.

He gives you a small, tired smile, and lets the blanket (and his drawers) slide down.

You still ain’t super used to seeing a cock all bare. Not more than what your occasional forays into porn showed—so mostly just the part not currently buried in somebody. It hangs more forward than you thought it would. Also smaller than you thought it’d be (again, porn and both unrealistic standards, and flaccid ones are smaller).

You make yourself look away. But not before Astarion—ever alert and enough of a bastard to make that your problem—notices.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Where once that line would have been pure, silken debauchery, his voice is calmer when he’s alone with you, now. Still carries a flirty lilt (he always does with everyone), but with less performance woven through it.

“Just curious,” you say. “And I like watching you—not creepily, I mean. Anyway, if you want a bath and then the bed—for sleeping only—I’m down for that.”

“Mmm,” he says. Steps into the water and hisses. He eases himself down slow. Finally sits and all but melts against the wedge of the wooden tub, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Yet you requested this little love nest for us. And that cunning mind of yours always has at least three ideas fluttering around.

Said with a wiggle of his fingers around his temple.

He’s got a long neck. Stretched out like that, his adam’s apple stands out. As do his bite scars.

“We really can just sleep,” you say.

Now he cracks one, red eye open. Tilts his head to better peer over at you. Swirls his hand in the water as he waits for an answer.

He’s being patient with you. Says you’re patient with him, but you can count on three fingers all the people you ever actually wanted to bed, and none of them ever got that far. It’s not an ordeal for you to wait. You don’t have any expectations for him in that department (which you suspect had been a huge relief for him, and one of the reasons y’all’ve worked out).

He does so much for you. He’s helped you work through hangups you didn’t even know you had. He’s saved your ass more times than you can count, directly and not.

“If you wanted,” you start slow. “And you can say no at any point. But, if you wanted, I thought we could take a night and I could learn, um. We could learn what you like better. Just you. Or, well, me focusing on you.”

His idle finger twirling stops. He stills, both eyes open now and fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Doesn’t even breathe.

Then his lips part. His words stutter and he frowns. Then, “You want to give me pleasure.”

Every word slow and enunciated. Not…trepidation, exactly. And not quite disbelieving. He trusts you, he’d said. He’s just verifying for the sake of both’ve you.

“I’m curious,” you repeat, so deliberate and nonchalant it’s borderline teasing.

“Pleasure me how?” Astarion says. Once again, flicking at the bathwater.

Aaand the rest on AO3 so tumblr doesn't slap me.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #feeding alligators fic #tavstarion #bg3 fic #bg3 smut #astarion smut #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn #yes even the smut is slow burn #happy valentine's day #these two shitheads #two dumbasses #they're in love your honor

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orbdotexe · 4 months

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The Young Wolf and the Hunter Vanguard had been very good friends, before the Prison. Cayde-6 had been left in a coma after the fight and losing his Ghost, and the last the Guardian had seen of him was the Queen’s Wrath hauling his unconscious form away from them, cursing them for trying to kill him. They had seen him die, saw his eyes lose their glow. They had gathered up Sundance’s shell after Petra was gone and had swept up the leftover Scorn, and her shell pieces were about the only well taken-care-of thing on their ship… It wasn't until Crow mentioned Cayde complaining about being stuck in the Tower “for his own safety” that the Guardian realized he had survived. Crow, however, neglected to ever mention the ‘reunion’ he had since been planning for them.

[Cayde POV]

Aaand here you go, Eternal! I'm finally posting the Cayde Hug, please don't stab me

anyway yeah! the "open secret" is that House Light is... secretly thankful to the Young Wolf for killing Lakshmi. The target is off the House's back! and... now its 10x harder to get anyone to listen that Wolf is. not trying to destabilize the City. oh yeah, and Wolf is having hallucinations from the Black Heart in this (and Fortunate Encounter) and Cayde... very much does not know. so keep that in mind--

[ao3 link]

It took days, maybe a week or two, to finally slip away—and even more planning; a Hunter’s nightmare.

It's not like he could just fly out with a favor from Amanda—even she's been on high-alert since his last attempt had been foiled and they found out he'd been trying to get in-touch with the Young Wolf (and had gotten both himself and Crow in trouble, but... they both knew it'd happen).

He's never been more glad for the ‘open secret’ and Crow's connection to the Eliksni.

But, hey, he's out now! And it feels great to be out of the Tower—This might be the most free he's ever felt since getting this job. Cayde elects to ignore just how much of a prison the Tower had turned into for him. He never thought it could get worse, before…

Shaking that unfortunate thought away, he... has some trouble keeping his initial excitement and relief at seeing them again. He can feel it fading in his gut, and he can't help but feel guilty about it. It's just the stories getting to him. He doesn't believe any of it.

He is, still, relieved—He heard how his Hunter was doing. He's seen the pictures, and the videos. He's read the reports and VanNet posts. Cayde knows they need this. There is a little doubt creeping in, though, that maybe a surprise meeting won't turn out the best–

Crow can assure him all he wants! Cayde knows his student, and he knows they've never liked personal surprises (surprise fights, on the other hand, were fine), and there's no way that dislike hasn't amplified since their exile.

Crow finds himself getting more concerned and uncertain than before. Cayde doesn't usually sound unsure of himself. Especially not half-way through a plan.

Crow already brought Wolf to the place, so if Cayde starts trying to back out now, after all of this, his hands might really be the death of the Hunter Vanguard.

—

"Soo... this is the spot you picked, Crow?"

"Oh, try not to sound so disappointed. You couldn’t do any better."

"I've been stuck in the Tower!"

"Look on the bright side—It's got windows."

"All the walls have holes in them–"

"I thought it'd help them not feel trapped!"

"Holes?? I think you'd be looking for less walls, bird boy, and no roof–"

"Do not call me that."

"You let the Guardian call you that."

"Wha– Where'd you hear that?!"

"Glint."

"I should've seen that coming... Just go! Before they think I'm pranking them."

—

After sufficient back and forth arguing, Crow just about shoves Cayde out the ship and he finally approaches the dilapidated ruins. His old student should be... just at the top... of the stairs. By his majestic horn, he has to walk up how far?

It was times like these that Cayde really wished he could still double jump.

Heaving an overdramatic sigh into the comms, he makes his way up the crumbling steps and listens to Crow mock him for it.

—

Cayde was nearer to the top of the ruins now, and the room was anything but covered. Half of the room’s roof was collapsed inwards, along with the walls of the far corner, exposing the landscape beyond.

So, maybe Crow had a point, but that’s not important.

Sat down on a pile of rubble in the collapsed corner, The Young Wolf stared out at the overlooking scape, heavy forest intercut by patches of collapsed concrete mounds and natural cobble. From up here, he’d call it the perfect place for a pack of Hunters, with the low-hanging branches and plenty of brush surrounding shadowed structures.

The Guardian stood out against the greens, browns and greys beyond the outlook like a sore thumb—almost literally, too, being draped in reds.

Though Cayde’s sure they heard him coming up the stairs, as any good Hunter would, he hesitates to grab their attention. What should he even do? Pat them on the shoulder? Kick a rock at them? What would be the right tone for this? Crow said they thought he was dead…

And there’s that budding dread, again.

Probably best to avoid anything too sudden, right? They don’t seem to have noticed him, afterall (or they were politely waiting for him to get his bearings—But he doubted it), and Crow said they were, at best, on edge.

Cayde opted to clear his throat as he carefully approached them, though the sound came out more grainy than he intended. Damn his voice module.

When they finally look over to him, their face...

It’s wrong.

Not that it had twisted into something nightmarish (though it reminded him of what he would see in the Deep Stone dreams), or something bloody and horrid, but... Their once sharp features were soft in a way Cayde never wanted to see again.

There were little nicks and larger scars, a few looked as if they had been infected at some point—usually he'd call it rugged and rough, but it only served to make them more…

He hated the thought—to pity a Hunter is to see less of them—but it was unavoidable.

Cayde realizes it feels like they were staring right through him with an, honestly? Blank look—before they look away, right back to staring out at the landscape. Not even acknowledging him.

"Guardian..? Kid?"

They flinch, something small and nearly unnoticeable that anyone else wouldn't have picked up on, and... They're ignoring him?

After all this time? What happened?

He narrows his eyes at them, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. If it is, it's a terrible one.

Cayde leans over and waves a hand in front of their face to try and get them to swat at him, or just to get... really, any reaction out of them. But they don't. They squint a bit, like they're trying to keep something in, but don’t even lean back away from his hand.

Don't like that.

He steps back, mockingly rubbing his chin to hide his anxiety. If there’s one thing he’s an expert at, its making people pay attention to him. Not even Zavala could–…

Cayde clears his throat, knowing the uselessness of the action.

What did he do? Did Crow set him up for this? No, the young Hunter knew how important this is… There’s a quiet but grating sound as he grinds the innerworkings of his jaw. They don’t seem angry. Drawn in on themself—which Cayde can’t fault them for; he has been as well—but not angry.

So, what is this, then? His own building frustration tells him a very in-poor-taste prank. What little logic he has tells him that’s stupid; that they just don’t know how to react, maybe.

Still, Cayde’s frustration wins over, and as he steps forward to grab their attention, he kicks some gravel up—one thunking against their back. He pauses as they startle and their hand snaps to their sword, before going jarringly still. All movement stops there, down to their breathing, and his own synthetic breath catches.

The Guardian turns, hand lowering from the handle—slowly; cautiously—to look at him, and…

Their eyes widen in what he assumes is realization, a glassy sheen building in them– Did he… No, wait, they haven’t seen him alive in years, but why would they— The very tangible realization of how they must have felt this entire time hits him like a brick, and he thinks he might have thrown up from the anxious knot in his stomach, were it not for his Exo body.

He doesn’t understand why it would take them so long to react to him, or why their reaction was to grab their weapon, but the look on their face wipes the thought and any frustration from Cayde’s mind. His mouth draws closed, and his shoulders relax, but neither of them make any moves until they shuffle onto their feet.

After a few painful moments of silence and surprised eye contact, they take a jerky step forward, and–

And they hug him.

Huh. He can't remember them hugging him before–

Oh, wait, they're shaking.

No, they're crying– He's never seen them cry before, either.

A lot of firsts happening here...

"Guardian..."

They basically claw into the gaps in his shoulder plates, even through his leather armor, at his voice– They really did think he was dead all this time...

"Whaat,” he tries to laugh as he returns the hug, “I thought Crow told you I was still kick– kicking?"

He realizes his eyes burn with phantom stings, but his damned metal face doesn't let him cry. He wishes he could cry with them. They both deserve to cry here.

Them first. They need it more than anyone.

The Guardian grumbles incoherently into his shoulder at his picking. He doesn't complain.

"Well, kid, I guess I'm just too handsome to cry, huh?” He knows his voice broke up, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Not here, not while he's finally got his friend back.

He leans into the hug, and lets the silence hang in the air.

It stays that way for a few minutes, just standing and hanging onto each other, praying they can weather this, but… There's just something he needs to say before he bursts, or time runs out.

"I, ah... Well. About Lakshmi." Straight to the point. Not his specialty… Cayde can feel them get tense, and dig their fingers harder into his back. They do not look up at him.

"I know why you did it. Honestly, it was... kinda brilliant, but I'd expect nothing less of my favorite Guardian! I mean, taking the target off House Light's back in one move?"

They just snort. Kinda harshly, actually, but at least they relaxed back a bit.

Right... This is supposed to be serious. He sighs, "Alright, alright. But I do understand, really. I... just wish you'd gone about it differently, though—Now it's about impossible to prove you're innocent." Well, of trying to kill him, at least.

He wishes they'd speak, though. Cayde's not surprised, but it's been awhile, and he's not used to it anymore, and... It'd be nice to have a conversation partner that took him seriously for once.

Not that the Young Wolf doesn't, it's just... The silence isn't comforting anymore.

When they finally pull away, Cayde can see the tear streaks through the layers of grime on their face, and… a swirling black on the outskirts of their eyes. He blinks, takes a breath, and opts to question it another day—despite the gnawing mark it leaves on his relief.

"You uh... You do need to clean your armor, though." Probably a bit more than just the armor. "I am not hugging you again until you do," he says, scrunching his face up to the best of his ability. They only glare back at him.

—

> “Hate to cut off the reunion, but we’re just about out of time. You almost done?” <

Of course, Cayde can’t just answer him like a normal person, and instead—

> "Y'know, Crow told me you actually spoke to him. Care to- Hey! Not the horn!" <

—Taunts them.

Crow sighs. Cayde was going to complain about that the whole ride back, wasn't he?

#destiny 2 #the forsaken exile #destiny 2 crow #destiny cayde #the young wolf #wolf is fiiiillthyyyyyy. stinky dirty guardian #and we love some corruption. yeah yeah yeah yeah <3 #wolf is not having a good time and Cayde is mentally sweating once he gets back to the tower.#just. 'oh. oh no.'#bc he *remembers* eyes like those... he remembers the prison.#But hey! He can ignore the crisis for a bit yeah??#pray that the confirmation of his wellbeing ties them over n all that!#anyway yay! ao3 and tumblr getting two different sets of my dumbass rambling!#literally i have no idea how ooc this is. i think his voice is at least accurate and *sounds* like him. but there are parts #where his thought process might not be on-parr. so bare with me

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