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tragedybunny · 7 months

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Just the Way I Am - Astarion x F!Reader - Mildly NSFW, TW: Mentions of past sexual trauma, drugging oneself

I'm not really sure I like this at all, but since I put so much time into, I'm posting it.

Astarion feels he's lacking because he can't have sex with you. He resorts to a potion in an attempt to give you what he thinks you want.

You had stopped at the potion shop in Wyrm's Crossing, looking for some herbs or something Gale had wanted. Astarion hadn't been paying a terrible amount of attention, he was just happy to run an errand with you only, and none of the rest of the hangers-on. They were alright, he'd concede if asked, but you were getting closer to Cazador and the Brain, and whatever else was going on in Baldur's Gate, and his time with you felt so limited. The two of you could meander around a bit after this and just be together.

So of course this was taking forever. Currently he was entertaining himself by pacing irritatedly around the shop while the clerk painstakingly found, measured, and packed, all of Gale's list. He sighs and you shoot him a look of irritation causing him to wince internally. The last thing he wants is for you to be angry with him. So he goes back to quietly pacing.

That's when his eyes spot it, on the upper shelf of a potion display rack, a heart shaped bottle full of a pink liquid. Amor Maius, the love enhancer, the hand written description below it reads, continuing, increase your arousal, spend longer with your beloved. His mind wanders back to the Drow twins the other day at Sharess Caress, and how you insisted you hadn’t been interested in their “services” but he’d seen the way your eyes got wide just looking at them, hells, he’d heard your pulse increase. You weren't just slightly interested, you were very much aroused at the thought. It was probably his fault, he’d failed to provide you with release. Even if you protested that sex wasn’t necessary, he remembered how much you enjoyed it, the way your heart would thunder as soon as you two were alone, how wet you got for him, so eager to be filled, having to put his fingers in your mouth to suck on to quiet your noises lest you wake the whole camp. You shouldn’t be expected to live in chastity and it was only a matter of time before you realized you didn’t want a broken thing like him, a thing that couldn’t even give you one of life’s simplest pleasures. But if he could find a way to give that to you…

A quick glance tells him you and the clerk are still thoroughly occupied and he moves along to get a better angle, waiting. The clerk ducks down behind the counter to retrieve something and lightning quick, Astarion is back at the shelf, tucking the bottle in his pack. He takes another loop of the shop and sighs again, just to keep normal appearances. “Astarion,” you scold and he comes to the counter to wrap and arm around your waist and kiss your cheek.

“We’ve been in here forever,” he wheedles and he sees your irritation give way.

“I know, almost done, then I promise no more errands.” Your hand reaches down to cover his, where it rests against your waist. Every one of your touches fills him with the softest warmth, he couldn’t bear to lose you, and tonight he’ll make sure he won’t.

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around Baldur’s Gate with no real destination, simply chatting and being with each other. It’s lovely to just be in your presence, every so often stopping to kiss you softly and delight in how you wrap your arms around his neck and put your soul into it every time. With night falling you make your way back to the Elfsong and Astarion sends you upstairs to deliver Gale’s damned herbs while he stops to make an inquiry.

You’ve already got your pack off and seem to be settling in when he finds you. Leaning in, he whispers sultrily into your ear. “The private room is empty tonight, we could go make use of it, if you want.”

He smiles at the way your breath hitches. “Are you sure,” your eyes meet his, bright with love and concern despite your rising arousal.

“Absolutely Darling,” you know him so well, he can only hope he's convincing enough.

"That sounds nice," pretty pink tinges your skin as you take his hand.

The two of you make your way down the hall, leaving the noisy common room and your companions behind. There's a single bed in the cozy space and a bath in a little adjacent room. Wyll and Karlach have made use of it before, but it's the first time he's dared bring you here. Brushing your hair behind your ear, he trails his fingers down your cheek. "Warm bath, relax a little and see where the night takes us," he suggests, feeling the panic start to rise, knowing what you'll be expecting now. The potion will help, he just needs to get that far.

“Whatever you feel up to my Love,” you tilt your face to catch his palm in a kiss and your tender care has him fighting back a sob. There’s not a day that you don’t give him everything he could ask for, more than he ever dreamt he could have.

He has to give you this one thing, he wants to so badly, but already he can feel his mind trying to pull away, to distance itself from his body in anticipation. “Go on ahead, let me get settled. I’ll join you shortly.”

As soon as you're out of sight, bath water running, he throws open his pack. His chest throbs, like a weight is pushing down on it and the edges of his vision are going blurry, he needs that damn potion now. Somehow it slipped under the rest of the contents in his pack. "Damn," he mutters, violently tossing things around until a pink glint is revealed. Salvation.

Quickly he snatches it up, scrambling to get the stopper out. Pausing for a second, it occurs to him that he doesn't know how much to take. He'll just down some and sneak off if he needs more he decides. The taste is sickly sweet and it burns all the way down his throat. For a moment he pauses, waiting for it to kick in, worried it isn’t what it promised. Then it’s like every color in the room is a thousand times more vibrant and he can smell the intoxicating scent of you from here. Already he’s growing hard, hand idly reaching down to stroke himself, and then the world goes black.

When next he wakes he’s staring at the ceiling, head throbbing. Did he just pass out? “Are you finally back?” You’re right next to him, and gods, you don’t sound happy. The missing moments start to come in flashes, the bath, his hands all over you, the bed, and then you telling him to stop. A light, a spell, you’d done something to stop him.

“I…” What is there to even say?

“What in the hells were you thinking Astarion?! I found the bottle. I'm not stupid, I know what that was. Why?” Not only are you furious with him, but there’s so much sadness in your voice too.

��“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rolling on his side to face away from you, he can’t bear to look at you right now.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” The edge has come off your voice, you probably think he’s too pathetic to waste your anger on.

"Lying,” he asks instead of answering.

Sighing, you put a hand delicately on his shoulder. “I trusted you to be truthful with me. How can I do the right thing when you do something like this?”

“I wanted to make you happy, to give you everything. I just needed a little help to get there,” he pulls his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible, an old habit of self-preservation. Tears are starting to threaten, as if he hadn't embarrassed himself enough.

“Astarion,” your voice is unexpectedly gentle, “are you able to keep talking?”

Desperately, he wants to, to keep explaining himself but he feels like he's drowning. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He can feel you shifting around on the bed, like you want to lean over to comfort him but hold back. Another blow he’ll endure. Everything seems like it’s slipping away from him. But you’re full of surprising mercy. “Can I hold you? Just nod.” He does as you say, not daring to look up, and your arms loops around him as the soothing weight of your presence presses against his back.

The two of you lay there in silence for a long time, you don’t press him anymore but you don’t abandon him either. Soft kisses on his shoulders keep him from unraveling completely. Finally he finds his voice. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Did you think how I’d feel if I found out I hurt you?”

“I-I,” his mind races, what answer is right, what will appease you. “No, I was just scared to lose you.” Finally he settles on the truth, plainly spoken, because he can’t make things any worse than they are. "Because I can't give you something so simple."

“Part of me is angry that you think so little of me,” he starts to protest and you shush him, “but I know it’s hard for you.” Warm fingers entangle with his and he lets himself hope. “I’ll say it one more time, and I need you to believe me. Starry Sky, if we never have sex again, you’re worth it. But you can’t do anything like this to me anymore.”

He wants to believe, with all his heart, it’s just so hard. He nods, “I promise.”

Your lips caress his cheek and he closes his eyes, drinking the feeling in. "Do you want to go back to the other room?"

Thoughts of having to go back, to lose you to the noise and the attention of others are too much. "Could we stay here, just for a little while?"

“We can stay here as long as you want.” He turns over, burying his head in your chest, suddenly desperate for the feel of you.

Soothing fingers brush through his hair, and your hand gently strokes his back. He knows he should believe you, knows you love him more than he ever thought possible, but the shadows and darkness inside still whisper that he's not enough, not the way he is.

#astarion #astarion x reader #x reader #astarion x f!reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing

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hrefna-the-raven · 8 months

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The devil you do

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Words: 1818

Summary: you might indeed do the devil ;-)

Warnings: smut (18+)

Your group finally made it to Baldur's Gate and you were glad that everyone decided to split up and get their things done, at least for one day. The constant looks and questions about Raphael started to annoy you, especially since you still had idea what to tell them. It wasn't as if you could just confess that you felt a certain pull towards the devil, they would never understand it, not even Wyll.

As you aimlessly roamed the streets on your way to Wyrm's Rock, a sudden impulse compelled you to ascend the stairs adjacent to Sharess Caress. The reason behind this mysterious inclination remained unknown, but deep within you, a stirring sensation emerged, as if an unseen power had taken control of your body, guiding your every move. Eventually, your footsteps halted before a door, and your gaze instinctively fell upon the plaque adorning it. A smile gradually spread across your face as you absorbed the words etched into it: Devil's Den. Without hesitation, your hand reached for the doorknob, only to be surprised by the door swinging open, revealing Raphael in his human form. His characteristic smug grin adorned his countenance as he warmly invited you inside.

"I see my little mouse caught her cat's sent", he playfully remarked, motioning for you to enter.

The chamber was softly illuminated by an array of scarlet and ebony candles, creating an intimate and romantic ambiance. Your eyes wandered towards a table positioned in the centre of the room. It was adorned with a crimson cloth and adorned with an assortment of delicacies from various corners of Faerûn. However, you couldn't help but observe that a majority of the dishes were precisely the ones you would consider your personal favourites. A smile crept across your face, realising that he had gone to great lengths to make everything seem perfect for you.

"I can tell that someone has put a lot of thought into the decorations and food choices. Although I was still waiting for a response about whether you would accept the deal or not, I have to ask, what is the reason behind all this?", you cautiously chuckled, unable to hide the surprise in your eyes as your hand gestured around the room.

"Oh, my dear, don't be so taken aback", Raphael chuckled, "there is no reason why we couldn't discuss our little deal over a delicious meal", He firmly held onto the back of the chair, pushing it slightly forward as you sat down, before leaning closer, whispering in your ear, "the devil is, after all, in the detail."

"Before we delve into this conversation," you reached out and took hold of his hand as he passed by, "may I request a favour?"

"That would depend on the nature of the favour."

"I would like to have this discussion with the devil I know, not the human guise you wear."

Raphael's smile widened and with a snap of his fingers, his human form ignited in flames, transforming into his hellish form as he tenderly kissed your hand.

"That can be arranged."

Raphael settled into a chair on the opposite side of the table, his majestic wings neatly folded alongside him. His head embellished by four black horns, his burning orange eyes and sharp claws added to his imposing presence. Despite his seated position and a well-groomed appearance, his infernal nature still exuded an impressive and slightly intimidating aura. The two of you sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company, savouring the exquisite meal and fine wine. It was a moment of tranquillity before the inevitable truth threatened to tarnish the connection you shared.

Internally conflicted, the devil grappled with the decision he had made. By choosing to embrace the truth this time, he risked everything. Yet, he had agreed to the deal and sealed it with a kiss, leaving no room for retreat, not even for a smug hellish bastard than him. All his schemes, deceptions, manipulations and the meticulously planned coincidences, it would all cease to exist in a moment. If he had misinterpreted the signs even slightly, he stood to lose more than just his carefully crafted plan; he stood to lose you. However, you were oblivious to his inner turmoil, unable to hide your own nervousness. Perhaps you dreaded the revelation of the absolute truth for entirely different reasons.

"It's time for your end of the bargain", you finished your glass of wine and set it on the table, your gaze lingering on the devil.

"Indeed it is", he sighed, "you intrigue me, little mouse, one might say that I've grown quite fond of you, you know, in my own way."

You observed a subtle fracture in his usual confident facade, his wings twitching momentarily as he uttered the final words, so softly that it almost resembled a mere murmur.

"Quite too fond, actually", the devil rose from his seat and cautiously approached you, while gesturing around with his usual theatrics, "you know who and what I am, you know the rules of hell so I won't say this twice as just this once might already get me into more trouble then you're worth it", His hand gently clasped yours, his other hand delicately tracing its claws along your skin, "from the moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed something special. There was an undeniable connection between us, intertwining my... heart with..."

Raphael shut his eyes, exhaling a trembling breath, unable to complete his sentence despite the deal the two of you had.

"Mine", you whispered tenderly, placing his hand against your chest, "I felt it too."

You pulled him closer, leaning in, your mouths colliding in a fervent embrace.

"The chase ends now", you breathed heavily as you broke the kiss,attempting to distance yourself, but Raphael held you firmly.

"And what does that mean to you?", he inquired, a trace of unease lingering in his voice.

"That the cat has caught the mouse and will finally devour it", you replied, your fingertips trailing up his arm before gently caressing his cheek.

Raphael clasped his fingers around your wrists, guiding your arms away which drew you closer to him, his face drawing near as his tongue cautiously grazed your lower lip, prompting a shameless whimper from you.

"I will devour you over and over again, my little mouse, until you scream my name so loud for all the nine hells to hear it."

He effortlessly lifted you, gracefully carrying you into the other room, where he gently set you down on the bed. As soon as your butt made contact with the plush mattress, your clothes vanished into thin air leaving you both naked. When you glanced upwards, your eyes met the gaze of a demon brimming with insatiable desire, accompanied by a mischievous smirk. You could hardly formulate a clever remark before sensing his firm grasp on your legs, parting them and drawing you closer to the edge of the bed. He lowered himself onto his knees and trailed his tongue over your wet folds. The sensation was scorching, surpassing the warmth of a typical human tongue. The contrast in temperature heightened your arousal, causing you to release a passionate moan.

"Finally mine", he groaned inbetween licks.

His pace quickened relentlessly, you took hold of his horns, pushing his face further against you in a desperate attempt to gain more of that intoxicating pleasure. He let out a low chuckle against your wetness, eagerly sucking at your clit, coaxing even more of those delightful sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Raphael, I-"'

He immediately retreated, pushing you away as he crawled over you.

"Oh no, my little mouse, we're going to do this together," he smirked.

"Together? Indeed", you mused, "but the cat won't be in charge this time."

Enchantment coursed through your veins and with a burst of energy, you flung him off of you and trapped him in a seated position at the edge of the bed. Slowly, teasingly, you moved closer to him, planting kisses and nibbles on his inner thigh before dragging your tongue along his length, provokingly slow. A deep groan rumbled dangerously in the devil's chest, his breath growing heavier as you straddled him, your hands intertwining in his hair.

"No one has ever dared this before", Raphael hissed, trying to disrupt the spell you had cast over him until he felt you positioning his cock at your dripping entrance.

"Well devil, let me be your first then", you grinned mischievously and slid down on him, moaning loudly. Raphael's head tilted backwards, his mouth agape, revealing his pointed fangs, yet no utterance escaped his lips, completely devoid of all control. He would never confess it, but the sensation of helplessness in your presence was exhilarating, stirring a profound excitement within him. Your name slipped from his tongue like a sacred invocation, a testament to his longing and desire. Your concentration wavered with each movement, plunging into the pleasure of the devil filling you up completely, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, inevitably resulting in your spell weakening. As soon as Raphael noticed this, one of his hands found its way to your hips, his claws gently digging into your soft flesh, guiding your movements to urge you to go faster and you were more than willing to oblige. Your lips clashed on his, his feral growls muffled by a passionate kiss as the both of you neared the brink of climax dangerously fast and your hands settled on Raphael's chest, feeling his excillerated heartbeat, surrendering completely to the ecstasy and you both finally came undone at the same time. Your walls clenched around his cock and your felt his hot seed filling you up.

Raphael lifted you up, slowly making his way up the bed. He positioned you on top of him, wrapping his wings protectively around you as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help but giggle at his unexpected tenderness, lovingly cupping his cheek. "Well, well, who would have imagined that a devil could be so sweet?" you playfully remarked, planting a quick kiss on his neck. "Mhm," Raphael mumbled, "if you dare to share this with anyone, I might just have to punish you."

"Punish me, huh?", you responded daringly as you rubbed your teasingly against his cock which earned you a deep groan from him.

"Are you sure you're not a devil, my little temptress?", the cambion chuckled, his arms around you tightening.

"It takes one to know one", you replied, feigning an innocent and sweet tone in your voice.

Resting your head on his chest, you listened to the soothing rhythm of his calm heartbeat. The warmth of his skin enveloped you, lulling your exhausted self into a peaceful slumber. It had been a long time since you had felt such tranquillity and security. If someone had told you that you would find all of this in the arms of a devil, you would have laughed and called them insane.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #hidden feelings #raphael is a sexy devil #confessions #the truth #smut #raphael smut

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grandmother-goblin · 3 months

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Apotheosis - Chapter 1

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: Halsin didn’t know what he had done wrong. One day, everything was fine between him and Zilvira, but then she suddenly started to avoid him all together. So Halsin decided to follow her to Sharess' Caress in hopes of getting a chance to set things right.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, fantasy prejudices, non-consensual drug use (not between the main characters), drow!Tav.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @brabblesblog for beta-reading!

It was only a week ago that Halsin was convinced that Zilvira was interested in him.

There hadn’t been a single shadow of doubt in his mind. In fact, it would have been difficult for him to believe she wasn’t interested in him. That knowledge wasn’t just ego or vanity talking: it was years of experience.

Zilvira had never said anything outright, but she was far from subtle.

It was in the way her curious, intelligent eyes watched his lips when he spoke. It was the way she always lingered in his tent for a moment after their late night conversations, as if waiting — hoping — for him to initiate something. There was the way she messed with her hair when she saw him approach, the way her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his when they walked side by side, the way she smiled up at him with her cherry red lips, the way they could talk for hours…

It had been a long time since Halsin had treasured someone’s company as much as he did Zilvira’s.

When he was with her, the weight of his responsibilities sometimes felt light enough that he could forget about them entirely. His failures as Archdruid, everything that happened with Kahn’s, the Shadow Curse… Zilvira had a way of pushing them all to the back of his mind.

If only for a moment, Halsin could pretend that his only concerns were for himself, for her, and for the nature that enveloped them.

With her, he could just be Halsin.

Not an Archdruid. Not a leader. Just Halsin.

And it wasn’t until he met Zilvira that he realized just how long it had been since he felt like he could be himself. Truly himself — without putting on any sort of mask of stoicism and authority expected of druidic leadership.

So when Zilvira suddenly stopped speaking to him, it felt like a part of himself went silent as well.

Their once long, easy, conversations turned monosyllabic, overly polite, and professional. Like she thought they were simply business partners rather than a friend he had grown to cherish. All the warmth that had once emanated from her had become an impenetrable wall of ice — but one that only formed to keep him out.

And he hadn’t the faintest idea why.

Lanterns illuminated the main street of Wyrm’s Crossing with a warm, orange glow that dulled the silvery light of the moon. The distinct aroma of fried food mixed with the salty sea air. Crowds of people gathered around food carts and outside of taverns, chattering away one another like there weren’t hundreds of refugees waiting to get into the city just a few minutes away.

Like there weren’t metal monstrosities looming around every corner, watching their every move.

Cities had always made Halsin a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time one made him feel so unsafe. Between the Bhaalists, the Banites, the Absolute, the Steel Watch, and the Guild, his disquiet was hardly unfounded.

People stopped to stare at him as he passed through the crowded thoroughfare. Perhaps it was because of his druidic attire — completely standard in the grove to wear soft leathers adorned with nature, but out of place in the city. Or, more likely, they simply stared because of his stature.

He heard some whispers as he passed by. ‘Is that the bear man?’ and ‘I heard there was a giant elf in the city, but gods damn he’s huge!’

Nothing he was unaccustomed to hearing. There were certainly worse things he could be semi-famous for, that was for certain.

Whatever people thought about him did not matter nearly as much as finding Zilvira. Their comments went in one ear and out the other.

From what Karlach had told him, Zilvira had gone back to Sharess’ Caress; a bar and brothel they had stopped in a few days ago on official business. Apparently, Zilvira was hoping to find Inspector Valeria somewhere in the establishment — probably polishing off a bottle of wine. Last time Zilvira had spoken to Inspector Valeria, the hollyphant had demanded she needed to find more convincing evidence if she wanted to exonerate a tiefling refugee of murdering Father Lorgan.

And Zilvira had done just that.

Halsin had been under the impression that she’d wait until morning to turn in her findings. Or at least until normal working hours. But when it came to protecting the innocent, Zilvira had never been the patient sort.

Although Zilvira would not have expected him to follow, Halsin wasn’t sure when he would get another chance to catch her alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk back to camp with him. Then maybe they could finally have a conversation about…

Well, whatever it was that had gone wrong between them.

Whenever Halsin thought back on the past interactions with her, he couldn’t pinpoint a single thing that would have triggered her change in behavior. At least, nothing that made sense.

One morning, she was fine. He remembered how she smiled up at him as she poured him a cup of tea — a ritual they had shared for weeks. How she asked him about Oliver and Thaniel, saying that she missed them already. How her eyes followed a fuzzy bumblebee as she sipped her tea, oblivious to how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

It was that morning that Halsin had decided he wanted something more than friendship with her.

But he never got the chance to say something, because by that afternoon she could hardly even look at him.

And the following morning, she had found an excuse to have her tea alone.

A subtle ache gripped his chest when he recalled the moment of rejection. Of course, he tried to ask what was bothering her, but she just gave him a watery smile and said everything was fine.

That was two days ago.

He needed to figure out what was going on with her. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone else they traveled with. He had made a promise to help with her tadpole, a promise he intended to fulfill, but… did she even still want his help at all?

The bond he felt between them was undeniable, and it. was something he cherished. Besides Thaniel, Zilvira was one of the few people he could truly count as a friend.

If she was pushing him away after everything they had been through together, there had to be a reason why.

Although several people lingered outside of Sharess’ Caress, there fortunately wasn’t a line to get in. If there had been, he probably would have waited outside since he wasn’t there for any of the services the place offered. Under different circumstances, he might partake in some of the indulgences.

It had been a long, long time since he had done such a thing.

Tobacco smoke mixed with a myriad of sweetly sour aromas of perfumes and ale, barely masking the scent of too many bodies packed into the establishment. Though the outside air had been pleasantly warm — nice enough that he could wear his sleeveless leathers — inside it turned thick, humid, and almost oppressive. The door had barely closed behind him before he felt sweat beginning to coat his skin.

Halsin glanced around the taproom, hoping that he would be lucky enough to spot Zilvira right away. If she was in the room, she would stick out like a white swan among common mallards. It was difficult not to notice her.

At least, it was difficult for him not to notice.

“Well, well,” a sultry, feminine voice came from somewhere to his left. The owner of Sharess’ Caress, in her spot behind the reception counter. Mamzell Amira, if he remembered correctly — the woman who hardly cared at all when Zilvira informed her that one of her employees had been brutally murdered simply because it affected her earnings. “I was hoping to see you again, handsome.”

Halsin did not quite share her sentiment, but he gave her a tight smile in greeting.

It wasn't completely her fault. Cities had a way of turning even the kindest hearts callous — it was often the only way people could survive.

The Mamzell leaned across the counter in a way that put her cleavage on full display. “I’ve loved plenty of elves back in my day, but none of your — ” her eyes roamed up and down his body, pausing at his chest, biceps, and a little lower than what was polite “ — physique.”

Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her flirtations. It was just an act as part of her business, so he knew not to take the comment too personally. But still, it was tiring to hear variations of the same observations from everyone.

When he thought about it, he realized Zilvira never made any sort of comments regarding his size. She never made him feel odd for being larger than the average elf. At the very worst, she occasionally asked for his help retrieving something that she was too short to reach. But nothing beyond that.

“You look like a man who has seen a great many things,” Mamzell Amira continued as she rested her chin in her hands, “but I’m certain Sharess’ Caress can show you a great many more. I’m sure we have something that would interest someone of your experience.”

“Perhaps another time,” Halsin replied diplomatically. “I’m actually here looking for someone. A young drow woman with white hair, cut about chin-length, and lips red like cherries.”

“‘Lips red like cherries,’” she echoed as the corner of her mouth tugged into a teasing smirk. “You sound smitten, you poor thing.”

Maybe Mamzell Amira had a point, but it was an accurate description. Halsin never once saw Zilvira without her bright red lipstick — she jokingly called it her ‘war paint’. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how often she had to reapply it. Or if it would come off when she kissed—

Halsin pushed the thought aside. Focus. No point in thinking about Zilvira’s lips when she wouldn’t even use them to speak to him.

Mamzell Amira tapped her finger to her cheek as if in thought. “You know, I’m not supposed to answer questions like that. Customer confidentiality and all of that. But since you helped me out before….” She cocked her chin toward the curtained area behind her and gave him a wink. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

Halsin inclined his head toward her gratefully, tension draining from his muscles with the knowledge that Zilvira was here. He could finally talk with her.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Halsin made his way toward the back room.

***

Wine wasn’t helping.

Resting her elbows on the sticky, wooden table she had been sitting at for the last hour, Zilvira ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She had hoped that the alcohol in her system and a topless tiefling gyrating to music on a stage not ten feet away would have been enough of a distraction.

It should have been enough of a distraction, considering she had never been someplace like Sharess’ Caress until a few days ago. But as excited as she was to experience all that the city had to offer, her mind kept drifting back to Halsin.

Zilvira took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did she want to, it was just that — How the hells was she supposed to pretend everything was normal after what he had said?

Gods, she felt like such an idiot.

She had thought they had a connection. A real connection. She had thought it was mutual. There was always a softness to his eyes that made her want to melt, the gentleness of his words, the comfort of his presence.

He made her feel safe, and she thought at the very least she might provide the same comfort to him.

But she had been mistaken.

Zilvira pushed her wine goblet toward the edge of the table, not wanting to take another drink but needing something to do with her hands other than pull her hair out. It was only her second drink, and she was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

Normally, she didn’t resort to drinking when she had a problem. She liked to face things head on but….

She didn’t know what to do.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn’t. Hells, she wished she hadn’t, because then she would be having tea with Halsin under a canopy of stars rather than cheap wine in a dingy taproom.

Ignorance was rarely her friend, but Zilvira longed for it at that moment.

It wasn’t like she could just pretend she hadn’t overheard the tail end of Halsin’s conversation with Shadowheart. And it wasn’t like she could bring up what she had heard to him without admitting that she had inadvertently listened in on a private discussion. She shouldn’t hold something Halsin said against him if his words were never meant for her ears.

Though, she wished she had learned that he had some history with drow another way.

A long and unpleasant history.

From the bit of the conversation she had heard, Halsin apparently had been a captive of a drow noble house for a few years. He said that seeing the drow twins at the brothel had reminded him of his ‘misspent youth’ — that drow seemed to be as much of a novelty on the surface as he had been in the Underdark.

Based upon her limited knowledge of the drow in the Underdark, it was all too easy to parse Halsin’s words.

No matter how Halsin tried to play off his years of captivity as if it was nothing but the mistake of a young druid, there was some resentment to his tone.

From the sound of it, whatever wound the drow had inflicted upon him seemed to still be a scab. Not quite a scar.

When that scab healed, there was no way of knowing how bad the scar would be beneath. Raised and angry, a light indentation, or just a faint discoloration one could only spot in the right light.

Zilvira’s first instinct had been to express her sympathies and offer an ear to listen. If the conversation had ended there, she might have done just that.

But then he said a few words, words that sounded so light and easy in that deep timbre of his, that struck her like a sharp blade to the heart.

“I count myself lucky that I made it out of the Underdark alive,” Halsin had said matter-of-factly. “Cruelty comes to Lolth’s followers as easily as breathing. It’s part of a drow’s nature.”

“Surely that statement doesn’t include Zilvira?” Shadowheart had replied with a playful edge to her tone. Like she already knew the answer had to be some variation of ‘Of course not!’

“She’s a drow, is she not?” Halsin had said instead, without a moment of hesitation or a hint of humor.

Zilvira had expected to hear a follow up. Something to indicate that Halsin didn’t think of her as cruel.

But no.

He left it at that.

Zilvira closed her eyes and willed the hurt and confusion of the memory away.

The monks had warned her that the world outside of the monastery would treat her differently — that most people would be wary toward her because of her ancestry. It was part of the reason Zilvira had rarely ventured far from that hidden grove where the Eldathian monks had raised her.

She knew why the surface world was wary of drow, but she thought that if people would just give her a chance they would —

Zilvira startled when the table jostled beneath her. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to try to hold it steady before it toppled over and she could only watch as her goblet of wine teetered off the edge.

A lightning quick hand snatched the goblet before it crashed to the floor. “Whoa!” a man exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.”

With his hand poised over the mouth of the goblet, he set the wine safely in the center of the table. “That could have been bad,” he said with an adorable laugh that immediately drew Zilvira’s attention to his face.

He was a young man. Neatly trimmed blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes, and dressed in a Flaming Fist uniform. He gave her an easy smile as his eyes met hers.

Zilvira cleared her throat and averted her gaze, hoping the young man didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. It was one thing to cry over Halsin alone, but she didn’t want to do it in front of a stranger.

“Good catch.” She picked up the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips. There wasn’t much left, and she swallowed the remainder of the dry red along with her impending tears. She set the empty goblet on the table with a little laugh, “Can’t spill it if it’s empty.”

The blond man rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Can I get you another one?”

Zilvira shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied amicably, though she was flattered by the offer. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”

“Are you leaving?” he asked, his brows raised as a small pout grew on his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “I saw you across the room and — well, I was hoping to have a drink with you. You’re really stunning and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least say ‘hello.’”

Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and Zilvira pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The blond man wasn’t really her type, but he wasn’t unattractive by any means.

Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Talking to a friendly stranger seemed preferable to drinking alone. Besides, maybe the young man could help her keep her mind off of Halsin. Even if it was only for a few moments.

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Zilvira said and nodded to the empty seat across from her. “What’s your name?”

The man beamed at her as he told her his name: Jack. He pulled the chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, crowding her personal space in a way that seemed more over-friendly than overbearing.

Jack, Zilvira quickly learned, was the type of person who was extremely easy to talk to. He had a boyish charm about him — a playful innocence in his eyes and a smile that probably got him out of all sorts of trouble. More than that, he seemed very polite.

Sweet, even.

Conversation came easy to them. Even with all the people crowding the room, Jack only had his eyes on her as he hung on her every word. Like she was the most interesting woman he had ever had the privilege of speaking to.

Yet a few minutes into the conversation, a sense of uneasiness came over her. It almost felt like she had had too much to drink, but… she didn’t have that much to drink. Did she?

She looked at her empty goblet, but found that her eyes were unable to focus on it. It doubled, then her vision went dark for a moment, only for it to come back a second later.

Zilvira sat back in her seat, trying to hold her head high in an attempt to look sober as Jack continued to talk. It was strange. She never had a problem holding her drink before, but something didn’t feel quite right.

Perhaps there had been a drink mix up and her wine was stronger than she had realized.

A warm hand rested gently on her forearm, a featherlight touch that felt oddly comforting. She wanted to lean into it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed with something like concern. Although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about his expression seemed off.

Or, perhaps, it was just another side effect of the alcohol.

Shaking her head, Zilvira attempted to stand. The room blurred as she got to her feet, like she had been spinning around in circles, and she quickly sat back down.

“I think I had too much to drink,” she said, her voice echoing in her own ears. “I should probably get some water.”

Yeah, that was probably it. A little bit of water and she would be feeling better in no time.

“Here, let me help you up,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around her, providing her some support as she tried to stand again.

The corners of her vision darkened, but it wasn’t as bad as standing up on her own. She leaned against Jack’s chest, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of his cologne.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I don’t normally get like this.”

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time around here. You’ll get no judgment from me.”

Even with his assistance, it felt like she was walking underwater with every step. Almost as if she could just tap her foot and float away.

Zilvira blinked hard as if it would make the room stop spinning. “I should probably get back to my camp.”

“In this condition?” Jack asked incredulously as he walked her toward the curtain that led to the main tap room. “You should probably lie down and drink some water. I have a room here. I’m happy to let you stay until you sober up a bit.”

Laying down sounded nice.

It sounded really, really, nice.

Amidst the blackness and spinning of her vision and the volume of the music surrounding them, Zilvira almost didn’t notice the alarm bells ringing in her subconscious.

Something was wrong but… she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Each one of Zilvira’s steps felt huge, like she was trying to step over a puddle. She glanced down at her feet, but her steps seemed normal. At least, from what she could tell. She was at least keeping pace with Jack, so hopefully she wasn’t walking like an utter lunatic in public.

Being drunk was embarrassing enough as it was.

Jack stopped suddenly, pulling her to a halt alongside him. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” she heard him say. “Sorry, my girl had a bit too much to drink. If I could just get by you —”

His girl? Wait —

“Your girl?” An all too familiar voice echoed in her thoughts, drawing her attention away from her feet.

Halsin.

Even if her eyes couldn’t focus, she would know that voice anywhere. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw Halsin standing before them with a deep furrow to his brow.

Gods, why did it have to be Halsin of all people? What the hells was she supposed to say to him?

“Funny you say that,” Halsin continued, his expression like a brewing storm cloud. “Because I’ve been traveling with Zilvira for weeks and I know this is her first time in the city.”

Jack’s hand tightened around her upper arm, making her wince. “It was just an expression, big guy,” he replied coolly. “We were just getting to know each other and — ”

“ — She is in no state to be in a place like this with a stranger.” Halsin crossed his arms over his chest and took a single step closer, forcing Jack to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I’m her friend. I’ll take care of her from here.”

Jack’s hand was like a manacle on her bicep, but it was probably the only thing keeping her standing upright.

“Listen, you creep,” he said, his voice loud and projecting as he rammed a finger at Halsin’s chest. “We don’t know you, so leave us alone and find someone else to bother.”

Zilvira could barely keep track of the conversation. Her thoughts were like clouds that drifted through her mind, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to catch one.

But Halsin was right — she knew that much.

She weakly tried to extract herself from Jack’s grip, but felt herself losing her balance. She latched onto his Flaming Fist uniform to keep herself from falling face first onto the floor.

“He’s my friend,” she muttered as she leaned heavily on Jack. “I should go back with him.”

For a moment, Zilvira wondered if she said anything at all or just thought of saying something. Gods, what was wrong with her head? She hadn’t been this drunk — well, she had never been this drunk.

Adjusting his grip on her arm, Jack pulled her tight against his side. Then when he spoke again, it was with a firm, authoritative, voice that carried over the music. “She just said she doesn’t know you. Stop trying to harass her.”

Zilvira could feel eyes on her and… she realized she didn’t care. Normally she would have been mortified to be the center of attention in such a way, but at that moment she just wanted to lay down and get away from all the noise.

A gentle warmth brushed against her fingers, and she glanced down to see a large, suntanned hand littered with whittling scars held out toward her.

Halsin’s.

“We should get going,” he said to her, ignoring Jack entirely. “I’ll walk you back to camp.”

“Don’t touch her.” Jack shoved Halsin’s chest with his free hand, jostling her with the movement.

With feline-like reflexes, Halsin grasped Jack’s wrist. “Last warning,” he said, his voice low and his expression thunderous. “Let Zilvira go. Now.”

The next thing she knew, that hand holding her upright had vanished and she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh as she crumpled to the ground.

Then she heard a roar.

---

Next Chapter

#halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x female tav #halsin smut #halsin fanfic #halsin silverbough

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bg-brainrot · 4 months

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The Smut Peddlers of Sharess' Caress (Astarion x Tav)

In honor of spontaneously deciding to add a part 2 to this silly little fic, posting part 1 on tumblr.

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: The group finds smut about you (Tav) and Astarion. Hijinks ensue.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Humor, lots of innuendos, shadowheart loves smut, karlach doesnt read but will make an exception for this, there is no smut, nothing against smut we love smut in this house

Word count: ~2.5k

Your group is in Wyrm’s Crossing on this bright Baldurian day. You originally were just planning on returning various parts of a certain clown to the circus, but on your way back to the Lower City you get waylaid easily and find yourselves in Sharess' Caress. Everyone is used to your aimless wandering at this point, so Astarion, Karlach, and Shadowheart follow in tow without question.

While you have no strict purpose in visiting, you do want to check-in with Mamzell Amira to make sure that no one has been troubling her since you dealt with her missing girl. The brothel seems unchanged from the last time you visited, and you walk up to its proprietor with a wave.

“Why if it isn’t the hero with a penchant for whips,” she smiles at you warmly. “What can I do for you? Anyone I can get for you, or are you here for the latest erotic verse? I thought you might find it quite… scintillating.”

You shrug off her suggestions, “Nothing in particular, just wanted to make sure no one was bothering you after that assassin.”

“Oh, we’ve been doing just peachy, thanks to you,” she says. “Though I hear you never took me up on your boon, the Drow twins have been awfully upset about it.”

Chancing a brief glance at Astarion, you find him looking surprisingly unconcerned at the mention of the Drow twins. He had been uncomfortable before, which is all you had needed to hear to put an end to that conversation. “Yes, thank you so much for your generosity, but I haven’t found myself in need of your services,” you reply, remaining light in your tone.

“It certainly seems like it,” she purrs, and you’re not sure what to make of her comment before she continues. “Well, I hate feeling indebted to anyone. What do you say you look through the shelves of our erotic literature and pick some out, free of charge. You may even find some inspiration.” She winks at you conspiratorially, as if Astarion isn’t watching the entire conversation unfold.

Karlach giggles behind you and whispers, ”Oooo, I might actually pick up reading if it’s that inspirational.”

You clear your throat a bit and say, “I’ll take a look. I wouldn’t want to make you indebted to us.”

Mamzell Amira points you in the direction of the bookshelves, and your group files off toward them. Astarion is giving you a sidelong look as he says, “You know, if you wanted to take her up on the Drow twins, I could be persuaded.”

You scoff. “I don’t want to persuade you to do anything. Besides, what if she’s right? Don’t you want to see what creative ideas these smut peddlers have thought up?”

He seems a bit relieved to hear you say that, but his tone remains offended, “Excuse me, are you critiquing my skills as a lover? From the noises you make, I don’t think you’re allowed to–”

“For the love of the Moonmaiden, Astarion, you know we can hear you?” Shadowheart has already reached the shelves and takes a moment away from perusing to glare at the vampire.

“Of course I know you can hear me,” he says with a smirk. “Just as well as you can hear my dearest—”

“Astarion,” you give him a warning look. “Look through the smut like the rest of us or get out.”

Your love gives you an exaggerated pout before saying, “Fine. I don’t need books to teach me what I know. If you need me, I’ll be getting a drink.” You watch him skulk off, finding his jealousy over the potential skill of fictional lovers quite endearing.

Finally, you turn your attention to the bookshelves Mamzell had indicated. Karlach and Shadowheart are already heavily invested, rifling through stacks of books with ornate fonts and passionate covers.

One book in particular seems to be front and center, perhaps a new title or a bestseller. You pick it up and look down at the cover more closely.

The title reads “Love at First Knife: A Roguish Tale of Blood and Lust” in a flowing script. On the cover you see two individuals, one of whom, a silver-haired man with pointed ears and ruby-red eyes, is holding a knife to the others’ throat. The other figure is gazing lovingly into the firsts’ eyes, their hands grasping at his bare chest.

“Gods below,” you whisper, once you’ve comprehended what’s in your hands. “Shadowheart, Karlach, look what I found.”

Both women walk over to you, peering over each of your shoulders. “What’s that?” Shadowheart asks, not quite registering the vague familiarity of the two figures on the cover.

You point to the silver-haired, pale elf and say, “Does that look like anyone you know?”

“It’s not!” Karlach gasps. “Is that supposed to be… Astarion?”

Based on the crude facsimile of your own face yearning for him and the title, you are fairly certain it is. “And I think that’s supposed to be me,” you point out, dumbfounded at the novel in your hands. “How is this possible?”

“Well, the smut peddlers put out quite a lot of writing, they can write an entire book in a matter of days.” After receiving a questioning look from you, she adds, “From what I hear. I wouldn’t know.” She’s blushing from the tips of her ears down to her neck, and you suspect that you may find a surprise stash of erotic books near her bed at the Elfsong if you look close enough.

Karlach claps Shadowheart on the shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of knowing. Just don’t hold back on me, alright?”

Shadowheart shakes her head lightly, “Regardless, we’ve been in the city for a few weeks and we haven’t exactly been subtle about it. I’m sure you’ve attracted plenty of attention.”

She’s not wrong– your entire group has had some very public confrontations, and several key figures of the city were aware of your presence. Plus there was an entire article in the Baldur's Mouth Gazette about your group’s accomplishments.

“Fair,” you admit. “But how did they know about Astarion?” You touch the cover carefully, as if expecting the book to combust in your hands.

“Well, aside from his loud proclamations of your love,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t know. Maybe it was Mamzell Amira herself, she did mention you’d like the newest erotic verse.”

“Please tell me you’re going to read it,” Karlach says, barely containing her excitement. “If you don’t, I will.”

You tut at her. “If anyone here gets to read about my and Astarion’s passionate love making, it will be me.”

“Oh just you and the hundreds of others who have probably already picked up a copy,” Shadowheart adds, unhelpfully.

Despite that, you don’t feel mortified. Really, you just feel a burning sense of curiosity. You gently thumb the cover, hesitating to turn the page. “What if it’s terrible?”

“It probably will be,” Shadowheart says, matter-of-factly. “That’s not why you read it though.”

You flip to the first page and start skimming. “Sweet hells, his name is Arstaron.”

“That’s amazing,” Karlach’s face bends down to read too. “Did that just say ‘brooding curls’? Do his curls brood?”

Shadowheart is reading along as well, “There’s an entire page dedicated to describing his abs. Are they really this… sculpted?”

You shake your head. “They’re lovely, but I don’t think I could ‘grill a set of gnoll ribs over them’ like it says.”

“Enough descriptors, skip ahead to the good bits,” Karlach prods at your hand, begging you to hurry up.

You skip ahead a few dozen pages and stop when you spot the words ‘passionate thrusts.’ “Here we go…”

The three of you silently read for a moment before Karlach breaks the silence. “Oh my, soldier, how did I never consider how flexible you both are.”

Your face reddens, as you’re suddenly reminded that your friends are now vividly imagining you and Astarion vigorously making love. “Let’s, uh, go back to the descriptor bits.”

A few minutes later, you’re reading down a passage describing his ‘member’ and the laughter that rumbles out of Karlach might bring down the entire brothel. It’s certainly loud enough to bring the attention of the roguish lover being described.

“What do we have here?” Astarion stalks over, clearly sensing that the excited bustle might be worth a laugh. You hunch over the book, protectively. “My dear, are you hiding something from me?”

You quickly pass off the book to Karlach, quickly responding with, “I would never.”

“Love, you know you don’t need to hide anything from me,” he says, smoothly.

Karlach is quick to follow that with a snort, “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Arstaron says when he takes off his lover’s clothes!”

“Arstaron?” He quirks an eyebrow at you in question and you reluctantly take the book back from Karlach to hand to him.

“Apparently,” you start. “You and I are the subjects of the latest erotic novel, courtesy of Sharess' Caress.”

Looking down at the cover, Astarion seems dumbfounded. “Is that supposed to be… me?”

You nod, reluctantly. You had gotten him a statue and a painting commissioned, but he still hasn’t seen himself often and you wouldn’t consider this the best representation. “They definitely took some, well a lot, of creative liberties.”

He looks down at it more carefully, amusement coloring his face. “I quite like what they did with your face, the longing is lovely.”

“That’s quite enough of that,” you say, reaching for the book.

Astarion holds it just out of your reach and says, “No, no, we’ve earned a reward for helping the fine proprietor of this establishment. I want this to be my reward.”

“What,” you say, incredulously. “You wouldn’t read it. You said you don’t like smut.”

“I never said that.” He starts flipping through the pages of the book. “I just said I know more than these novels. I still do, mind you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted by the mention of your ‘trembling lips’ as it says.”

“Wait, how many copies are there?” Karlach is back at the shelf. “Let’s read it together!”

You balk at the idea of your lovelife becoming the team’s book club. But you’re very much resigned to the idea that someone in your group is walking out with this book. “No, no, one copy is more than enough. Besides, we don’t want to take advantage of Mamzell’s generosity.”

“I don’t much like to share, love. Best get a few copies,” Astarion says, already adopting his reading stance as he flips back to the first page.

“Ugh, fine. Karlach, you and Shadowheart share one. I’ll share with Astarion.” You put up a finger. “Only on the condition that we tell no one else.”

A small huff leaves Karlach’s mouth. “Really? Really really?” Karlach pleads. “Maybe just one? I know Jaheira would get a kick outta this.”

You respect Jaheira so deeply, the idea of her reading of your wanton pleasures fills you with dread. “Please not Jaheira,” you whisper.

“Be careful, dear,” Astarion mumbles, his nose buried into the book. “You keep whispering her name like that, the next edition will feature a second silver-haired companion with pointy ears.”

His words give you a creeping paranoia and you look around, as if the smut peddlers are watching you at this very moment. “Okay, grab your books, let’s get out of here.”

“So soon?” Karlach says, nabbing a second copy of Love at First Knife before you can change your mind.

“Yes, we’re probably disturbing the clientele,” you say, waving away her disappointment. “Shadowheart?”

You realize that she’s already twenty pages into Love at First Knife and has barely registered your conversation. “Oh, yes? Are we leaving?”

“I work with a group of lecherous fools,” you mutter, grabbing her and Astarion by the sleeves. “Come on.”

You wave to Mamzell Amira on the way out, “Thank you for the books!”

She yells after you, “Be sure to return soon, we’re already hard at work on volume two!”

Shadowheart pauses her reading to perk up. “Oh, we’d best make a trip back then. This is surprisingly well-done.” She mumbles, half-heartedly, “Not that I would know.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Astarion says from your other side. “I quite like the way they describe my artistry. Take a look, dear.”

He shoves the book back into your face for a passage that reads, ‘his motions are as fluid as the waves of a water elemental’ and you swat the book out of the way. “If you start moving like that, I think I’m more likely to scream in horror.”

You walk along in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, as your three companions read. Then you spot Karlach behind you, fanning herself with her copy of the book. She meets your questioning look with a chuckle, “I thought I was already too hot to handle, but I think I’ll need to cool down after reading the climax of that book.”

“How did you already get there?” Shadowheart gasps, looking up.

“I skipped to the good bits!” Karlach replies easily. “And let me tell you, they were good.”

You facepalm momentarily before looking between your fingers at Astarion. He seems remarkably enthralled by the book, and suddenly you’re worried. Oh no, what if I’m a better fictional lover than a real lover. Distantly, you hear Shadowheart and Karlach discussing the novel, but your attention is focused entirely on the man’s eyes, reading back and forth as you walk.

Sensing your gaze, the vampire finally looks up and smiles pleasantly. He closes the book and with his free hand reaches for yours. “My love, please, and I cannot stress this enough, do not take inspiration from this book.”

“What? Why not?” You ask, confused. “Karlach just said it was amazing?”

“Yes, well,” he leans into you. “I think doing somersaults into each other's arms might be more likely to result in a broken rib than pleasurable exploration.”

You give a surprised laugh, leaning back into him, “Are you doubting my expertise as a lover now?”

“Not at all, my dear,” he says, rubbing his thumb along the outside of your hand gently. “You are so very perfect. Which is why I wouldn’t want you to take too much from this poorly written version of you. Reality is far better than fiction in this case.”

Your heart swells at the words, though you can’t help but ask your next question. “So no chance of acrobatics after dark?”

Astarion takes a glance at your companions, and sees they’re still in a heated debate about the novel. With words meant only for you, he whispers into your ear. “Don’t you worry, there are plenty of other ways we can make use of our flexibility.”

With his breath tickling your skin, a few peppered kisses along your neck, and a promise of some time alone together, you make your way back to the Elfsong Tavern with a skip in your step. You wonder if the smut peddlers of Sharess' Caress know how deeply you care for this man, or how little they got right about all of the parts of him that matter.

Part 2 here!

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #tadfools tomfoolery

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bearhugsandshrugs · 5 months

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Realized I never put this on Tumblr, so enjoy.

Gortash x F!Tav x Haarlep: Money Well Spent Humiliation, Leashes, Collars,Anal Sex, Dildos, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Choking, Threesome, Orgasm Delay/Denial

Link to AO3

Tav fantasizes about being humiliated by Gortash, but is too embarrassed to act on the fantasy with the Archduke himself. Luckily, Haarlep has Gortash in his repertoire. And he knows just how mean the Archduke can be.

Doing this cost her half a fortune, but Tav gathered why not. She’d rented out a room in Sharess Caress to herself, paid for the staff’s silence, and organized Haarlep to come meet her there. All of it was quite expensive, but she rarely spent the gold she was amassing anyway, and who knew if she’d live long with the tadpole in her head to spend it.

So here she was: Sitting on a chair by the door as instructed, waiting for the incubus to arrive. It didn’t take long though – Haarlep appeared on time and was in a cheery mood. And he better was: Tav had paid five different people hundreds of gold to let Haarlep take their bodies in exchange for his services tonight. And his confidentiality.

When he came in through the portal Helski had prepared for her (another small fortune), he was already using the body they’d agreed he’d be in for the night. He looked so similar that Tav nearly had a panic attack: What if this was Gortash after all and he had heard about her fantasies?

“Hmmm, at least you’re smart enough to follow basic instructions”, the man that looked like the Archduke said, and his voice was just minimally off, giving the incubus away. “Take off you clothes and put this on”, Gortash-Haarlep said and threw a collar in front of her feet.

Tav didn’t reply, but she nodded and undressed, setting her clothes aside before cautiously looking at the collar: It was made out of leather, with an iron ring for an attachable leash. She closed it around her throat while the fake Gortash watched on, a slight smirk on his face.

When she was ready, he took two broad steps towards her and fastened the leash, then yanked it so hard Tav fell to her knees.

“A needy slut like you should be on her knees where she belongs”, he scoffed, and Tav’s stomach twisted into a knot. Yes. That’s what she had come for. “Tell me what to do”, she asked, but Gortash’s impression laughed at her, a cruel and mocking sound. “‘Tell me’? Who do you think you are?” He stepped around her, then pulled her head back by her hair so hard it hurt. “I’m sorry”, Tav whimpered, but it wasn’t the right answer. “I said: Who do you think you are?” he tightened his grip on her. “A needy slut”, Tav whispered, submitting to him. “That's right”, the fake Gortash scoffed and let go of her. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

He walked to the nightstand by the bed and pulled out a wooden penis, slightly but naturally curved, with a flat base on its end. “Get this up your cunt and hold it in”, he commanded, then gave her the dildo.

Tav’s breathing quickened. She hadn’t expected this, but no matter. Still kneeling on the floor, she widened her stance, then started to push the cock inside of her. There was little resistance – she was already wet and ready – but the dildo was bigger than she was used to, and holding it in only with her cunt’s muscles required more focus than she’d thought.

The fake Archduke watched her, almost bored, then nodded.

“Good”, he said with a flat voice, “You’ll keep this in while you’re on your hands and knees. Let me have a look at this little slutty body of yours. And don’t pretend – I’ve already seen how wet you are.” He chuckled before adding: “It’s pathetic.”

Tav’s body felt like it was burning up, but this was only the beginning. Naively, she was surprised at how much this turned her on. While she had requested this, it was already more than she had hoped for.

Fake Gortash ran his hand over her body, his armored glove gliding up and down her skin, scratching down her back with his metal nails. Tav shivered under his touch, and it got hard for her to keep the dildo in place.

The incubus dropped something on her ass, a warm lube, and started massaging her asshole with his ungloved hand. Tav let out a whimper. She wanted him so much, it was getting difficult to breathe. When he worked a finger inside of her, the dildo started to slide out of her cunt, before Tav managed to hold it in again.

“Ts, already?”, Haarlep’s Gortash scoffed. “It’s a wonder you’re not throwing yourself at the first best dick all the time.” He added a second finger, slowly pushing in and out of her. “Or maybe you are? Renting out rooms in a whorehouse so you feel right at home?”

Tav mewled as the incubus fingered her ass, heat burning her up from the inside. She was close already and craving release, but it was difficult while focusing on the wooden cock. When he curled his fingers, she let out a moan, and the dildo slid out of her.

The pull on the leash was immediate and painful, and the false Gortash pulled out his fingers, leaving her on the edge of an orgasm. Tav started to shake, her body screaming for him to enter her again.

“That won’t do”, he said and took a step back. “But I’ll give you another chance. Work it back in. Hold it. I’ll watch.”

Tav reached for the dildo with a shaky hand, then pushed it back inside of her. She groaned, earning her a mocking laugh from the incubus. It was difficult at first, as her slick eased away any resistance or friction that might have helped her otherwise.

“Such a needy slut”, Haarlep’s Gortash commented behind her. She heard him undress, and when he stepped up to her, he pushed his cock into her ass without warning, taking Tav’s breath away. She struggled with the dildo, but managed to keep it inside. Her vision was starting to blur, her entire body on fire with need. He was right: She was needy.

He fucked her ass with something that most resembled spite. Every time her legs started to shake or her back started to arch, he’d stop. The constant edging was getting to her, and Tav whimpered around him, crying out pleas under her breath.

“Please what?” the incubus demanded to know after the sixth denied orgasm. “Please let me come”, Tav sobbed, barely holding on. “Already? You haven’t even greeted our guest yet!”

Guest? What?

The door opened and Tav could hear that familiar strut, but she didn't want to believe it. But when another armored glove trailed along her spine, she wanted to jump out of her body. It couldn’t be.

“My, maybe I should have told you to go down on your knees and suck my dick instead of offering you a partnership to dominate the world”, Gortash, the real one, said as he came to a halt in front of her. “Looks like you settle for far less than I'd thought.”

Tav’s head burned up with embarrassment. This was why she’d asked Haarlep to play the part instead of pursuing Gortash himself.

“You were right”, Gortash nodded to Haarlep, “she really feels loose like a common whore.”

Tav remembered that Gortash would have felt everything that Haarlep had done in his form, and she blushed with the realization that he already knew what her ass on his cock felt like.

But the Archduke seemed unfazed, leisurely taking off his clothes, throwing them to the side. When he took down his pants, his cock was erect, pointing at her.

“Open”, he demanded, and Tav did as she was told, opening her mouth for him. Gortash patted her head like a dog while he started to fuck her mouth. The other, false Gortash picked up his movements again, moving in sync with the real one. They fucked her together, calling her obscenities throughout. Tav felt the wooden dildo slide out again, as her body was rushing towards the edge once more. “Look at her”, Haarlep's Gortash scoffed, “on her hands and knees like a whore, so greedy she gets fucked by the same man twice.” Gortash chuckled, running his hands through Tav’s hair. “Maybe I should bring her to court next time. Have her suck me off while I do paperwork.” Tav moaned around his cock, the thought of being used that way turning her on. “Sounds like she’d want that”, Haarlep mocked. “Do you?”, Gortash asked, pulling at her hair. “Do you want me to use you like the slut that you are? Spread your legs in the throne room and fuck you in front of the nobles? Have you say please before you swallow my cum?”

Tav felt her body react before she could reply: A long mewl formed in the back of her throat, her back arched into Haarlep's Gortash, the muscles in her cunt spasming, pushing out the dildo with a loud splash as a gush of wetness squirted out of her along with it.

Gortash laughed at her before picking up his pace, fucking her mouth with heightened desire. Haarlep tried to match his rhythm, but it was difficult even for him. Tav couldn’t process what was happening, her entire body flush and hot, the ongoing intrusions already building up heat anew.

Gortash came with a curse, calling her a fucking whore under his breath, and Haarlep followed not long behind. Tav swallowed his cum, then gasped for air as they both pulled out of her.

She was a mess: sweaty and used, slickness running down the side of her thigh, her hair disheveled.

“Well, you didn't say please", Gortash scolded her. "But maybe we’ll make something useful out of you yet.” He lifted her head up to look at him through her lashes. It was the first time their eyes met, and Tav wanted to cry. But the Archduke looked at her with amused cruelty, eyes darkened with lust. “I’d like that”, Tav whispered, and Haarlep, still in Gortash’s form, handed the leash over to the real one. “Lord Gortash requested you to himself for the rest of the night in exchange for his form”, Haarlep explained and stepped towards the summoning circle. “I have no doubts you’ll behave yourself.”

Before Tav could protest, the incubus had already left, leaving her alone in the room with Gortash.

He took a potion, replenishing his strength as he wandered over to the bed, dragging her behind him through her collar. She could only follow him, crawling on her hands and feet behind him, as the pull on the collar took her breath away.

“Come”, he instructed, pulling at the leash in one sharp motion. Tav yelped, then climbed onto the bed. He was lying on his back, his cock hardening again. “First time we met you told me to go fuck myself”, he said with a lazy tone. “Why don’t you fuck me instead?” Tav bit down on her lip and did as he asked, crawling up to and then lowering herself onto him. He felt amazing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. A whore through and through”, he said as she started to grind her hips against his. Gortash started to run his hands over her body, pulling at the leash when he wanted her lower. Tav bent over and he took her breast into his mouth, greedily sucking at her flesh as she rode him.

It turned her on beyond expectations. Actually fucking him, having him use her, was more than she’d dared to dream – only now it was happening. When he came back for air he cursed at her.

“Fuck, maybe I should abduct you after all”, he groaned and bucked his hips into her. “Have you leashed to the bed and wet and ready whenever I want you.” Tav whimpered at the thought, her muscles clenching around his cock. Gortash laughed at the display of need. “Yes, that’s right. I’ll tie you up, a pretty little thing just serving me, maybe my men too.” Her breathing turned to pants as he started to meet her thrusts, grunts forming in his throat. Gortash yanked the leash impatiently, wanting her to answer. “You want that?” he growled as her face hovered above his. “Yes”, she said without thinking. “Yes.” “Fuck”, he groaned and brought his hands to her hips so he could better steer her movements. “Tell me what you want so I can decide if I'll let you come like the slut that you are.” Tav whimpered, her body undoubtedly rushing towards another climax. “I want you to use me, use my body whenever you want it, make me come whenever you feel like it”, she started, and Gortash groaned at the idea. “I want you to fuck me in every way possible and then make me thank you for it.” He brought a hand up to her throat, holding her in place close to him. “Yes”, he breathed out, “it’s what I deserve as your rightful ruler.”

Tav’s pants turned into moans as their hips continued to meet each other, both of their breathing turning irregular.

“Do it then”, Gortash hissed, “Thank me while you come.”

Tav’s body started to convulse and she forced her eyes open, meeting Gortash’s gaze that was heavy with need.

“Thank–“ she couldn’t finish the sentence as his hand tightened around her throat, choking her over the edge as she came with a wail.

Gortash joined her, pumping his seed into her with a loud moan.

He held her close by her leash as both of them came down from their high. When Tav looked at him, his lips curled into a smile.

“Good little slut”, he whispered and stroked her hair. “Looks like I’ll make use of you after all.”

#enver gortash #my writing #gortash x tav #tavtash #haarlep #bg3 smut

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commander-krios · 3 months

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Sweet Like Sugar

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Bex/Danis Rating: General Summary: The Grand Revel. A night of revelry, sweets, and love. Bex and Danis find joy in the simple things. Words: 2680 Additional Tags: Gift Exchange, Tieflings, Romance, Love, Celebrations, Valentine's Day, Fluff

Read on AO3

Elturel Tiefling Camp Discord Server Exchange gift for @omgkalyppso. I hope you enjoy it! It was my first time writing for Bex and Danis, they are so cute and deserve all of the fics.

The streets of Baldur’s Gate were packed with festival goers, dressed in thick robes or cloaks, trying to keep warm against the cold winter’s night. The celebration was well underway, hours had already passed with no signs of stopping anytime soon. The clerics of the three goddesses (Lliira, Sharess, and Sune) had gathered their worshippers to prepare earlier in the evening, but now it seemed things were heating up, so to speak.

The young couple in the teashop were finishing the last dregs of their cups, whispers and giggles reaching where Bex sat finishing the totals for the day. Their pastries, the cookies especially, had run out so quickly that Danis had a tough time keeping up with the demand. Their newest treat, a chocolate sugar cookie with red firemint candies baked within, had sold the most.

It made sense considering what today’s holiday was: The Grand Revel.

Danis walked from the kitchen to the storefront, wiping his hands on the apron still tied around his waist. He left handprints in flour against the fabric and Bex bit her lip, trying not to laugh at how adorable he looked with his dark hair pulled out of his face, his golden gaze on the movement outside. His lips curved into a grin at the shouts and laughter that filled their shop as the last customers exited in a rush of cold air.

Sliding from the stool she’d been perched on, she crossed to him in the silence, reaching up to brush some flour from his cheek. He glanced down at her with a wide eyed look and she giggled, flicking him affectionately on the nose.

“What was that for?” He asked, his hands curling around her waist. The flour was probably all over her skirts as well, but she didn’t care if it meant she was in Danis’s arms. There was nowhere she’d rather be in all of Faerun.

“It was for being the sweetest and most adorable man in Baldur’s Gate.” She stood on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek and was glad to see a blush forming when she pulled back.

“Did you get into the wine barrels again, my love?” He teased her, pressing his forehead against hers and gazing into her eyes. She memorized every color in his ochre eyes, every swirl of golden fire, every touch of heated skin against her fingertips as her hands trailed up his neck and into his silky dark locks.

“No.” She replied with a roll of her eyes, tickling his scalp with her claws before withdrawing and turning to grab the tray of used teacups. She didn’t get far before he was wrapping his arms around her middle, pulling her back into his chest. “But I wouldn’t be adverse to a glass of the Blingdenstone Blush.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Danis pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and she shivered at the touch. “It’s as sweet as you are.”

Bex let out a breathless laugh, lifting the tray and shoving it into his hands. “Now who's being a little silly?”

Danis smiled, taking the dishes without argument. “I can’t help myself when every morning when I wake, I have to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

Bex brushed some of his hair away from his face, tucking it behind one pointed ear, lingering against the curve of it briefly. “You are such a romantic.”

“I haven’t heard a complaint yet.”

“And you never will.” With hands on his shoulders, Bex helped guide him back to the kitchen. “Now, go! We should finish cleaning if we want to make it to the celebrations before they get terribly crowded.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I’ll be finished soon.”

As soon as Danis disappeared into the backroom, Bex locked up the teahouse, put the coin in the safe secured under the floorboards and then, once she was positive that Danis was still busy, pulled out the cookies that she’d safely tucked into some paper and hidden away from view of the customers, in case they ran out again.

Dark chocolate dough stuffed with firemint candies, dusted in sparkling sugar. They smelled as divine as they tasted, the bitterness of the chocolate highlighting the spiciness of the cinnamon in the candies, the sugar giving it that final sweetness that tied everything together.

It was a treat, to be sure, and a well deserved one.

Ever so gently, she put them in the pouch at her belt, making sure they were secure before packing up the rest of the sweets leftover from the day. When Danis returned to the front, he was no longer in his apron, but a lovely sapphire tunic and beige slacks, fancier than Bex had ever seen him before. They were no longer struggling refugees from Elturel. Now, they were Baldurians, with their own business and a bright future ahead of them. It was more than Bex could have wished for and yet, it was theirs.

“You look nice.” Pulling her apron over her head, she set it on the counter, trying to figure out what exactly she was going to wear. There weren’t many opportunities to go on dates since opening their teahouse and this was one she wasn’t going to waste. Tugging on his collar, she fixed it straight before giving him a brush of a kiss along his jaw. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

“I’d never go anywhere without you.”

The air took their breath away when they stepped outside, the cold seeping into their bodies despite their heavy cloaks. Their higher tiefling body temperatures kept them from freezing as soon as they exited the shop, at least some luck on their part. Even still, that didn’t stop Danis from putting his arm around Bex’s shoulders, pulling her close until they shared heat, their breaths coming out in puffs of white. Bex shivered slightly, pressing into Danis’s side, enjoying the residual heat of his body against hers. Citizens of Baldur’s Gate twirled in the designated dancing circles while others watched on, singing along with the bards or cheering for the more skilled dancers putting on a show.

Bex sighed happily, watching as a particularly beautiful couple spun in an elaborate dance, the elven woman’s braided hair whipping around her. It was dazzling the way they moved, like two pieces of a puzzle, weaving around the other. The music’s ending was cut off with loud applause as the couple bowed to their audience, flushed from the cold and probably the dancing as well. They walked off arm in arm, whispering to each other excitedly.

“I want to dance!” Bex exclaimed, pulling Danis towards one of the circles marked out with sparkling dust. Danis groaned, but didn’t speak any complaints, the delighted grin on his face the only proof that he was teasing her. Cautiously crossing over the lines of the circle, Bex was glad to see magic kept the dust in place. It certainly would’ve been a pain to fix them all night.

Facing Danis, she glanced up to find him chuckling.

“What is so funny?”

“I don’t think I’ve had enough to drink for this.” He told her quietly, ignoring the troupe as it started up another fast tune. But even as he spoke, his hand took hold of her waist, the free one sliding into her gloved hand. “And you definitely haven’t.”

“Are you saying that I can’t dance?” Her free hand rested against his shoulder and she nudged him slightly. “Because I’ll have you know, I’m a wonderful dancer. It’s you who is the problem.”

“Me?” He asked, eyes widening as if offended. “Perhaps we need to find out.”

She squealed when he spun her, the movement sending cold air across her cheeks, and despite the bitterness of the wind, she felt warm, elated, with the freedom of dancing in such a public area without worrying about anyone judging them. Without worrying about the fear they used to after Elturel, wondering if they would be cast out of another city, and be reduced to nothing but beggars.

Bex tossed her head back, her laughter blending in with the revelry, joy, love, and beauty erupting in the chaos around them. The upbeat music, the dancing lights that lit the streets, the scent of hot chocolate drinks and firemint candies, all of it exhilarated her. Letting go of Danis’s shoulder, she ducked under his arm, her skirts billowing around her. Stomping her feet, she turned to him once more, only to find his eyes were bright and he was laughing as hard as she was.

Danis wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss against her forehead, his breath hot in the chilly winter air. Her heart soared at his touch, solid yet soft, her entire world. Her safety and her hope. Her future.

“Did you want to keep dancing?” He asked as the ruckus settled to a low hum while the bards prepared for their next song. “Or we can listen to the music for a bit. Whatever you prefer, my love.”

Bex’s eyes scanned the scene around them. There were still people dancing in the circles, oblivious of anything around them. The bards were chattering quietly amongst themselves, perhaps about their next song, or something else entirely. The soft sounds of lyre and lute continued nevertheless, notes twining around each other in a melody that thrummed beneath her skin. She wanted to move, to live in the moment.

Wrapping her arms around Danis, Bex leaned into him, breathing in the scent of sugar and firemint still clinging to his clothes. The smell of home.

They were home.

“Let’s sit here awhile. The music is comforting and I don’t want to let you go yet.”

Danis chuckled, a deep sound in his chest that rumbled through her. She smiled, holding him tighter, unable to imagine a more perfect life than the one they had. They stood like that for a time, listening to the revelry, the music, the chatter. A sweet scent floated in the air, chocolate, sugar, something syrupy.

Something that made her stomach gurgle.

Danis glanced down, resisting the urge to laugh at her if the way his lips twitched was any indication. “Hungry?”

“Famished.” She cooed, standing on her toes to press a soft kiss to his chin, enjoying the rush of air that left his lips and warmed her nose. “Let’s find what’s making those delicious smells.”

The closest vendor was, in fact, selling pastries. Little flaky butter pastries, some with chocolate filling, others with a different array of berries, some even with cream. With a shake of their coin purses later, their stomachs were full of sweet treats and hot chocolate, content.

When they retreated home hours later, the sky lit up with fireworks of gold, blue, and crimson, showering the world in arcing stars that disappeared before they touched the ground. It reminded Bex a bit of the party after the battle at the Grove, Rolan’s magic sparkling in the air. She wondered how he was doing as Archwizard and vowed to make a stop later in the week with some fresh treats for him and his siblings.

She and Danis settled side by side on the edge of the balcony above their shop, leaning against the banister at the crowds that milled below and the skies that were a kaleidoscope of color above.

The moment was perfect. They were safe, together, and their dreams were unfolding before them with nothing in the way: No armies, no apocalyptic monsters, no fear. After Elturel, there had been doubt that this would happen, that they could be happy. But now they were sitting above their little bakery, gazing at the distant stars with the sounds of laughter in the streets. Sugar lingered on her lips and she swiped her tongue across them, the powder sweet as she savored the taste.

“Danis.” She reached forward and slipped her hand in his, the warmth of his skin a comfort that she’d never tire of. “I need to ask you something.”

He smiled at her, and even in the darkness, she could see the glow of his beautiful eyes. Her heart skipped a beat at how lovely he was, and not only to look at. Every part of Danis was kind and honest and hardworking. Even when he feared the worst, even when he stared death in the eyes in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, all he ever cared about was her safety. Sometimes, she wondered what she did to deserve such devotion.

“Are you cold? We can go inside, if that’s the case.” Danis tightened his grip slightly, tugging her hand as if to lead her back into their rooms, but she stilled him, shaking her head with the smallest of laughs.

“No, that’s not necessary. It’s only… I wanted to tell you how much I love you. And how much having you here with me has meant. None of this would’ve been possible without you.”

“I think you’re mistaken by how much I’ve actually helped in our endeavors, but- I adore you, Bex. I would’ve traveled all the way to Waterdeep if that’s what you wished.” Danis squeezed her hand gently, lifting it to press a single chaste kiss on her knuckles. Always the charming prince, he was.

“I hope that’s true because I have another thing to ask of you.” She glanced away, feeling her cheeks heat with blush, uncertain in herself for the first time that night. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about since we left Elturel and well, I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

“I’ll do anything for you. You know that.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous butterflies in her stomach. Bex was the optimist, the one who usually didn’t let fear weigh her down, that made sure everyone kept moving despite adversity. But this was different. This was everything.

Shifting slightly, she tilted her head slightly, peering at him from under her eyelashes. With her heart beating a dangerous rhythm in her chest, she blurted out the words before she could overthink them. “Danis… will you marry me?”

He froze like a stone, immovable by even a flood. She immediately knew something was wrong.

“Oh. Uh, this is awkward.” Danis said before clearing his throat, hand sliding from hers only to turn away, blush crawling up his neck and across his cheeks.

She felt queasy, certain her stomach dropped through the floor beneath her, the solid ground beneath their store, and perhaps even returned to Avernus itself, a burning hole the only thing left in its place. She thought they were on the same paths… had she been completely wrong?

Danis reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out a delicately wrapped cookie. With a sigh, he held it out to her with a shaking hand. “I planned on giving you this earlier, but we were having so much fun and I didn’t want to interrupt the festivities.”

Bex cradled the heart shaped cookie in her hands, made purely of sugar with a pretty red icing covering it. There was writing in white over the confection, Infernal, by the looks of it.

“What does it say?”

Danis laughed, a breathless sound that sent her heart jumping again. “It’s supposed to say ‘Will you marry me’. But knowing me and my terrible translations, it’s probably calling you an idiot or something.”

She choked out a laugh, trying to hold back the tears at how happy this made her. That he made her. “I love you, Danis.”

“So does that mean-?”

“Of course I’ll marry you!” She nearly shouted, covering her mouth with a hand, blushing in embarrassment. “Eh, if you’ll marry me, of course?”

Danis brushed his knuckles across her cheek, his grin so wide that he radiated with his joy. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Leaning forward, Bex pressed her lips to his, content to sit on the exposed balcony of their little shop, the pops of fireworks above and their futures lying ahead.

#my writing #omgkalyppso #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 bex #bg3 danis #bex x danis #bg3 bex x danis #valentine's day #tiefling

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selunesdreams · 1 month

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Forms of Imprisonment: Godless

“There’s no mandatory waiting period between suffering and enjoying yourself.”

Smut excerpt from Ch. 17 of Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC (post-tadpole)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral, religious shame?, sacrilege kink (if you squint), rough-ish, dirty talk, cumplay, Astarion keeps his clothes (mostly) on during sex, slight fluff?/preexisting relationship stuff, brief mentions of violence, part of a series (but readable without context)

Astarion reaches for her, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “Are you alright?”

She averts her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“The question was a courtesy. You’re obviously not.” He says. “You’ve been betrayed by someone you once cared for…” he pauses. “And I think you would have enjoyed watching me rip him to shreds. Does that scare you? Are you ashamed of yourself?”

“I said I wanted to go-”

Astarion draws her face closer and she can see his jaw tense, his stare unwavering. “Because you shouldn’t be.”

She glances around them through her peripheral, his touch still lingering under her chin. People pass them on the road, but no one seems to notice. Down the street, the lights of Sharess’ Caress illuminate the area in a faint yellow glow.

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there are no rewards for good behavior, my dear.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and cups her cheek with his hand. “Don’t be ashamed of the darkest parts of you. You owe no penance here. Not with me.”

She pulls back, appraising him. “How do you do it? You’re not tormented by the pains of virtue.”

He holds her face in his hands. “Even if that were true, I would never want that for you. Your damned virtue, annoying as it may be, is what makes someone like me have a sliver of hope they could ever trust another soul.”

“I don’t want to be good. I didn’t ask for any of this - to be Selûne’s granddaughter, to lose my family, a religion I didn’t choose. My identity will never be my own.” Tears brim along her waterline and Astarion frowns, moving to stroke her cheek. She swallows hard and forces herself to regain composure. “I’m tired.” She croaks.

He casts her a rare, sympathetic look and entwines his fingers in hers. “I know, my dear. I know.”

Wordlessly, they weave through the streets of Rivington back to the Elfsong. Celeste is relieved their friends haven’t caught up - she doesn’t want to explain herself to anyone right now. They fall into step near Wyrm’s Rock before Astarion speaks again.

“You’re not all innocence and purity, you know.” Astarion says. Her hand drops from his and she wraps her arms around herself. “You told me of your little Sharran assassinations and I saw all the carrion you left at the cloister. If it’s a dangerous reputation you’re after, you’re doing alright.” Astarion notices her shiver and shrugs off his cloak, wrapping it around her as they walk. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

Celeste draws the cloak around herself tightly. “What you saw at the House of Grief was sheer luck. I didn’t do that on my own.” She absentmindedly toys with her necklace.

Astarion’s attention follows her movement and lingers at the base of her throat, the pulse of her neck beating visibly. His throat burns with want and he clears it to displace his thirst. “Lucky we found that family heirloom, then.”

Celeste snorts bitterly and lets the pendant fall from her fingers. “You have no idea.”

Astarion cocks his head. “Well, regardless of where the credit is due, I was quite taken with your work.”

“Now is hardly the time, Astarion.”

“Because you’re not in the mood, or because you’d feel bad about it? There’s no mandatory waiting period between suffering and enjoying yourself.” His tone is empathetic, but there’s a seductive edge to it.

Celeste makes a small hum of appreciation. “Not the worst advice you’ve given.”

Astarion leans down to whisper in her ear. “Didn’t you just say you don’t want to be good anymore?”

She considers his words as they step inside the Elfsong. The tavern is lively tonight, a bard’s lute ringing across the room as patrons dance and drink and stumble into corners, pressed against temporary lovers. Astarion appreciates the debauchery for a moment before offering his hand. “Come, darling.” She places her fingers into his palm and he leads her up the stairs. The music from the tavern pounds rhythmically into the wooden floors. It reverberates through her, a satisfying thud echoing each beat of her heart.

Their rooms are empty, though Astarion isn’t sure how much distance is between them and their friends. “Not here.” He guides her to the private room down the hall. A single candle burns on the bedside table, the balcony is wide open, curtains catching in the breeze. “Surely it’s our turn in the rotation.” He shuts the door behind him and pins her to the wall, looking down at her as if he were hunting prey.

“I’ll be the devil, if that suits you, darling...” He murmurs into her neck. “Let me show you what it is to be godless.”

His lips catch hers hungrily. She presses her hips against him in response and a whine betrays his controlled demeanor. He tugs at the straps of her clothes, bringing the entirety of her leather one-piece to the floor. Astarion leads her across the room and shoves her on the bed, removing her undergarments in a fluid, impatient motion.

Bracing himself, he stares at her naked form appreciatively before sliding two fingers into her wet cunt, curling them upwards and bending down to let his tongue explore her in a languid stroke, never taking his eyes from her. She arches her back in surprise, grinding herself against him as he begins to lap at her and fuck her with his fingers.

“Greedy.” He teases, before his mouth returns to her.

She rests her lips against her forearm, burying a cry of pleasure in her throat. Astarion tracks every movement with his red irises, letting a moan reverberate against her to coax a stronger reaction. His imposing, fully clothed figure arches towards her as he drops to his knees and throws one of her legs over his shoulder. Her breath catches and she looks down at him, the faint portrait of his satisfaction gently illuminated.

Celeste’s will crumbles in minutes and the borders of her vision begin to darken and pulsate as she climaxes. Astarion doesn’t stop until she whimpers, pushing against him as if trying to escape. He sucks on his fingers after removing them, still gazing at her from his knees before standing.

“We’re not finished. Not yet.” His fangs glimmer in the light as he smiles, his hands moving to his trousers. His gaze is locked with hers as he undoes the clasp. They fall to his thighs, letting her see all of his intent.

Her breath hitches in anticipation and he drags her closer by her hips, lining himself up with her. Celeste clings to the fabric of his shirt, burying her face in his neck as he drives himself to the hilt of her, teasing at first, then progressively becoming more rough. Astarion lets one hand wander to palm her breast, kissing her reverently.

“I think I might have been made to ruin you, Celeste.” He purrs as he thrusts in and out of her, fucking her roughly with eyes full of sinister devotion. Her stomach throbs with anticipation and she whines for him to keep going. An impatient knock at the door morphs Astarion’s groan of pleasure into one of frustration.

“There’s over a dozen other beds in the next room that will suit you just fine!” He snarls at the door before clamping a hand against Celeste’s mouth as he ruts into her, using his free hand to draw circles around her clit.

“Pardon the interruption.” He pants into her open mouth with a smirk, feeling the slick of her seep from his cock onto his fingers as he thrusts. “Gods, look at you. You don’t have to worry one bit about a good reputation with me, love.”

She tightens around him in response to his taunting, her muffled cries reverberating against his palm. Astarion’s speech becomes less and less coherent, replacing his hand on her mouth with a frenzied kiss, a deep growl escaping his throat.

Celeste whimpers, clawing at his shirt as he sends her over the edge. Astarion grits his teeth, sucking in air before releasing a hum of pleasure against her lips as he spills himself in her. He continues working in slow strokes long past their orgasms until neither of them can bear it. She goes still on the sheets and he finally halts, shuddering against her.

“Hells.” He braces himself against the mattress, panting against her shoulder as he pulls himself out of her. His fingers drift to where his spill mixes with her own arousal, teasing the mess he’s made until she whimpers a surrender. “I don’t think anyone else will want the bed tonight.” He devours a look of feigned disapproval from her face with a long, rough kiss before pushing off of her and readjusting himself inside of his trousers.

Astarion walks towards the balcony overlooking the street. He leans over the railing on his forearms, hands clasped together loosely. One ankle crosses over the other behind him, a delicate balance, his form like a painting. His features are neutral, contemplative. To anyone else, he might seem at ease, but Celeste can almost see him turning over something in his mind. She gives him a moment before tentatively reaching for his cloak near her pile of discarded clothes, drawing it around her naked body and padding across the room to join him.

Sensing her approach, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards and he whirls and brings her close, a thumb brushing against her cheek. He presses his forehead against hers and releases a slow exhale before he meets her gaze under lowered eyelids.

“Now who’s overthinking?” She asks. In response, his lips crush against her in a lingering kiss, smiling against her mouth when he pulls away, assessing with amusement.

Astarion hums a bit and his lip twitches. “Well, aren’t you cheeky?” He opens his arms invitingly, and she lays her head on his chest, looking off in the distance.

“You’re very important to me, Astarion.”

“I do like it when you say things like that.” He wraps his arms possessively around her waist as he speaks.

“Careful, or you might give me the impression you’re in love.”

“Would that be so terrible?” He releases her, but doesn’t move away.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t think-”

“What did you think?” His tone is suddenly cold, almost challenging. “What went through that pretty head of yours when you said that?”

“Astarion, not tonight.” She pleads.

“When is a more convenient time for you, Celeste? Would it really come as a shock if I were in love with you? Because I am…” He searches her eyes, hesitant. “…in love. With you.”

Celeste takes a step back, the emotions swirling within her.

“What, did you think I was just using you for sex?” He asks bitterly.

“So much has happened, I just thought...” She trails off, filled with a mix of regret and confusion.

“Thought I was just using you,” he finishes, his voice going quiet again.

“What of the night on the boat? When you said we were two people enjoying one another’s company? What was I supposed to take away from that?”

“And we did, enjoy it. That’s... the truth, but...” he sighs, and takes her hand, letting his fingers trail against her thumb. “Maybe that was just me trying to convince myself that’s all it was. But…things have changed. This is more than that now…for me.”

“Astarion… I just need a moment to process…”

“Take all the time you need,” Astarion replies, dropping her hand. “Keep the room for the night. I’ll see myself out.”

“Astarion - wait, please,” Celeste pleads, as he stumbles out of the room. The door slams shut, leaving her stunned and alone. The events of the evening overwhelming her thoughts, Celeste curls into a ball on top of the sheets with his cloak draped over her, a single sob escaping her before she forbids herself to cry another second about any of it. The candle on the nightstand fizzles out, leaving her with nothing but darkness.

Leaning with his back against the other side of the door, Astarion runs a hand through his hair. “Damnit,” he mutters under his breath.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/whatever if you did? Full chapter/story on AO3!

#astarion smut #Astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate oc #smut #baldurs gate astarion #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Midnight Chimes

Chapter One: You Look Different in the Daylight

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter CW: None

A/N: First couple chapters have some time jumps, and then the story falls into a linear progression. (This is a cross-post from my prior (now defunct) sideblog and AO3 account). Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“Don’t often see your sort on this side of the street.”

The innkeep’s talking about drow. Like the twins. The Flophouse’s most recent newcomer is Seldarine, just like them. Pretty as the pair of them, too. All twilight skin, some pale shade between blue and violet, and moonlight hair that would glow silver with it if he could get her back outside. Astarion could tell her that while he twirled one finger in the strands and wrapped her dwindling life around another.

Darling, you make the stars so pitifully dim. It’s futile, the way they’re shining now. Not like you.

But she’d have to shed some layers to fit in at Mamzell Amira’s establishment. The drow’s armor is light and leather. At least it’s fitted enough to get a figure for her figure.

Astarion catches the flinty edge of her glare as she turns her cheek, ever so slightly, his way. Sharp as a knife. His stage smile echoes back with an edge just as keen. She might be new in town, but she gets the innkeep’s meaning well enough not to like it.

Must’ve been the tip of a blade that cut that scar curling from her cheek across the bridge of her nose. It’s hairline thin, but it interrupts the freckles powdering her face. No one’s paying her to hang over them like drapery at Sharess’ Caress. Not with that trace imperfection.

Astarion could do it. Pay her enough attention to get her loose, dangling, vulnerable. Play the role of the valiant hero. Spring forth to defend her honor. Show her about town, like a gentleman should. It’s a gambit he’s run more times then he can count.

It would go something like this: sweet words about city secrets she hasn’t seen to lure her back into the starlit streets. A pretty view, perhaps of the Chionthar glimmering, to get her eyes wide. A promise of a better one, somewhere secluded. A heated whisper to get her blushing. His breath on her skin, to start a shiver. Promises, promises tumbling out of his pretty mouth. His name, falling out of hers.

And it would end in blood, like it always does. What a night she’d have. Her first in Baldur’s Gate. Her last alive.

Her life flashes before Astarion’s eyes in a glint of golden light. Sudden, vivid, then all at once gone. Someone else spots his prey and takes a swipe before he can.

The prey, it turns out, bites back.

“Argh -- get your hands off me!”

The garbled cry of indignation doesn’t come from the drow. Her grip latches to the arm of the would-be thief and wrenches it around, forcing his hand to open. Her coin falls back, neatly, into her own waiting palm.

She tosses away her hold on her assailant in the same manner as pitching trash. The thief -- a rather burly half-elf -- cowers, cradling his throbbing hand. A hiss leaks out of him, sending a shiver down Astarion’s spine. The noise is too familiar. Too much like vampiric skin simmering in sunlight.

Astarion grimaces, a twist of pity sinking in his gut. Not for the thief, and not for her, either. For their star-crossed evening, or the fleeting notion of it, stolen away by someone else’s sticky fingers fishing into her back pocket. For a measly pair of coins, she’d bought her own life back. With a twist of a wrist, she wrenched her fate from Astarion’s nimble hands.

It’s for the best, really. Thanks to the thief, Astarion knows better. She’s too clever. Too quick. Too cunning. Violet eyes cut across the room to his watchful ones. Maybe she’d have seen through his schemes, too, and made good on the promise in that look of hers. Like she could spear him straight to the paneling behind his head, same as the curled fliers nailed near the door.

But alas, now he has to do horrible things to someone else.

Astarion’s stomach turns as he sets his sights to the Flophouse door. Finding what he needs on the other side of the street, yet again, sounds like the opposite of fun. Someone drunk, naive, unsuspecting. He thought the drow checked those last two boxes. Astarion’s eyes drift to the thieving half-elf, now stooped and sulking in a seat as far from the drow as the room allows.

Someone has to pay. It won’t be Astarion, under Godey’s biting blades. Not again. Not tonight. He’ll take his chances with whatever happens while he’s under someone, anyone else.

Astarion’s fingernails drag into the woodgrain of the table before he shoves from his seat. He lets his chair scrape back loud enough to scrape the thief’s eyes off the floor. By the time Astarion’s sauntered over to the vacant chair at the half-elf’s table, the other man’s eyes have oozed, messy and lustful, all over Astarion’s best assets. Most of them, anyway.

With one click of his tongue, like the tug of a leash, the stranger’s wide, blue eyes snap to Astarion’s. Good boy.

“Tough break,” Astarion nearly purrs, letting the words roll slowly off his tongue, letting his hips drop slower into the seat. “Not as tough as you, I’d wager.”

The other man scoffs, as if without a care. But he wets his lips before speaking, like he needs to test them first. “Shouldn’t be,” he says gruffly. “Should be, if someone’s lived their whole life somewhere, they shouldn’t have to settle for scraps while all these foreigners come rolling in.”

“You’re so right,” Astarion croons, leaning in to prop his chin with his hand. “And you should say it.”

And he does. In excess. Punctuated with chest-puffing, peppered in curse words and vaguely political bleating. Almost like he’s practiced this little diatribe as much as Astarion’s recited his best hooks. His mark seems pent-up, at least, in one sense. Before Astarion can allude to another, his ear catches on the more civilized conversation happening over at the counter.

“I’ll need a name, then,” the innkeep -- a surly dwarf -- prompts.

The drow swallows. “Tav…riel.”

It’s nearly two words, with the amount of hesitation in between. The innkeep asks again.

“Tavriel?” He mutters. She nods. He eyes her warily, scribbling the name down into his book. “You some sort of bard or something?”

“Sure." If you want me to be, the careful lilt of her voice says.

“Never heard a flute I was fond of,” the innkeep prattles irritably. The offending instrument is strapped near the drow’s waist. “Too pitchy.”

“Sounds like you’ve never met someone who knew what to do with it.”

Astarion perks a brow. It’s near enough to one of his usual lines that he stores it away in the back of his brain for later. It needs refinement. Not his fav-

“It’s not my favorite, either, but it’s easier to travel with,” Tavriel says.

“You any good with it? Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”

“Mm, you probably wouldn’t have,” Tavriel says, unperturbed. A clever sort of smile creeps onto her lips. “I’m a killer with a fiddle. Not sure anyone’s lived to tell the tale.”

Well, what a tease. Astarion’s never heard of a bard that didn’t very desperately want to be heard of. What else would she be, could she be, if not a bard? Maybe a rake, if her claws weren’t so cutting. Teeth are far better for that sort of delicate work.

She swipes the brass key from the counter. Astarion watches until her boots disappear up the stairs and she’s gone. His mark never notices Astarion’s attention was anywhere else. Suppressing a tired sigh, Astarion slips back into his shtick like a sword in a sheath.

Time to get to it, before the darkness runs out.

“Oh, yes, darling. Fuck those foreigners. But…wouldn't you rather with a real Baldurian?”

Astarion’s stomach swoops, harder than it bucked on the fall from the nautiloid. It doesn’t matter how hard he runs for the trees, for the sparse and insufficient shade they might cast. Doesn’t matter that his legs pump as fast as his exquisite body allows. He should be burning by now. Should be dead, at least twice over.

If he had a heartbeat, it’d be hammering in his throat. He feels the pressure all the same. Every swallow comes as a choke, even as he staggers to a stop in the meager shadows.

Astarion’s eyes dart towards that scorching orb hanging, searing, and ominous overhead. The light glints back like a damn guillotine. Any moment now, the drop will come. This farce will end. This figment of freedom, the barest wisp of it, will evaporate. Ashes will be all that’s left in the wake of two centuries of pure, utter, shit.

Ashes do fall. They drift in fat flakes from the sky, coating the beach in soot. The acrid tang cloys with the spray of saltwater in the air. But his body’s still whole enough to tremble. Astarion turns his palms over in silent awe, watching his own skin alight. The flames don’t come. Only…

Warmth. Dainty as a first kiss. Across his throat, flooding his cheeks, his chest, his every inch. A smile as faint as a ghost dares to grace Astarion’s lips.

He hears his own shaky, unbidden laugh like it’s that of a stranger. It came from someone else’s body, surely. This is someone else’s body. His would’ve been in cinders, barring some very, very belated divine intervention.

Or, apparently, an illithid invasion. The up close and personal kind.

Astarion rips his gaze away as it begins to water. Scorch marks stain his sight for a full minute after. Inkblots of bright, burning color. It’s as he’s blinking rapidly that he sees her, picking her way up the slope, past the wreckage.

Astarion’s seen her before. He’s sure of it, now that she’s nearer. Now that he can see her in the full, unadulterated light of the sun. (The sun. The sun. The fucking sun!)

Outside of the nautiloid’s bloody glow, her hair’s white as frost. Her complexion’s less rosy, more violet. Out here, she could be a normal drow.

He tenses, picking up the faint prickling of voices in the distance. She’s not alone. Astarion doesn’t recognize the other woman, a half-elf with a black, chained braid dangling down her back like a whip.

But he remembers the drow. She was on board that blasted ship. She knows about the damn worm lodged behind his eye socket. Maybe they both do. His fist clenches on the hilt of his blade, still tucked in its sheath.

As Astarion watches from afar, magic wakes in half-elf’s palm, vivid and blinding. It sears into the bare cerebrum of some crawling creature snapping at the drow’s heels. The creature utters a shrill screech before it slumps over, steaming. His eyes narrow. Seems the pair of them are chummy, at very least, if not co-conspirators. He creeps back further into the brush.

Both of them will pay. They’ll have to. At least half as much as Cazador will make Astarion pay for this…this…impossible escapade.

It can’t last. Astarion’s brow knits in with the stiffness in his jaw. Certain doom surrounds him like the sheer sides of a cliff. One one hand lies the inevitable, excruciating plummet into ceremorphosis. Astarion’s skin crawls with the thought. The final destruction of his body. The devouring of his mind. Someone, something else, stealing his entire self and reshaping him into a tentacled puppet.

On the other hand, Cazador would never settle for being outdone by some squid-faced freak. He’ll get creative for this. More than he ever has before. Astarion’s teeth grate against each other.

This can’t last. Oh, but it has to.

Another glow of magic, dimmer this time, catches his eye. It blinks and fades from the drow’s gloved fingers like a firefly. But it has the same radiance as the earlier spell. The same radiance as the delightful glow seeping over his skin. Though, thankfully, the sunshine has proven far less lethal. A dead trail of intellect devourers lies in their wake.

They’re clerics, then, he thinks with a swell of distaste. Fools, but capable ones. Though, the drow is perhaps less of the latter. Still, she’s hardly a victim. The both of them could very well be villains, emerging from the smoking wreckage of their mothership. They’ve come close enough, he can hear the sand crunch beneath their footsteps. Hear their heartbeats, still quickened from their fight, pumping the blood of thinking creatures through their veins.

Astarion sucks in a steadying breath. Not because he needs it to live. Because he needs to perform.

“Help! Help, I need some help!” He bellows.

Their pace hastens to a jog up the hill. In a matter of moments, their wary eyes latch to his plaintive, pleading ones.

“Hurry!” He gasps, panting for good measure. “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered! There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

The stronger-looking one -- the half-elf -- hangs back. She might be the smarter one, too. The drow isn’t so bothered by brains or caution. She comes within an arm's length, eyes wide and doey. She scans the brush for danger like she isn’t the prey, one hand wrapping the hilt of her rapier.

“There,” he says, slipping into step behind the drow as her feet tamp down the brittle grass. “Can you see it?”

She doesn’t see the knife drawn in a flash. Not until her back hits the dirt, and the blade bites against the pretty flesh of her throat. Astarion tumbles down with her, keeping a vice-grip on the dagger. Her pulse practically leaps against the knife, smacking in a wet, sumptuous rhythm. The back of his throat burns, raw, ragged. Thirsty.

The urge rips through him, sudden and staggering. Astarion bites back a breath, just to bite something. The drow shifts beneath his blade, grunting in indignation.

“Shh, shh shh. Not a sound,�� he hisses, soft as velvet. “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours. And you,” he growls, louder for their little audience. “Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.”

The half-elf isn’t half-convinced. “I need her alive,” she snaps, light flaring at her fingertips as she dares a step closer. “Stow that blade, or I’ll show you just how messy things can get.”

But one step is all she dares. Astarion’s eyes narrow wickedly. His captive has value. Good to know. “Promises, promises. But I have other business, I’m afraid.”

His gaze hardens on the drow, who’s gone so sweetly still for him. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

Wordlessly, she complies. Good girl.

“Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me!”

Her eyes flash, defiant. “We were prisoners, too!”

Astarion’s lips curl with a snarl. “Don’t lie to me -- AH!”

His own memories burst like blisters in his mind’s eye. Dark streets and darker alleys with darker endings. Unlucky souls, lured away, alone, to their fates. Except he isn’t alone. Astarion doesn’t know how, but he’s certain. She’s in his fucking head.

The connection snaps and shatters as sudden as it came. Astarion recoils, reeling as the remnants sting between his temples. “What was that? What’s going on?!”

“Stalker,” his captive spits scornfully.

“I--what?”

“You were in Baldur’s Gate,” the drow huffs. “Fraygo’s Flophouse.”

Gods, you’ll have to be more specific, he nearly sighs. But the slice of violet eyes cuts him short. Astarion’s brow pinches in thought.

“You sat there and stared at me while I was nearly robbed. Not so helpful then. Kind of acting like the opposite right about now.”

It’s ringing bells, but she doesn’t have her flute. She didn’t have that silver symbol, hanging around her neck, back in the Gate. She said she was a bard back then, and she looked like far less of a cleric when she said it.

And Astarion hadn’t noticed the tattoo curving with her left cheekbone. Little birds in flight. He wonders, fleetingly, what on earth could have possessed her to mark her own pretty little face with such a thing.

“AH-- urgh!”

Her hand grips his wrist and twists harsh enough for his vision to flood with white. His eyes burn. By the time he blinks to clear them, his own knife pokes the hollow of his throat.

Cute trick. The same fate her would-be thief suffered, he remembers ruefully. Before Astarion suffered the thief, and the thief suffered what Astarion baited him for.

She scrambles backwards, gaining as much distance as she grants him. They stagger to stand, dust caking his doublet, and dirt streaking her leathers.

“We’ve been wormed, too,” she says, stance softening. “The tadpoles can connect our thoughts. We’re trying to get rid of them. If you’re done trying to stab me, we might let you tag along for the ride.”

“We will?” Her companion mutters skeptically.

You will? Astarion wonders, equally mystified.

She turns his knife once, twice, thrice between her fingers, like she’s playing a parlor game. When the spinning stops, the blade end rests in her gloved palm.

“I’m Naomi,” she says, offering him the hilt of his own dagger like it’s a handshake. Tentatively, Astarion takes it.

“Tavriel,” he mutters faintly, the name swimming out of the depths of all the others to the forefront of his memory.

She shrugs. “If you’d prefer to stay on a surname basis. ‘Tav’ is fine, too.”

Impossible starlight seeps between the thinning veil of clouds above. Silvered blades of grass glint like so many knives under a shimmer centuries in the making.

Astarion lays beneath the clearing sky, his back cushioned by damp, flattened grass. Warmth radiates across his chest, where another impossibility rests her cheek. His free hand strokes idly, thoughtlessly, through her ivory hair. The motion comes easier than breathing ever could’ve.

This -- the two of them, tangled here -- is centuries in the making, too.

They lay fully clothed and content. His other hand wraps Naomi’s waist, tucking the heat of her against his skin like a blanket. Cuddling, of all things. Something in him still balks at the notion. Yet, here he is, yet again.

It’s something they get to do, now, when he wants to. There’s yet to be a night he hasn’t, in the weeks since he stammered out his confession and Naomi laid her hand in his.

He wanted something else to be real between them, too, tonight, when he discovered his favorite drow had wandered away from their merry band of misfits. He found her doused in the starlight she looks so good in, sat on some rock between the gnarled trees, ever oblivious to the small war she started between Astarion’s mind and body.

If there were more life in the trees, it might’ve been reminiscent of another night spent together, after the tieflings’ celebration simmered down into quiet, sleepy cinders. If it were a night like that, he’d have his hands on the small of her back, where she arched it in a stretch. He’d have the rest of her lilac skin soaking Selune’s evening shine, not just the lovely length of her neck above her collar, and that succulent slice peering from between her breasts. He’d have her pliant. He’d have her gasping.

And he’d be free. Of his trousers, at the very least. A flare of yearning ached so earnestly beneath his ribs. Memory and loathing speared it down, sharp, only moments later.

The sound of frantic scrubbing put that battle to bed, for now, and sparked a new one. She was at it again. After Shadowheart already tried to put an end to it in the camp. So that’s why she snuck away.

Astarion cleared his throat pointedly, eyes drifting to the black stains of spellwork scrawled over Naomi’s arms. The marks didn’t let up. Neither did she, until Astarion stayed her hand, and took it in his.

“Really, darling,” he chided. “At that rate, you’ll rub yourself bloody.”

He expected an eyeroll, at least, if not a snicker. But her throat merely bobbed. “They haven’t faded since our fight at the portal.”

“Oh, that was only, what? A few days ago?”

It’s normal, Gale told her. And Shadowheart, too. Well…some of it is. In a paraphrased sense.

“It’s never hung around this long before,” she said, frowning. “I’m not even sure what spell it’s from. There were so many of them, and they all rushed me at once--”

“They were trying to close the door on Halsin and Thaniel,” Astarion said, matter-of-factly. “And we stopped them like the good little heroes we are.”

Sure, their less-than-living foes seemed to aim in one particular direction, at one particular target, during the whole hold-the-gate ordeal. But they barely clipped her barely half the time. Naomi’s fleet-footed in a fight. And what she couldn’t dodge, she fluted away with that cute little ditty that steers their enemies’ arrows elsewhere. The purpling bruise at her shoulder is an exception. Her cutting words were keener than whatever wounded her.

Besides, none of them came away from the past few days without the marks to show it. But those who survived Ketheric Thorm’s final, bony bout are in far better shape than the general’s dusty remnants. Even after they had to jump down that gods-forsaken pit into rancid hell just to kill him for good. The thought alone stirs a shiver down Astarion’s spine, still.

“Now,” he said, steering her by the shoulder, “come keep your frigid lover warm and look at the good you’ve done.”

So, they set aside the notions either of them had in mind, and settled instead for…this. A piece of peace, resting among the patchy tufts of grass grown over a rooftop in what used to be Reithwin. Naomi stares up at their handiwork. The scatter of stars isn’t so different from the freckles dusted over her nose, nearly hiding the thin scar that angles over the bridge of it.

A muted glow leaks over the so-called shadow-cursed lands from the crescent cut of the moon hanging overhead. The first, hard-won taste of what this place could be now that it’s free from its curse. It’ll be different in the daylight, just like Astarion was when he stumbled into it after two hundred years apart. But they’ll be on the road again before they see it glaze over this place.

On the path, at last, to Baldur’s Gate. And to Cazador. To vengeance, absolution, ascension, and all sorts of fairytale words that were once greater than Astarion’s imagination. Now, they’re bloody nightmares in his own arsenal, two hundred years of them, on the cusp of release. Now, they’re promises. Dreams with teeth.

It brings to mind the first burst of blood on his tongue, from that soft neck that nuzzles so near him, now. With that first taste came color, life, and heat where there was only frailty and feebleness before. What fresh sweetness will Cazador’s blood bring, painting Astarion’s hands, pooling like a cloak at his feet?

A whole new world of it, he’s sure. One that’s his to claim. His to share and shape as he sees fit.

Astarion breathes in, not because he needs to, but because he wants the trace scent of lavender in his nose as Naomi’s hair tickles the tip of it. Her heartbeat flutters down from her earlier anxiousness, pattering into a steady rhythm. He feels its mark against his ribs and thinks, for the first time, he understands what might possess lunatics like her to get tattoos on purpose.

That little rhythm should settle there, at his side. Always. Like the little music boxes she’s so fond of. She didn’t take the one she found in Moonrise Towers, so Astarion did. It’s been by her bedside ever since. He sees the little glimmer of it, every night he slinks into her tent.

A gentle, but insistent tug pulls at the corner of his thoughts. He peers down at his present company with an arched brow. Her eyes are peacefully shut, but the mischievous smile gives her away.

Hesitantly, Astarion lets his head roll back to the earth, and his eyes slide shut, too. All right, love. What is it you want to show me?

The tadpole connection hums, all at once familiar and foreign. Listen, she says back, with the same smile in her thoughts as on her lips. He lets the connection pull him through and stifles a soft sound of awe in the back of his throat.

Quiet. Blessed, blissful quiet. Like none she’s ever known.

Naomi’s ear rests over his heart, but it doesn’t beat for her. Not literally, at least. He’d still heavily negotiate any figurative sense of the matter. But it doesn’t matter that it isn’t beating. It’s not what she wants. Not what she…needs.

He feels the ache of it, as she lifts her cheek, briefly, and music flits, frenetic, though her mind. Spells and stanzas and half-remembered rhymes in mangled cacophony. She lays her head back down, and lets out a long breath. Astarion echoes the sound, unbidden, as the connection withdraws, and he’s left with the pluck of her heartbeat in his head again.

It’s never quiet. Not in her head. But it can be. With him. If he hadn’t prayed so hard to them already, he’d swear the gods gifted him this woman. Astarion knows better. The illithids did.

She shifts with a sigh that echoes in his own ribs. He follows the motion and finds her staring at her palms again. Like she could will away the sooty stains. They might pass for evening gloves, if they didn’t look so��veiny. But they don’t hurt. He’s asked her.

Precious thing, what on earth is wrong with you, to think there’s anything wrong with you?

“You--” Astarion stammers, brow furrowing as he begins again, incredulous. “What in all the heavens above and hells below could have ever possessed you of the notion that you’re cursed?”

The softness in his throat, his whispered words on fogged breath, curling quiet into the night air, that’s entirely her doing. Her undoing of so much of what Astarion thought was in his nature.

Naomi looks up at him, with an aged sort of sadness brimming beneath the quiet huff of her laugh. “It was all the dead people, dear.”

Astarion scoffs. “Darling, I’m hurt that you could think of my fine company as anything other than a blessing.”

“You are my silver lining,” she breathes back, as if her words themselves were fragile lace. Astarion feels the delicate brush of them over his neck. It grows suddenly taut, choking the notion of other words right out of him.

When his head rolls back to the ground again, something, perhaps that useless heart of his, is trying to punch its way straight through his chest. He feels winded, like he took a tumble without featherfall. Like she smacked him with a damn brick.

He is as much her unintended consequence as she is his. One that might’ve been impossible if fate was otherwise. Resplendent light, only made possible by ravenous shadows.

Silver linings.

And you are mine, he thinks, only to himself, as his hands find her hair again. Aren’t you?

#thank you all for the patience and support as I cross post from AO3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #bg3 #naomi tavriel #midnight chimes #my writing

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ravengards-rogue · 1 month

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the main difference between arthur and john is that arthur talks you through it and john doesn’t.

arthur, in particular, is real fond of talking it through. its his propensity for being thorough in important endeavors. no matter how fast or how slow the sex is or when it happens—arthur will be there to guide you through each step. he’s not a man of many words, not really anyway. but that’s mostly because there’s so few people he feels the need to share with. you though? oh arthur talks to you for hours. about anything on your mind and his. you’ve heard the deep, low rasp of him against your ear laid out under the stars tens of times. but its different when he’s touching you. a gloved hand between your legs, whispering rough romantics against your ear. “real wet for me, barely touched ya. you like that, im guessin’. oh don’t fuss, sweetheart, im just teasing. easy, easy—go on and feel good.”

john, though— is a man of action. he’s not articulate or thoughtful in the same way arthur is, all gunsmoke and sharp edges. he prefers not to draw it out because he always feels like he’s running on borrowed time. john doesn’t need to tell you anything, though he does like to listen should you feel different. his words feel empty to him, you know. instead of nights talking, its late night horse rides to beautiful places. shared cigarettes and borrowed jackets, john wants to show you himself. john expresses his love by taking you apart. single-minded in the endeavors of pleasing. the only sound your voice whining and his laughter, barely audible and so delighted by how he makes you feel. his nose against your sex or the tip of his cock pressing against you. deliberate and tense. all john needs is for you to be there, so he can show you all of it. silent but so, so deadly. all of him for you, a quiet promise.

#zero.thoughts #john marston x reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #sharess' whisper #IM SOOOOOOJSHDJFJSJDNWNDNAJ

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silkendandelion · 7 months

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I wish Tav had the option to be snarkier when talking to the Madame at Sharess’ Caress

She literally goes on for an entire minute about who would be perfect for Tav, and I feel like comedy gold was missed there, considering Tav’s rebuttal could vary wildly depending whether they’re—

- in a relationship, fwb, polycule

- are abstinent (willingly or otherwise)

- married to their god/oath/craft

- friends to lovers plot line

- holding out for a nonromanceable NPC

Like, my Tav, Dayedan, is going for the long haul with an Astarion friends-to-lovers shtick, and even in Act 3 they’re not talking about it so Day—after months of pining, he’s a man on the edge.

-let’s the Madame finish her spiel-

Dayedan: “Actually, I’ve found I can’t achieve orgasm unless I’m thinking about being straddled by a long-legged blonde who’s undoing my belt with one hand and reaching for my wallet with the other, all while whispering in my ear “You’ve got awfully clever hands, Mr. Vernal, but you’re still an idiot”, and the guilt is slowly eating me alive …You got anything for that?”

And the Madame, bless her, just goes—

“Give me 10 minutes.”

#oc fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 oc #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #tav #baldurs gate tav #male tav

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sorryseraphim · 4 months

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helene x enver: first meeting

Helene basked quietly under the sun, the gentle breeze touching her skin, although dry and hot. Her eyes were closed, a smile plastered on her face as she listened to the buzzing of the people. Sitting on one of the roofs by the Lower City, she didn’t mind the heat and noise, for, in fact, she craved it. Most of her life spent inside her father’s temple is starting to take its toll.

“My lady, should we go now to Sharess’ Caress?” Sceleritas appeared on her side. Opening her eyes to welcome the sunlight, she took a deep breath before looking at the goblin, her only companion for the past decade and a half.

“They can wait. I intend to sit around here as long as I want.” She pulled out her dagger, crimson red shining under the sun. Its blade curved; an heirloom passed after her heritage was made known to her. She produced an apple from her pack, slowly cutting pieces using her blade and taking time to eat each slice she made.

“My lady, as much as I want to tolerate you in all your glory, we must also be punctual.

Helene stood up and brushed the dirt from her pants. She lifted the hood of her cloak, concealing her pale hair. Sheathing her dagger, she walked away from the goblin before replying. “Who are we even meeting anyway? Is he a Lord? Is he the King of Faerun that my Father even urged me to come?”

She checked her gloves, ensuring there was no visible blood that may become a topic of discussion for this meeting. Sceleritas reminded her that whoever it may be is crucial for the cults’ rise to power. That it will be important to further her goal–when all things end, and she remains the last living soul.

“A Banite, my lady. One I heard is to be chosen by Bane himself. From what I gathered, he is an infamous arms dealer. There are already talks of him running as a politician, aiming to be a lord of the city.”

“Ugh. A Banite, out of all people.” The thought of meeting whoever they were was already appalling to her. Hiding how much it bothered her, she huffed softly. “Name?”

“One is named Enver Gortash, my lady.”

She looked at the horizon, breathing deeply as she took another slice of the apple she’d been cutting earlier. She doesn't need any help; she knows she will succeed in doing it on her own, and yet if her Father commands, she will need to follow.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

At that exact moment, Gortash waited inside a private room in the brothel he had mentioned as their designated meeting place. He’s growing impatient; not only is it felt on the wooden floor of Sharess Caress, but it is also heard throughout the room. The men he dragged with looked at him nervously. In a soft, shaky breath, one leaned forward and whispered, “Sir, are we sure the Bhaalspawn really exists?”

“Are you telling me our intel is not correct? That you lot are not competent?”

“N-no, Sir.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his right temples. Bane, give me more patience, he thought. The Bhaalspawn may not show up, but he had his hopes. He sent them a rather tempting proposition: a partnership towards greater resurgence and, in time, take over the city from the shadows. It was not easy weeding out the Bhaalists. He had suspicions when the murders around the city increased tenfold; only one God reveled in such a gruesome act.

He sighed; he might as well rethink the entire plot should the Bhaalspawn not show up when the door gently opened. A tall, slender, hooded figure stepped in. He noticed the curves of her body despite the cloak covering her torso. One of the girls below maybe, looking for coins, he thought. He stared at her for a moment and let out a soft chuckle.

“Forgive me, lady, but this is a private room we have acquired. We’re waiting for valuable goods, but we do appreciate your offering to entertain us and—”

“I’m not a whore.” She said bluntly. Despite the low hem of the hood covering her face, he noticed how she was directly staring at him, with no hint of emotion as she spoke. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, the cogs working inside his brain as it dawned upon him.

“You were looking for me. Here I am. What do you want?” Helene said as she closed the door behind her. She lowered her hood and revealed the entirety of her face. Half-elf, she looked quite young, yet the intensity of her blood-red eyes held years of secrets untold, her face framed by her pale blonde hair, making him intrigued— interested even that Bhaal had chosen such a being to be his spawn. He smiled softly, laughing at himself.

“You are the Bhaalspawn?” Amused that despite their intensive search to gather intelligence regarding her and what she looked like, they didn’t even come near to figuring it out. Rolling her eyes, Helene finally answered with disgust. “You are wasting my time.”

“Forgive me, I am just quite surprised. I had expected someone entirely different. From what we have gathered, someone ruthless and feared by the Bhaalist initiates. I believe you made them swear a sacred oath not to reveal who their leaders are.”

She didn’t even flinch. With a quick gesture, a glowing figure appeared next to Gortash, followed by a quick choking sound and, finally, a crack. The man on his right lay dead on the floor, his neck bent at odd angles.

“Hmmm…you were saying?” Helene pursed her lips, staring at him still. The man on his left stood at the ready, his sword pointed at her, although it was visible that their knees were starting to tremble, their beading sweat on their temple, awakening her lust to terrify them further after her show of skill.

She tilted her head a little. If her eyes could devour him whole, she might have done it already as she stared at him intensely. “You wish to form an alliance? Resurgence for both our parties?”

“I do. And we have a lot to discuss, but first…”

Gortash stood up, his hands clasped together as a smirk formed on his face. “Lady, you don’t need to be so worked up. Forgive me; I forgot my manners earlier. Enver Gortash, at your service.” He bowed briefly, showing that he recognized the divine blood coursing through her veins. He reached out, offering a hand. She didn’t move for a while, only studying how his practiced smile and eyes stared back at her, dark and intriguing.

“I’m no lady of any house. And I know better that I am not here just for our respective cults’ resurgence. You yearn for something more.” She let a hand fall on her side, feeling the hilt of her blade underneath her robes as she waited for him to speak once more.

“You’re clever.” He hesitated momentarily, his gaze falling on the wooden floor as he gathered his thoughts, carefully choosing his next words. “Yes, I didn’t invite you for our cults to simply rise. Say, would you be interested in raiding the House of Wonders?”

For a moment, Gortash swore; she saw her lips curl into a smile, which, in a blink, faded immediately. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Wouldn’t it be polite if I were to know your name in return? Establish the basics of trust?”

She pondered for a moment before she quietly uttered her name– the name that would drive him crazed and close to madness for the years to come. The moment she let her name leave her lips, their lives were doomed to fall.

“Helene.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #durge spoilers #bg3 durge #durge #durgetash #gortash x durge #dark urge #the dark urge #lord enver gortash #enver flymm #enver gortash #gortash smut #lord gortash #gortash #bg3 gortash

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unreadpoppy · 25 days

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Party Banter #2

Read on AO3

Part 1 here

Series summary: A bunch of short scenarios involving Minthara and Galatea, based on some of the party's in-game banter.

A/N: Pretend that Lae’zel’s combat romance scene happens in act 3 ok.

Warning: the beggining of this chapter is very steamy.

It was late at night, when Galatea sneaked off into her lover’s tent, making sure not to make much noise. Slowly getting in, she smiled, seeing that Minthara was already naked. While the rest of their companions had all gone to sleep, Minthara and Galatea’s activities were just beginning.

After all, tonight was the night that Minthara would finally debut her most recent acquisition.

She had first seen it when the group visited Sharess Caress. While the brothel itself paled in comparison to the ones at Menzoberranzan, the drow was intrigued by one obscured area of the establishment, hidden behind a curtain. Minthara momentarily left the group, and taking one peak behind inside, she soon found out what it was: a small shop, full of sexual objects on display.

As the vendor happily showed her their items, Minthara found one in particular to be of great interest. The object itself was made of a material she couldn't recognize but it was shaped like a cock, with its tip slightly tilted to the side. It was connected to a bunch of leather straps, of which the vendor was happy to show Minthara how to put it on.

When she reunited with the group, smirking, Galatea was quick to ask where she had gone off. Minthara’s reply was a simple “you’ll find out soon.”

And now, as the drow relentlessly pounded into her, Galatea grabbed the back of her neck, bringing her close, whispering “This is the best money you have ever spent” before kissing Minthara.

After they both finished, Minthara slowly dragged the phallic object out of her lover and laid next to her. The two were tired, staying on the ground as they regained their breath, when Galatea heard something.

She sat up, looking around.

“What’s wrong?” Minthara asked, frowning.

“I’m hearing a commotion outside” She stood up, taking a peak behind the tent’s opening. “Oh gods…” she whispered, turning her head towards Minthara. “You should see this.”

The drow stood up, a brow raised as she looked in the same direction as Galatea. Soon, Minthara was smirking.

“It seems we aren’t the only ones having fun tonight.”

…

Minthara, Lae’zel and Galatea had gone out to the city, to buy supplies for the oncoming fights. Usually, Shadowheart would have come along, as she was one of the few healers of the group but she woke up…undisposed. Tired, as she claimed, from a restless night.

The tiefling approached the gith, a mischievous look on her face. “So, Lae’zel…it seems you and Shadowheart have finally gotten over your little disagreements.”

The fighter took a deep breath. “That is none of your business.”

“Oh please, the tadpole connect us all. Hard to keep secrets.” Galatea said. “Just admit it, you found love too.”

Lae’zel shot her a murderous look, but before she could say anything, Minthara stepped in between them.

“Speaking of which'' she began “a few pointers, Lae’zel. I heard you and your lover locked in combat, but the test you set was not rigorous enough.”

The gith huffed. “As if you could come up with something better.”

Minthara only smirked. “Oh yes. A personal suggestion, if you will.” The drow briefly looked at Galatea before turning to Lae’zel again. “Next time, tie them to the ground, and do not release them until you are both satisfied.”

“Hm…you have given me ideas.” Lae’zel replied, smirking. She then chuckled as a very red faced Galatea picked up her pace, walking ahead, with Minthara sprinting after her.

#minthara bg3 #minthara baldurs gate 3 #minthara baenre #oc: galatea von dewilde #minthara x tav #minthara x galatea #lae'zel bg3 #mention of lae'zel/shadowheart #minthara centric #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #bg3 fanfic

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bhaalbaaby · 6 months

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Get to Know: Penelope!

doing another OC Questionnaire! Questions by the lovely @spacebarbarianweird

Does your Tav have any scars or tattoos? What are their origins? Penelope at the beginning of the game doesn't have scars. After the fight with Nere, she does get a slash on her cheek from when Astarion was under his control and killed her. She does have tattoos that are just not in the game. She usually has spiderwebs on her ass and heart-shaped nipples. (nsfw in the links lmao)

What does your Tav believe in? Do they have some weird superstitions? She believes in Selûne but is not devout. She doesn't have any superstitions really.

How does Tav want to die? Rich and old lol

What is your Tav's class and why? Did Tav choose it themselves? She is a bard because og!Penelope was in a band and played the bass, and guitar, and sang. BG3!Penelope came across being a bard because her father gifted her a spider lute and she took classes in Elturel. When she moved to Baldur's Gate, she picked up the flute and harp.

What are your Tav's prejudices about races, cultures, genders, and places? She mostly thinks about them in terms of money. If they're from places like Waterdeep, Calisham, or Amn, she knows they'll likely have more money on them and tries to befriend or seduce them. Wizards are a class she watches out for since they're mostly easy to please as long as she strokes their egos. She is interested in Drow since her father was one. Since she's a Tiefling, they do not give her the time of day and don't believe she's half-Drow. She doesn't take it to heart anymore and will only tell Drow she can trust.

Does Tav want to have children? Sometimes she gives this thought, but then she's like no! She doesn't have the time to dedicate to them. She does help Halsin in the end monetarily with the other children, but won't volunteer to actually help.

Does your Tav have a family? Siblings? Living relatives? Her mother passed away on the way to Baldur's Gate. She thinks her father is still alive, but back in Menzoberranzan. She had an older brother and younger sister but lost contact when she left Elturel. She hopes they're alive, but doesn't think about them much so she doesn't get sad.

What can make your Tav cry? Thinking about her family and how alone she is. Also, she is a very woe-is-me person so being in the whole situation with the tadpole is putting her on edge.

What are your Tav's political opinions? She stays out of politics for the most part since all walks come into Sharess's Caress. She doesn't like obviously evil people in power but is wary of those for good.

What language does Tav speak? Why? She speaks Infernal/Abyssal and Common. She knows a little bit of Drowic, but not really. Her mom taught her Infernal. Her father tried to swear off Lolth so he didn't speak much Drowic in front of her.

What is Tav's favorite genre of stories? She loves romance and erotica.

Heavy or light sleeper? Light sleeper in the wilderness. Heavy sleeper in a bed.

What is Tav afraid of? She is scared of giant spiders and dying alone

Is your Tav neurodivergent? She has anxiety, depression, and PTSD. She can handle it most of the time unless it gets triggered by her phobia or if a man yells/forces her to do anything.

What stupid things does Tav believe in? She believes in wishing on stars. When she sees a falling star, she immediately stops talking to whisper her wish. She also believes in wishing on eyelashes too.

What is your Tav's comfort food? She loves potato wedges.

How does Tav prefer to sleep? She likes sharing her bed with someone and being in an actual bed. She's been in the city too long and prefers it that way.

What coping mechanisms does Tav have? She doesn't! She just forces herself to think about something else and not deal with things if they're too stressful because that's easier than actually dealing with them.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 tav #tav: penelope #oc musings

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mslanna · 6 months

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Don't You Fucking Know What You Are?

Had an idea. Putting this down to maybe pick up again later. (Any body here love Dead To The World by Charlaine Harris as much as I do? 🥺 )

Night falls and the darkness doesn't hide that he doesn't belong. People turn their heads, some whisper, some point, some laugh. It is because he's naked. That much he knows. People are supposed to wear clothes and he has none. It feels strange to think of himself as people, though.

Somebody calls after him to return to Sharess' Caress. He knows that place but he also know it is not where he needs to go. Still, the image is clear in his head: an expensive suite, huge pool and luxurious bed, rose petals on the tiles and wine waiting for – for something.

He weaves his way through the narrow streets. The cobbles bite into his feet, not used to direct exposure. He is tempted to steal something – boots, pants, a table cloth to wrap up in. But this city is full of people even in the back roads. And it's not far. That, he also knows.

Ignoring the looks – offended, leering, mocking – he moves on. In the falling night, only the puddles of light from the street lamps are a real exposure.

He find the right door finally – a modest house, well-kept despite the obvious wear and tear. He doesn't think he was ever here before. But he knows that this is the place. For a moment, he hesitates with a hand on the bell. He rings.

Steps approach, boots, and the door opens into a warm interior. Light outlines a heavyset human, hair short, eyes dark in the shadows framing their face. He doesn't know them. Hope shatters as he searches the face for something to recognise, but there is nothing.

The human stares. Then a singles word falls from their lips: "Raphael?"

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #mel writes fanfic #sleazy second-hand car dealer #yes that's a nin song title #raphael x tav

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jacobseed · 3 months

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“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” neri/raphael?

Hiiiiiiiii I give up editing this but thank you so much i spent way too much time on this insane fic but wow was it fun to write ily

-----

Neri stares up at the stars, disturbed by thoughts of recent discoveries, her ever nearing doom, dreams of the life she could’ve had had she not found herself on the Nautiloid. Now there’s a parasite in her head, she’s missing an eye, and she’s cursed to see this adventure through to the end.

Her brows furrow as she sits up, runs her fingers through her hair and sighs deeply. She needs to clear her head, alone, despite the dangers of Orin’s assassins, the Absolute, and the prying eyes of the Steel Watch. Without waking her sleeping companions, Neri pulls her cloak over her head and slips out of the camp.

Baldur’s Gate is lively and yet, quiet all the same. Rats scour the streets with reckless abandon and the wind blows between the buildings, creating a haunting melody. However, every inch and alleyway was devoid of citizens and she felt relief from the emptiness.

Except, she wasn’t alone.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Neri has her dagger at the ready as she turns, glaring at the man who dared to sneak up on her.

“I mean you no harm.” He steps forward as if he wished to whisper a secret. “I bring you a message.”

She brandishes her dagger and the moonlight reflects off the blade, shining across the man’s features. “Not a step closer or I’ll slit your throat. What is your message?”

He reveals a letter from his cloak and shakily holds it out to her. “Just that I was to deliver this to you.”

Neri eyes the letter carefully and the crimson red seal that held it closed. She snatches the letter away and glares at the man to leave and that, he fearfully does. Her finger traces over the imprinted ‘R’ in the wax and her heart flutters for a moment.

Black ink stains the page in the corner as if the jar had been spilled but her eyes trail over the delicate words written neatly on the page.

“My Dear Neri, My mind has become plagued by the vision of you and it’s been a constant torment. Should you need a bit of reprieve or care to release me of my agony, I will be waiting for you in the Devil’s Den. Eternally yours, R.”

The Devil’s Den. She’d only the faintest idea what that could mean- in her nervousness of following Sorn and Nym to their chambers did her eye catch the plaque outside a room. Neri thought nothing of it at the time, but she should have known with all the talk of his visits.

Her mouth twitches as she shoves the letter into her pouch. She hadn’t had any intention to visit with a devil so late into the night, yet her curiosity was leading her towards Wyrm's Crossing. There was no denying that she thought of him often; his lingering stares and flirtatious words. They way he spoke as if they were the only two in the room, his attention solely focused on her.

It felt like a trance took a hold of her and with a blink she found herself outside Sharess’ Caress. Neri walks through the doors, hand grazing over the banister as she takes each step up the stairs. Everything passes by in a blur - the drunken fools, some awake and some fallen over in a stupor - and the lovestruck patrons getting their fill.

The door to his room was cold to the touch when she pushed it open, but a wave of heat washed over her as she stepped in, glancing at the bed before turning her gaze to the large bath, where the water practically boiled and steam rose from the surface.

“My, my. I almost thought you wouldn’t show.” Raphael appears at the top of the steps leading to the bed. He holds a closed book in his hand and she follows the movement as he sets it down. “I’m positively delighted that you did.”

A shiver runs down her spine when she closes the door, the metal against her back cools her burning skin. “What was the purpose of asking me here, Raphael?”

His footsteps against the steps echo in her ears, his low laughter seeming distant and lost. However, the instant his hands grab her waist and pull her in, the world rushes back to her. He is warm and his scent is sweet and a sense of calm eases her nerves. There’s a hunger in his gaze like a beast ready to take his prey, but he’s holding back.

“You know why you are here, sweet girl. The same reason I spent my days locked inside this room, wanting and waiting. I’ve been patient, my love, but no more.” Raphael holds her chin up and his lips linger at the corner of her mouth. “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”

Something in Neri stirs, different from the heat filling her body or the erratic beating of her heart. She can’t be so quick to let her guard down around him just because he said some pretty words. The man was still a devil.

“I’m not here to play games.” She pushes him away and steps around him. “You can not trick me into thinking that you love me for whatever scheme you have brewing.”

His eyes light up with something mischievous and dangerous. “Love? You mistake me, my dear. It is not love, it's an abhorrent desire. A lust that can only be sated if you allow me the pleasure. Believe me, I never thought I’d feel this way for you, but you impress me; thrill me; unravel me to my core. I feel as if you’ve cursed me to live out my days in agony, longing to feast on your body and soul.

You’re a wretched creature to believe such foolishness. I would burn this city ten times over just to unburden myself of this filthy feeling. I dream of only you and beg for only you. It’s unseemly.”

Neri spins around to stare at him, a lightness in her chest sparks pain where it should feel joy. “Do you not know that is love?”

Raphael frowns as his glossy gaze darkens. “Watch your tongue.”

A laugh escapes her, humorless and short. “Clearly, you do not. Love is wanting to give someone the world, the universe even. To lose all reason and thought. To feel as though you would die should they not be by your side - in your embrace.” She steps closer to him, her palm against his cheek,. “To bring destruction and death if it meant no harm would come to them. To agonize over their very existence.”

“Yes!” He breathes out spitefully, melting into her touch, as if her touch alone had the power to bring him to his knees. “I would bring this world to ruin if you asked it of me. If you must call it love to give yourself to me, then so be it.”

Raphael lifts her by the waist, bringing her body to his and she steadies herself by wrapping her legs around him and gripping his shoulders. He carries her with ease to the bed, sitting down with her on his lap. His skin burns like the fires of Hell, but she’s sure hers does too.

He presses his lips to the palm of her hand, brown eyes gazing at her. “Tell me. Do you not want the same?”

How could she possibly say no? In all her life, she has never felt so much devastation and ecstasy in the presence of anyone. He makes her skin crawl- not of disgust but of delight. She never cared about power, but she does wish to live lavishly and comfortably, as she did before. “Truly, I do.”

“If you will be mine, I will give you all that you desire. You will have no need for anything else this world has to offer.”

Neri combs her fingers through his hair carefully, searching his eyes for the doubt in his words. There is none. A deal he’ll make only once - be bound to him eternally and only him. He asks nothing of her but her sheer devotion and unwavering loyalty. A love that could never be broken, even by death.

She kisses him deeply, to which he responds in kind. His hands firmly hold her against him as he falls onto his back, grinning devilishly against her lips. The temptation to be devoured by him filled her body, to mold together so they are one divine being.

#pitchmoss #*fic #otp: for all the heavens of hell #oc: neri #tav/raphael #if it sucks it sucks i do not care anymore #so self indulgent im criminally insane about him

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