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iamjessemccartney · 2 years

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The lovely @prim-moth requested #22, "things you said after it was over," from this post!

Edit: I've also posted this on AO3, with the other requests I've completed so far!😊

Arthur jolted awake, sitting bolt upright on the mattress. His left hand moved up over his mouth as if to keep him from yelling out, and for a moment, he just sat there, wide-eyed and frightened, panting as he stared out in front of him, everything else still in the darkness of the room. His bedroom.

Their bedroom.

Arthur moved his hand down, still shaken, but confident enough now that he wasn't going to scream.

The voice from his head had taken to sleeping beside him, wrapped up in his sheets, in his blankets. Arthur would say it had gone on for more nights than he cared to count by now- but he was still counting. All the nights this figure in his bed had spent at his left side- always his left side- as if guarding something. Or staking a claim. And this night, in this moment, Arthur hadn't noticed the way his companion had shifted, too preoccupied himself trying to get his breathing back under control and keep himself from spiraling, which was proving to be more difficult this time than most. He couldn't take a deep enough breath to help slow himself down, and he could still feel his heart racing. Having the same nightmare multiple times didn't make it any easier to wake up from, after all. He hadn't processed that the man next to him had stirred awake and moved closer, until the light touch of his hand slipped over Arthur's thigh and pulled him out of his own head.

Arthur opened his mouth to try and say something, to either explain or apologize, but couldn't pin down any words. Instead, he shut his eyes tight and moved to lie back down, wrapped his arms around his partner, and buried his face in his chest.

John, groggy as he was, took a moment to reciprocate, but pulled Arthur in close. One hand settled in the middle of his back, and the other slipped into his hair, gently smoothing it down for a moment before falling still. As always, John paid incredibly close attention to the way Arthur reacted to his touch.

"That's it," John reassured as he felt the man start to relax against him, albeit slowly. His voice was soft, low and heavy with sleep. "There we are..."

There was a stillness between them for a moment- John allowing Arthur more time to compose himself, knowing by now that too much noise or movement could very well wind up making that a task even more daunting than it already was. So for that little while, he just lay there, holding his partner and lightly dragging his nails over the other's back in an attempt to keep him grounded, until he was sure Arthur's breathing had steadied enough to allow him to speak.

"Tell me your name," John instructed gently, the same as he had many times before.

"A- Arthur Lester," Arthur just barely managed, his voice trembling.

John flattened his hand over Arthur's back. "Where are you?"

"I-In... my bedroom. O-our bedroom. In our home."

John hummed. "Our address?"

"Eight-..." Arthur huffed out a sigh in spite of himself. "Eighty-three Merriweather Lane."

"State?"

"Vermont."

"What year is it?" John asked through a yawn, his left hand once again moving to smooth down Arthur's hair.

"Nineteen thirty-..." Arthur hesitated. "Thirty-six."

"Good," John confirmed lightly. "How long has it been...?" He knew he didn't need to elaborate.

Arthur understood. "...Six months." He paused a second, then, and nuzzled into John's chest, breathing him in before letting out an exhausted sigh.

"I know," John murmured, taking to gently playing with the ends of Arthur's hair. It was cropped short again, like it had been when they'd first met, and a mess of thick curls in its currently unstyled state. He remembered how Arthur had been on the verge of tears once they'd finally gotten the opportunity to see a barber for the first time a little over five months back, and how religiously he'd stayed on top of maintaining it since then. That, and how dutiful he was now about remaining clean-shaven. Something stirred inside John as he recalled the first time Arthur had asked for his help shaving about three months ago. John had hardly trusted his own hands yet then, having only had them for a few weeks at that point- but his partner had stayed calm, reassured him that everything would turn out fine. That thought echoed softly through his mind as he lay there with Arthur in his arms now, holding him as securely as possible.

It had only been a second since John last spoke. "Do you want to talk about it...?" He offered, making it clear that Arthur had a choice in the matter.

Arthur shook his head with a huff, one of his hands closing into a loose fist around the back of John's sleep shirt. "N-no... I-" He took in a breath. "Distract me...?" He requested, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"Mh..." John thought for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. It brought him some odd sense of comfort to know that Arthur found solace in his ability to ramble about damn near anything. There had been a week or so after they'd made the deal to separate themselves that John had hardly spoken at all, having been too unsettled by the way his voice sounded in this form and the fact that he could feel it inside his body. Arthur had kept having to coax him into conversation here and there, just to get John to say anything, which had been such stark contrast against how he'd been during the time they'd spent bound together.

John realized his mind was wandering again, and quickly spoke up. The drowsiness that lingered on him still came out through his words, but there was a distinct lightness to his tone. "There's an orchestra concert coming up in a couple of weeks- I told you when we passed that flier for it the other day, while we were out getting groceries. I want to say it's... an annual event- free to the public, outside at the bandshell near town hall. There were a few pictures on the flier from what seemed to be previous years' runs, with groups of people scattered out on the lawn in chairs or on blankets and just enjoying themselves, children running about..." John leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Arthur's head, not entirely thinking about the action. "We could go, if you wanted. Make a day out of it- pack a lunch and take a stroll downtown, set up a blanket and eat on the lawn. Have a... a picnic? Is that what you called it that time in the park?"

Arthur gave a slight nod to confirm. John noted his response, and continued. "I'll point out the scenery and the goings-on of the crowd, you'll scold me for talking through the whole first movement, as if you'd actually expected anything different," he joked at his own expense. "And this is where you’d tease me and say, 'Well, you have been rather well-behaved whenever I've played, so far, so I do suppose I have some faith that you'd stay quiet for a whole orchestra,' if you were feeling up to it right now," John added, and tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the huff of a laugh Arthur gave in reply.

Arthur turned John's words over in his mind, one word ringing a little louder than the rest. Ever drowsy, Arthur nuzzled his partner again, and shifted to be just that much closer to him while he tried to collect his thoughts.

Faith was something that had eluded Arthur over the years- always slipping through his fingers as this fragile, impermanent thing. Framing it in a religious sense had never worked for him, either, even though there had been points in his life where he’d been low enough to try. Trying to rely on something so intangible and so far out of his reach had only made him feel smaller, lonelier- more inconsequential than he’d cared for. And the one thing he’d so desperately needed in life was consequence.

For his own sake, just to have something to hold onto and keep himself on some semblance of a path, he'd begun to put faith in the ordinary, the routine. Faith that the newspaper would be on his doorstep every morning. That he'd have to put gas in his car by the end of the week. He'd put faith in the fact that Bella would call on him at least once every week, always with a new excuse for why he should leave his studies and take a break for a while. That on the rare chance Faroe woke up before him in the mornings, she'd pad into his bedroom and climb under the covers with him until they were both truly ready to face the day. That he'd see Parker's face when he walked into their office and that their clients would meet them as scheduled. That after a long day of work, Arthur, most times by his lonesome, would be able to go home, have a hot meal and a shower, and a peaceful place to sleep, before he had to wake up and do it all again the next day.

How crudely that faith had been shaken, one time after another, and with no real relief in between. Everything he'd been through- even before Kayne, before the King, before John- should have broken him down and defeated him. Should have destroyed his resolve and depleted his strength and made it so that he would have never had faith in anything ever again. But, selfishly, he'd begun to let himself hope, after a while. Just to start.

And hope without faith had started to seem like an empty promise to Arthur. Like a wish for something, but one with no real desire behind it, no will to see it come true.

So now he put faith in this man he'd told to sleep next to him. He put faith in the experiences they'd shared together, and continued to share now. How they'd grown alongside one another. How they'd learned so many things, so many damning things about each other, and themselves, and how they'd worked through it- not in spite of it all. But because of it. Because of every little thing.

He wasn't afraid that John would leave him. Not anymore.

Arthur put faith in the fact that, if he awoke in the middle of the night, startled and shaking and drenched in guilt, this man- his companion, his partner, his lover, his friend- would hold him close. And talk to him. Without complaint, for minutes, or hours, or however long it took for him to feel calm again.

He put faith in the fact that he loved John. And that John loved him.

While Arthur thought, John had been taking the moments to find something else to talk about, his own sleep-addled brain running a bit slower than usual. He'd been keeping track of Arthur, though- his breathing, his little movements, the tension that had melted out of his muscles as he laid there in John's arms. He'd finally settled on a new subject after a minute, right when he heard Arthur's soft, tired voice cut through the silence they'd been lying in.

"I do have faith in that. In-... In you." The way he spoke almost made it sound like he was sharing a secret. Something that was meant for himself, and his partner, and them only. "More than I think you know."

There was something about the words that covered John, wrapped him up and held him for a second. Purposefully, this time, he leaned down and kissed the top of Arthur's head. What he said next wasn't to mimic his lover's words, not an echo that he'd felt obligated to make- but a confession, ardent even in its hushed tone.

"And I have faith in you."

#malevolent podcast #prim-moth #this is shippy but it's g-rated i promise #is this au stuff? yeas. do i feel cringe about it? no💖#i woke up this morning and the first thing i did was fixate on the fucking hat money from pt.5 and write a wholeass post about it #i've moved well past the point of feeling cringe i think #also wyrm i think you'll probably notice where i started rly thinking about arthur's hair dfkljhdflgk #fun fact the way i picture arthur when his hair is unstyled is that he has curls that want to Eat him💖#and the fucking!! wyrm i need to say. the way you draw human john is like almost EXACTLY the way i've been picturing this whole damb time #it genuinely is like u ripped the visual from my brain #only difference is that i picture him with Mostly-straight dark hair #i'm #NO words anymore i hope you enjoy this💖💕#edit: there are SLIGHT discrepancies between this original post and the one on ao3 lol #changed a couple tiny details #not saying which ones😇

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bolognamayhem117 · 5 days

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Hot Take: Astarion does NOT hate flowers. You just missed a few subtle hints through Act 1 and early Act 3.

Astarion's negativity is directed toward just about anything remotely pleasant as you move through early act three, starting the moment you leave Wyrm's Rock. First thing after Gortash's coronation he marvels near tears at the colors of the city in daylight. If you ask if he's alright, it pisses him off.

There's other instances I can't quite remember but he's a straight crank throughout early Act 3 and it took me several hours of gameplay to have a lightbulb moment about his newly crappier attitude.

He just spent the last two hundred years seeing everything in the overwhelmingly warm dim tones of indoor lighting via sconces, rushlights, and braziers, or the dingy blue gray of moonlight outside. Daylight colors are something he had more than a lifetime to forget and now that he has a chance to remember that vibrancy in his own home town, he knows he's going to have to forget it all over again either by death or by remaining a vampire spawn forever. The worm isn't going to live rent free in his head forever, and killing Cazador to ascend in his place likely feels like an insurmountable and impossible fight against a literal titan who could stomp him flat without a corm of effort.

He doesn't hate flowers, he hates EVERYTHING right now because it's all going away very soon and if he convinces himself he hates everything then he won't miss it when it's all gone again. He was denied this for two hundred years and he's PISSED at what was stolen from him and PISSED it's all going away again.

He behaved similarly in Act 1 about anyone besides him enjoying physical intimacy. Some of this content was cut, to my best knowledge, but the overwhelming majority of his dialog addressing the PC romancing anyone but him are negative or backhanded. This is for two reasons, I think. A: his Simple Plan just dissolved right before his eyes when you chose someone else which in his mind means he has zero safety net, and EVERYONE gets to enjoy sex (key wording being ENJOY, not simply having) except him... And it pisses him off.

He also gleefully interrupts the bug bear and the ogress, I think for the same reason as the above paragraph, being: If he doesn't get to enjoy intimacy neither do they.

He reacts with anger and disgust at anything he's being unfairly denied. Which... That's fair. His feelings are valid, but his reaction to it is pretty shitty and meanspirited.

The other companions I tend to keep in my party, (that is Lae'zel, Halsin, Karlach, and Wyll) however, are actually appearing to behave pretty patiently with him in Act 3 which I find interesting.

In the instance with the flowers Karlach doesn't bother trying to convince him otherwise of his opinion, she just tells him how they make her feel instead and rather than getting snippy or doubling down he more or less agrees to disagree. I also don't recall anyone disagreeing with Astarion during Gale's last quest tasks when he mentioned that he quit praying to gods who wouldn't hear him a long time ago but to be fair, I think the gods did everybody in this crew dirty and they all know it. It seems like they're consciously giving him the space to be mad about things, is what I'm saying.

Everyone I know including myself who crawled out of a long-term hot garbage situation kinda went wild for a bit with freedom, spoke poorly, behaved strangely, had extreme emotional reactions to things, and made some particularly terrible choices. I think that's just a part of recalibrating yourself, healing and learning how to be okay again.

Point is, I wouldn't conflate too many of the turbo-negative things he says with how he actually feels about anything. We certainly know what he says and what he feels are two very different things.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #trauma #the pale elf #cazador szarr

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thegnomelord · 4 months

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Thinking of flying as a dragon with dragon Price

Price knows that after the loss of his wing he's never flying again, not on his own. But the sky still calls for him like a mother for her lost child, for a grounded dragon is a dead dragon, regardless of if he still breathes or not.

His body still craves the freedom of flight despite what he says of being over it, every flight in the helicopter or plane feeling twice as wrong as it did before, deadened nerves gnawing on his brain until they force the atrophied remnants of wing muscles to twitch every time he jumps out of the plane. He resigns himself to just watch the other fliers from the ground, you often finding him on the roof of the base watching the birds whenever the phantom ache of his lost wing returns.

And an idea comes to you.

Price just grunts when you wrap your arms around his pudgy belly, forcing his remaining wing to spread out so you can press your chest against his back.

"Need somethin'?" He grumbles, stuck between wanting to lean in to feel your warmth and pull away, what dragon would even want a flightless wyrm like him?, never noticing your arms lock in place.

"Yeah," Your breath fans his ear, lips kissing the skin. "Want you to fly." He can feel you grin.

"What nonsense are you-" Your wings spread out before he can finish and with a strong gust of wind and a beat of your wings you're shooting up into the sky with him in your arms. "- oh you bloody wanker!" He screams, the cigar slipping from his claws as he scrambled to hold onto you, wind blowing in his face.

You laugh as you soar through the air, "Relax!" You yell over the screeching wind, holding him tight.

And Price doesn't know when it happens, but his body calms down, adrenaline settling to sleep like a worn out beast. The wind fluttering his wing membrane feels nice, the sensation of the sky yielding beneath his flapping wing forcing a shiver down his spine, doesn't even notice when he starts purring.

You grin when you feel his chest rumble beneath your hands, dipping and diving through the sky and Price recognizes your movements — he spent decades practicing the same arial moves to woo future mates. And he can't help but smile, eyes closing and allowing his body to remember what it's like to fly.

----

Idl this came to me suddenly and I word vomited all over the page :/,

#gnome's tea break #cod mw2 #x reader #captain john price #male reader #gn reader #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au

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frantic-fiction · 3 months

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I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

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suguann · 2 months

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OH, DARLING—ASTARION

✎. he’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky, and you have the sneaking suspicion he's upset with you. | wc. 1.3K+

tags. fem!reader, established relationship, jealousy, slight dirty talk, pet names [18+ only]

masterlist

Eighteen days. That’s how long it takes between the Shadowlands and reaching Wyrm’s Crossing. Longer still since you’ve interacted with anyone other than bandits, lost refugees, cult-crazed lunatics, and your merry band of weirdos (Gale’s words, not yours).

For once, you’re not picking berries off bushes to offset hunger until you make camp or plucking bramble from your pants when the occasional trail turns out to be safer than the King’s Road. You can finally sit at a bartop and order wine instead of choking down the contents of an ancient bottle of Ithbank you snatched from a cellar in some decrepit village.

That was at least the most tolerable thing you experienced outside the gates, as far as roughing it in the wilds goes.

And it might be your newfound appreciation for city life, of finding an escape from what’s become your current normal—sneaking past goblin-infested camps, waterlogged boots, and haystacks for beds (an upgrade from sleeping on the cold, hard dirt, you suppose)—that lures the Drow twins over to your party walking down from the top floor of the Sharess’ Caress.

“You must be curious after keeping such…” Nym glances over Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach, hovering behind you, threatening with blood stains on their clothes and out of place in an establishment full of nobles and wealthy ministers. “Interesting company.”

It’s safe to say you’re uninterested in the twins, but that doesn’t stop your curiosity from piquing when Nym demonstrates her talents with a peach she snatches from a fruit bowl off the nearest table. By the end of it—an obscene display that catches the eye of a few patrons walking by and sends your imagination reeling—you wonder how often she does this to gain clientele. If it’s always so…hands-on.

“So what do you think?”

You don’t know what to think, oddly confused like that first time Astarion had to spell out for you that he wanted to have sex—you’re going to be so fun to break, pet—a girl who’s every bit the product and trappings of a sheltered fool.

“Are you interested?”

The mutilated peach in Nym’s hand drips clear fruit juice down her wrist in thin rivulets, collecting at her elbow. You start to shake your head—

Astarion scoffs. “She already has her hands full without your sticky fingers and whatever the hells you’re doing to that innocent peach.”

Nym’s mouth curls up into a coy smile before her gaze sweeps over to Astarion. “Her lover, I presume?”

“As in, I already tasted said peach while you’re still trying to get your mouth on it; well then, yes. Very much so.”

You slap his chest, your face somehow getting hotter. “Astarion!”

“Darling, we’re in a whorehouse. I assure you they’ve heard worse.”

Nym makes a wordless, amused sound. “Well, if you ever find yourself curious or—” she gives Astarion one last scrutinizing once over and looks at you again “—unsatisfied, you know where to find me and my brother.”

Before you can politely decline, Astarion chips in on your behalf, “Trust me, she’s not.”

He steers you toward the door—I’m never going to look at a silly piece of fruit the same after this—and you don’t miss how he sends the twins a withering stare right before he joins you on the street.

He’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky.

You stare at the back of his head as he walks in front of you, bulky pack slung over his shoulder with the books and scrolls you bought earlier, deciding whether you should join him or leave him to his thoughts.

Karlach nudges your shoulder. “Trouble in paradise, soldier?”

“Not really.” You bite your lip. “Should there be?”

Her gaze follows yours to Astarion, and she hums in understanding.

“If you stare at his back any longer, you might burn a hole through it." Heat crawls up your neck, and you try to give her a shove when Astarion looks at both of you over his shoulder, but she doesn't move an inch and laughs instead. "He’s probably upset over finding another pebble in his boot again. Don’t sweat it.”

An unreasonable suggestion, for you know it’s more than another pebble.

He doesn’t say anything once you all reach camp, nor does he give you even the slightest acknowledgment when you walk by his tent on your way to bed or look up from his book—no hello, my sweet readily waiting on his tongue—when you slip a little note under his nose.

It’s starting to give you the sneaking suspicion he’s upset with you—though you hardly have the faintest idea why.

You’re pulled awake by the quiet, careful shifting of your blanket as someone slips into your bedroll behind you. You stare blearily at the barn's wall, trying to blink away the disorienting feeling still clinging to you like dew on a humid summer day.

It’s the first brush of sharp incisors against your throat that erases the last vestiges of sleep altogether.

Ah, so he read your note.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you whisper, aware enough to remember the other two people sleeping in the barn with you.

“Have I?”

“You know what I mean.” You tighten your grip on your blanket. “You’re upset, aren’t you?”

He kisses the tender spot below your ear. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“But you’re unhappy.”

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out to taste your skin.

“Yes, I’m unhappy.”

“Was it because of what that drow said?”

“Hm, be more specific.”

“When she—with the peach.” You squirm a little, a mouse blessedly caught by the tail. “You know.”

His chuckle is soft, faintly mocking.

“Oh, darling. You think I’m jealous?” He runs a thumb over the fluttering pulse in your neck. “How cute.”

And right before he applies the smallest amount of pressure—

“Well, you would be correct.”

When Astarion works at the laces of your pants, loosening them just enough to slip his hand underneath, you jump at the first cool brush of his fingers tracing across your heated skin. Your muscles jump, jump, jump under his touch, goosebumps prickling along your arms when his hand fits suddenly between your legs. Two soft pats that make you gasp.

“Drippy,” he murmurs. You don’t think your face can get any hotter.

Then he’s hooking two—fuck, three—fingers into you, splitting you open, curling up toward your belly; you can’t bite back the moan that breaks free.

“Hush, pet.”

Nipping at your neck, he scissors his fingers, smiling at your choked, stuttered gasp.

“Do you think I’d let anyone see how you fall apart with a few quick strokes of the fingers? How you sound? How you taste?”

The questions are followed by his thumb pressing into the achy spot at the apex between your legs, and you don’t mention that he’s doing this with two other people sleeping soundly on the other side of the room.

“This—” his fingers curl inside you, pressing until he finds soft flesh that makes your legs jerk. “This is all for me—mine—wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod slowly, hand clamped over your mouth to trap the sounds that keep escaping.

“Good, so we understand each other then.”

Your thighs tremble around his wrist. His fangs drag across the thin, breakable column throat, almost like a warning, catching at two identical scars that haven’t fully healed since you’ve let a feral, lost little vampire into your camp before he gives in and bites.

Digging in—messy—you imagine the dribble of red down his pale chin, how he sometimes leaves it there to savor later.

You’re limp and floating in a matter of seconds, your mind blissfully quiet for the first time in days.

“Remember that, darling, the next time someone starts giving you ideas.” After a moment, he whispers: "But I'm also happy you said no."

And he slips out of your bedroll without so much of a creak in the floorboards and out of the barn as if he was never there.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 smut #baldur's gate x reader #astarion x you #.things i write

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thoughts-of-bear · 1 month

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The birthday gift

A Halsin x reader fanfiction | Explicit, 18+ | 7k words A/N: Okay since the Halsin brainrot has had its hold on me for ages, I started this fic on my birthday in december, not expecting to ever finish it because I have literally never finished anything I've started writing before- until now. I got inspired to write this by this post (for the birthday part, the smut part is my own horny imagination) and well, this is the final product. Since it's my first time publishing any of my writing and writing smut at all, please be kind with me XD Summary: Your companions prepare a surprise birthday party for you, Halsin sees you in your new dress, you two dancing leads to him confessing his feelings for you and a very happy ending... CW: halsin x f!reader, virgin reader, halsin eating pussy, fingering, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex i guess, halsin being the man he is, all that stuff idk what to write here really

I hope you enjoy it, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

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You and your companions had finally reached Baldur’s Gate. It’s still morning when you enter Rivington that day and the streets are busy with all kinds of people, many seemingly refugees from Elturel and farther away, here to find shelter in the city. As you continue down the road to the village in front of the city gates, you are stopped by a little red-headed girl.

“Erm. ‘Scuse me, I can’t find my mum.” She looks worn out and as if she has recently been crying.

“Where did you last see her?” you ask as you bend down to her, smiling to show you want to help.

“She went to go get some herbs - for her spots” she gestures towards her face. “She was sick. And she was supposed to come back the same day.” She pauses before adding, “That was last tenday though.”

“Let’s go find a guard. They’ll be able to help you”, you propose.

The girl shakes her head. “Guards blow like petards. They don’t help us.”

Your heart sinks at these words. It seems all these people were here because the city wouldn’t take them in. And the guards are no help either, apparently. You wonder what happened to your city, where once everyone was welcome.

Halsin sighs and shakes his head in disapproval. “This city is a poor place to be in need of help. Even the guards can’t be trusted to protect the most vulnerable.”

You silently agree and think of how you could help that girl. You decide to spare a few coins, so she can buy herself some food.

“I don’t know where your mum is, but here - take a few coins”, you offer her, not able to tell her that her mother is most likely dead. Halsin smiles at you warmly as you shoot him a quick glance, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh - erm. Thank you so much! I don’t have anything and you can’t do anything without any coin”, the little girl exclaims, bobbing on her toes and suddenly looking a little less tired. “I’ll pay you back. When I find my mum.” She turns around and bolts. “No need, it’s a gift!” you call after her but she has already vanished in the crowd.

You finally arrive at Wyrm’s Rock Crossing in the evening, after you had snuck past one of the new city guards - the so-called Steel Watch - and promised to investigate the murder of the local Ilmater priest. Another incident that seems to fuel the hate towards the refugees.

And that isn’t even all. The city is closed, even for you as a Baldurian, and to get in you’d need an Admission Pass - or wings. You sigh. You just want to get into the city, rent a room in the Elfsong and think about what to do next, now that the Absolute’s army must soon be upon the city.

It’s all too much and too little time. And you can’t just turn away from the people you met in Rivington either, they need help just as much as you need to find out how to beat the Absolute’s Chosen and get rid of the tadpoles.

When you make your way around camp that evening, checking up on your companions, Halsin notices your exhaustion, the way you slump your shoulders and how your usually impeccable stance falters. He wants to relieve you of at least a bit of the tension, so when you walk over to him, he offers you a massage. The things he wants to say to you can wait until tomorrow.

“Thank you, Halsin”, you accept, his hands turning you around and gently pushing you down to sit on your knees before him. You sigh as his broad hands knead the tension from your back and by the time he is finished, you feel like a sleepy, boneless lump of flesh, muscles completely relaxed. You thank Halsin again before you retire to your bedroll, the hopeful thought that the offer might’ve been more than Halsin’s usual kindness crossing your mind before you drift off to sleep.

The next evening, you were finally inside the city walls. You consider the new information of the day. How you got your hands on an invitation to the celebration at Wyrm’s rock fortress, your disbelief to see that it was Lord Gortash’s coronation as Arch Duke, how he made the tadpoled Duke Ravengard give up his power and how Bane’s Chosen then proposed an alliance against Orin, the shapeshifter that had already approached you in Rivington. You had agreed to kill her, but you definitely wouldn’t leave Gortash his Netherstone. But that is a problem for another day. You had managed to get a room in the Elfsong Tavern and as usual you make your way through it to hear what your companions think of all that had happened today. Most approve of your decision. Halsin is the last person you speak to and as always, he has just the right words to ease your worries. For now, at least.

“Wait-”, he grabs your arm before you can leave. “I didn’t thank you yet.” His large hand is warm and makes your skin tingle where it touches you.

“Thank me? For what?” He chuckles at your puzzled look. “For all that you did in Rivington yesterday. You have so many worries and yet you still go out of your way to help those in need. The way you made that little girl smile, or how you didn’t hesitate to investigate what happened to that Ilmater priest.” A blush creeps up your cheeks as he continues. “I’m afraid Nature’s balance can never be restored in a city like this, but seeing what you do every day without expecting anything in return gives me hope. And for that I thank you.” You smile up at him, lost for words with your heart beating fast.

“I appreciate you saying this. I wish I could to more, to help everyone, but if I can at least do a little good, it’s worth the exhaustion at the end of the day”, you eventually admit with a smile. Halsin grins. “You’re too modest. I wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are.” Your cheeks blush an even deeper red at those words and only when you retire to bed for the evening does your heart resume its normal pace again. But the warm feeling Halsin’s presence gave you remained for the night.

After you had the first proper breakfast since your crash with the Nautiloid, you feel ready to explore the city and find out how to best deal with all your problems. You hadn’t particularly missed the bustle and noise of your old home, but you can’t help feeling safer now that you were in familiar surroundings again.

Gale proposed to go to Sorcerous Sundries, both to find out more about the Elderbrain’s crown and to see what the wizard there wants with your companion Nightsong. Since you don’t have an idea where to find Orin yet, you figure that this is as good as any other thing you could be doing.

The way from Elfsong to the magic shop isn’t far and you still have some time before it opens, so you decide to stop by the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette to update yourself on any news you had missed in your absence and struggle with the Absolute.

Scanning the title page, you notice the date in the corner and your brows shoot up in surprise. Noticing this, Gale asks if you found anything important in the newspaper.

“No, it’s just that I realised today is my birthday and I've completely forgotten about it. That means we have been on the road for more than two months already”, you wonder aloud before you add, “It doesn’t feel that long.”

“Well, then we have to celebrate of course!” Gale exclaims happily. You smile at his enthusiasm but shake your head. “We have bigger problems for now. Let’s see what this Lorroakan wants with Dame Aylin and then get on with our business. Besides,” you shrug, “we didn’t celebrate birthdays in my monastery anyways so I won’t miss anything.”

“If you say so,” Gale replies and you turn your attention back towards the page you were studying before.

You had already forgotten about the conversation as you come into your chamber in the Elfsong, grateful for the few minutes alone during the bath you had taken and the respite for your tired body.

But the moment you enter the room, Karlach and Shadowheart drag you to a set dinner table, laden with the most delicious food you could imagine. There aren’t your ordinary fish heads and the mouldy bread you usually have to call supper, instead delicious smelling pork roasts, pies, glazed carrots and potatoes, deep red apples and more pile atop the table, all lovingly placed around a huge flower bouquet in the middle of it.

You are so overwhelmed by the amount of work your friends must’ve put into this, that you can only stutter a ‘thank you’ before Karlach announces, “Happy birthday soldier! Halsin, Gale and Shadowheart here told us that today is your birthday and you never had a proper party before, so we decided to prepare you a little something!” With a grin she gestures from the table to one of the unoccupied beds, where a few packages are placed.

“You brought me presents too? You really didn’t have to!” you exclaim in surprise. You are so touched that your friends -among all the trouble- still found time to prepare the presents and this party for you that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

“Darling, no need to cry,” Astarion laughs as he pushes you onto your designated chair. “This is a party and not a funeral! Go ahead and enjoy yourself, it’s your special day after all!”

With a sniff and a small chuckle at Astarion’s words you sit down properly. He is right, of course, and you all clearly enjoy having a small break from the worries you faced at the moment.

Smiling hesitantly, you grab some meat and vegetables and start to eat - it really is delicious. You revel in the laughter and conversations with your friends, your weariness from todays fight forgotten for the moment.

When all of you can’t possibly eat any more, Karlach drags you over to the bed with the presents. You can tell she is excited to see if you like the few things your companions managed to get you in the time they had for preparing, so you start unpacking.

The first present contains a book on the monastery you were raised in, with a handwritten note from Gale:

“I’m sure you already know most information this book has to offer, but I thought it might still bring you comfort and remind you of home.” You thank him with a tight hug and carefully place the book into your bag.

The next package is a bottle of the finest liquor of the Elfsong Tavern, plus a sparkler for every one of your companions which Karlach sets of immediately.

Laughing at her shenanigans, you reach for the last and biggest present. It is wrapped in red paper and decorated with a little white bow. You wonder where your companions had managed to find all those things while you carefully pull the paper open. Soon a dress falls out of the packaging and you gaze at it in awe. Your fingers trace the deep forest green fabric, intricate silver and gold patterns weaved into it.

“This is beautiful, thank you, truly!” you say earnestly. You still can’t quite believe that all this should be for you. “I thought you would like it”, smiles Shadowheart. “And I’m certain it will suit you beautifully. Go now - try it on!” she urges you.

You walk to the bathroom which still smells of the quince-scented soap you had used for your bath a few hours before. While changing, you bask in that warm feeling in your chest these moments among your friends always grant you. Whatever problems you had encountered, in your opinion they have all been worth it just for the people you found and let into your heart along the way. As cheesy as that sounds.

You regard yourself in the mirror. The dress is cut low and close-fitting, capturing your cleavage in a very flattering way. Maybe too flattering, if you think about it too much. This isn’t something you’d usually wear, but you have to admit that you like the way the dress looks on you. A bit insecure you go back into your room, where you are greeted with approving cheers and whistles from your friends.

“You look absolutely stunning”, Shadowheart admires. “I knew it would look good on you! Turn around please”, she commands. You do what you are told, with red cheeks at the compliment.

When you face Shadowheart again, you notice Halsin gazing at you with pure admiration - and something else you can’t quite place. You think you notice a golden shimmer in his eyes, but that could be a trick of the light considering all the candles in the room.

“I must admit, your neck looks very tempting in that dress but I know someone who is a lot hungrier for you than me right now”, Astarion remarks with a wicked grin and a sideward glance. You frown at him, though you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at these words. Could he possibly mean Halsin?

“Now, what would a party be without some music and dance?” Wyll interrupts your thoughts and as if these words have summoned her, the bard the party had met in the druid grove appears in the doorway.

“Alfira!” you exclaim happily and immediately rush over to hug her. “I’m so glad you got to Baldur’s Gate alright!”

Alfira grins at you. “Yes, thanks to you and your friends here. When they reached out to me today and told me it was your birthday, I just had to come! Wyll organised everything.” You nod to him in thanks. “Now, I don’t have anything to give you but just tell me what you want to hear and I will play it for you!”

“Thanks, Alfira, that’s more than enough for me”, you beam and lead her into the room towards your group. “Wyll, now is your chance to show me your dancing!” You say as you take his hand and pull him into the middle of the room, then you grab Karlach and Gale and start to move to the tune Alfira started to play. Karlach swirls you around and Wyll shows you the dance moves from court, which -to be honest- remind you a bit of the mating dances you had seen with a few bird species.

Out of breath from all the dancing and laughing, you request a slower tune from the tiefling bard. You manage to persuade Shadowheart to put away her wine for a moment and start to waltz around the room with her. She is quite the good dancer and you wonder where she had learned it, with her being raised in a Sharran temple and everything.

At the next tune, you approach Halsin. With your head light from the wine, you have finally gathered the courage to ask him for what you have secretly thought about the whole time.

Still, you can feel your heart beating in your throat. “Erm…Halsin, w-would you honour me with a dance?” you eventually manage to mumble out shyly.

“Of course, little flower. Whatever your heart desires.” That particular heart skips a beat at his intimate tone. “Although you might wish you hadn’t asked me that once you’ve seen my dancing”, he adds with a chuckle as he takes your hand.

He leads you into the room and starts to swirl you around to the melody of Alfira’s lute. He definitely isn’t as graceful as Shadowheart but certainly not as bad as he has made it sound. But even if he’d had the dancing skills of a bugbear, you wouldn’t have noticed. His large and warm hand around your waist and the smile with which he regards you sends your pulse through the ceiling. His smell of pine and honey and fresh air intoxicates you and it is hard to keep your feet from getting tangled in your dress.

When he leans down to you, you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. “Before you go and mingle again, I still have a present for you. I wasn’t sure if you would even like it”, he admits, “but I have decided to give it to you anyways.” When the tune ends, he leads you to the space in your room where his bed stands and bends down to search his pack.

You think about how long it took you to realise how attracted you are to the druid as you admire his strong back before you. Of course, you have noticed his kindness and compassion and you have always marvelled at the way he drew strength from nature. But only since you had some kind of break these last days have you begun to understand the depth of your affection for the man before you. It runs deeper than mere friendship and the echo of his hands on your back have awoken a hunger inside you that only grows stronger the more you look at Halsin. How desperately you hope that he feels the same way about you…

When he stands up to turn around, you quickly brush away the thought that has sent the heat into your cheeks again.

“You’re the only one who knows of my secret passion”, he begins jokingly, “so I thought you might accept this as my present for your special day.” He hands you a small whittled duck he has apparently made in the hours you were away from camp. You can’t help but tear up at the thought of how much effort he has put into all the details he has carved. There are even small webbed feet on the underside of the little duck.

“Thank you Halsin, this is an amazing gift!” You smile down at the little duck. “You are amazing”, you add quietly.

“With all that you have done for me, I should be the one thanking you night and day.” As you look into his eyes again you see that his gaze is now very solemn. “There was another reason for wanting to speak to you privately. I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now.” Your heart flutters in recognition of his words, the confession sending sparks across your skin.

“I want more than to fight at your side, or to sit around the campfire with you. I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin’s gaze on you is intense, filling your chest with a burning heat that slowly spreads lower into your belly, as if the wine you have been drinking suddenly caught on fire inside of you.

Halsin continues, “I think you feel the same way - but tell me I’m wrong and the matter can rest. I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more.”

You stare at him for a moment before you realise that he waits for your answer.

“Y-you’re not wrong, far from it”, you whisper. “I would like that very much.” You smile up at him and he takes your hand in his.

“May I kiss you?” he breathes out, relieved. You nod and he bends down to gently press his lips on yours.

His hand slides up your arm and to your back while he places his other behind your head, gently pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

You feel his tongue prodding at your lips, demanding entrance and you happily oblige. The feeling of his soft lips on yours sends you spiralling and you can’t stifle the small moan that escapes you. Halsin sends out a silent prayer to Silvanus - if that is all it takes to make you moan, what sounds do you make when he finally gets to taste you? Groaning, his hand on your back slowly wanders lower, a silent question of permission in his eyes. You press your body against his as an answer, feeling the heat radiating off his chest … and lower.

Halsins hand grips your ass firmly, making you gasp, the other joining in and hoisting you up on his hips, turning you both around and pressing your back to the wall. You cannot stop the surprised squeak that escapes your lips at the sudden movement and Halsin presses his mouth on yours to stifle it.

The feeling of the growing bulge in his pants between your legs and the low moan Halsin utters before kissing you even more vigorously sends a shiver down your spine, pressure starting to build between your thighs.

In a desperate attempt to pull him closer, your hands grip Halsin’s hair, arms, everything you can reach. But before you can lose yourself in him, Halsin releases your lips, panting, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I would very much like to continue”, he whispers, his breathing ragged and voice hoarse with desire, “but the others will expect us back and I think you would probably like a bit more privacy.” He sighs and softly kisses your hair. “I will come to your bed when the party has ended, little flower. But don’t expect much sleep”, he adds with a wicked grin. You can only nod as he gently props you back on your feet.

With your head spinning, you get back to the others, averting your eyes from the knowing smirks of Astarion and Shadowheart noticing your ruffled hair and flushed cheeks. You ignore them, trying to engage in some more conversation and one or two dances while the thought of what awaits you won’t leave your head.

When the last of the party finally bids you goodnight, you hurry to bed, awaiting Halsin. You can’t get away from the echoes of his hands on your body, heart already racing again and warmth blooming in your belly. Even if he hadn’t promised you he’d come tonight, you would’ve been unable to sleep.

A soft rustle next to your ear startles you from your thoughts and as you turn your head, you could make out Halsin’s large figure in the dark, crouching beside your bed.

He cuts you off from what you wanted to say by placing a finger on your mouth, his other hand sliding under your back and pulling you into an upright position. With your heart beating into your throat, you take the hand Halsin offers as he gently beckons you to follow him into the corridor outside of the room the party shares, then further into a small but cosy bedroom on the next floor.

The door closes with a click and before you can say anything, Halsin sweeps you up into his arms, pressing you flat against the door and capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like it burns you from the inside.

Halsin’s fresh, earthy scent floods your senses as your tongues intertwine and your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at his braids. You whine when Halsin lets go of your lips, only to gasp as he starts nibbling and placing searing kisses on your jaw while his hands squeeze your ass firmly, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

You moan at the growing ache between your thighs but plant your small fists against his shoulders anyway, gently pushing him away a bit. Halsin’s eyes, pupils wide and dark with desire, find yours.

“What is it my heart?” he asks, voice hoarse. “Do you want me to stop?” You see no disappointment in his gaze, only worry and your heart swells at how selfless your lover is. You avert your eyes, suddenly embarrassed to tell what troubles you.

“I- I j-just wanted t-to say that … um … well, I- I have never been with someone before”, you mumble eventually, averting your gaze as you blush furiously.

“Silvanus, preserve me”, Halsin groans out before almost dropping you and stumbling backwards, trying to steady himself on the small desk opposite the bed. With wide eyes you regard what is happening before you. Halsin drops to his knees, a deep animalistic growl coming from his lips as his eyes fill with golden light and he transforms into his huge bear form.

You gasp and nearly trip over your feet in an attempt to make room for the bear before you, but the animal fills almost the entire chamber. After finally regaining his composure, Halsin manages to change back into his elf form, with a snarl and a ragged breath coming from his lips.

“Forgive me. I- lost the run of myself.” He shakes his head in disgust at his outbreak, terrified that he has ruined this precious moment with you before it could properly begin, and slowly gets back to his feet. “Sometimes, when blood runs hot enough, it’s difficult to tame the beast. And the thought of you trusting me enough to share your first time with me … well, you saw what happened”, he smiles tentatively, slowly approaching you again with hesitation in his eyes.

“Don’t apologise”, you assure him with a shy smile. “I like it.” If possible, you blush even harder now. “Maybe for another time…?” you add, fidgeting nervously with the front of your dress.

A relieved grin spreads over Halsin’s face. “You like it..?”, he chuckles. “You are full of surprises, little flower.” As he steps forward, he bends down to gently plant a kiss on your cheek, only to proceed to bite at your earlobe which elicits a delicious moan from you.

“I’m glad you think so, but now you’ve made it even harder for me not to outright devour you”, his low voice whispers in your ear. “Nevertheless, I will be gentle. Or at least I’ll try to be.” You swallow hard, arousal sending shivers down your spine.

Halsin’s arms wrap around your waist again as he kisses your jaw, your forehead and nose, until eventually his lips find yours again, his tongue ravaging you like a man starving. His hands, this time directly shoving under your dress, firmly grip your thighs. He ruts against you, growling, his now rock-hard cock pressing against the confinements of his clothing.

His fingers trail higher up, kneading your ass, then stroking the soft skin of your back before slowly wandering even higher. His touch sends jolts through your body and you can feel the heat between your legs, already nearly too much to bear.

His eyes hold an unspoken question and when you nod, Halsin lifts your dress off and brings his mouth down on one of your breasts, the hand that’s not on your back now gently kneading the other, massaging the hardened nipple between his fingers. You mewl at the sensation, impossibly more pressure building between your thighs. Halsin gently bites down at your breast, only to run his tongue over it afterwards to soothe the mark he made. You moan and arch your back, desperately trying to press closer against Halsin’s still overly clothed erection, wanting to feel everything of him.

He growls and his mouth begins to place kisses down your front, between your breasts, on the soft flesh of your belly until he is on his knees before you, his warm breath fanning over you and flooding you with heat.

“More?” he asks, his pupils blown wide with lust, as his thumbs brush the soft skin between your legs. “Please”, you whine, knees almost too weak to stand and your underwear already embarrassingly soaked.

Halsin wastes no time, pressing kisses on the insides of your thighs, his one hand holding you in place and his other slowly -too slowly- sliding your panties down your legs. The sight of you bare and dripping with need before him almost makes him lose control again, makes him want to take you, devour you, fuck you, mark you and then fill you to the brim with his cum but with a groan he wills himself to calm down and be gentle with you. He won’t hurt you. He won’t.

He exhales deeply, lifting one of your legs up and slowly swiping his tongue through your wet folds, which earns him a choked gasp. His nose nudges your clit as his tongue starts stroking, slowly at first, then faster and with more pressure. You can’t help the way each expert swipe of his tongue makes your hips buck into his mouth as countless moans and sighs fall out of your mouth. Halsin growls in response, the vibrations around your sensitive bud making your legs shake. You can barely keep up and the coil in your belly is tightening ever faster with Halsin’s mouth sucking your clit and his tongue inside you.

“You are sweeter than honey, my heart”, he groans as his tongue presses flat against you. “Let me taste you as you come undone on my tongue.” With your mind clouded with lust, all you can do is moan out Halsin’s name and press yourself further against your lover’s mouth.

With a wicked grin, Halsin inserts a second finger into your quivering hole, pushing inside over and over again, holding you firmly in place as you try to writhe away from the intense pleasure. His fingers coil upwards in response, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

He understands anyway, now slowly dragging a thick finger through your dripping folds until he stops, teasingly pressing against your entrance. You whine, begging him to fill you, to do anything to release the overwhelming pressure between your thighs. When he finally thrusts into you, you can’t stifle the cry of pleasure that escapes your mouth. With Halsin’s finger now working your cunt open, his mouth continues its ministrations, licking and sucking your clit, soaking your legs with your slick.

“Please Halsin…”, you beg, toes curling and legs shaking, “I’m close- I- Oh!“

Moaning into your cunt, Halsin picks up his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue swipes over your clit again and again, bringing you closer to your end.

One more thrust with his fingers and a soft nip of his teeth against the sensitive bud between your legs is all it needs to send you spiralling over the edge. “Ha- Halsin!” you cry out, hips jerking violently and fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hits you with the force of a lightning bolt. He moans at the sensations of your walls contracting around his fingers, the urge to take you and feel you squeeze his cock with your needy cunt almost overwhelming him.

You whine when he pulls his fingers out and stands up, bringing you in for a passionate kiss as you still struggle to regain your breath. Tasting yourself on Halsin’s tongue pulls a small moan from you and an embarrassed heat creeps up your back at the thought of how aroused you already are again.

With a smile, Halsin pulls away. “You are amazing, little flower”, he whispers breathlessly as he picks you up and gently places you on the bed, admiring your flushed body.

If Halsin’s tongue hadn’t just turned your mind to goo, you might have been able to return that compliment, but alas-

“May I go further?” Halsin asks and when you nod he swiftly discards of his clothes, you licking your lips at the sight of the elf naked before you. Your eyes take in his form, from his muscled arms down to the soft curve of his belly and- oh gods. Your eyes widen. You didn’t think he would be that big and the thought of him filling you makes you gulp down a mixture of fear and arousal.

Attentive as always, Halsin notices your insecurity and bends down to press gentle kisses against your ear. “We don’t have to do this, my heart…”, he whispers while he rubs soothing circles into your hips. He looks at you, his expression earnest. You bite your lip, thinking for a moment before answering. “N-no, I want this”, you assure him, your voice still weak but pleading now. The way you look so sweet with your little fangs on your lips makes Halsin feral and he kisses you again, desperate and more passionate this time. He groans into the kiss as he gently spreads your legs for him, lining up his tip with your dripping slit and sliding through your soft folds before stopping just at your entrance. The sensation of his hard length so close to entering you is enough to make your head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. “If it’s getting too much, tell me and I will stop immediately”, he whispers soothingly. “Now relax for me, little flower.”

All thoughts leave your head as Halsin slides in, agonizingly slow. The stretch would be painful if your lover hadn’t prepared you so thoroughly beforehand, but now you only feel pure bliss. Raising your head, you can see that he isn’t even halfway in but gods, you feel so full already that you can’t stifle the choked gasp that escapes your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my heart. Just a little bit more- mngh-!“ Halsin’s growl sends jolts through your spine as he finally bottoms out. You can see just how much effort it takes him to hold back by the way his jaw tenses and his chest is heaving.

“By Silvanus, you’re so tight-!“ A shiver crawls down his back, carrying a wave of soft golden light with it, as Halsin’s eyes light up with his magic for a moment. The thought of how you are able to bring your lover to the precipice of losing control is extremely flattering and you feel yourself clenching around Halsin’s cock, making him grunt in response. Finally somewhat accustoming to his size, you arch your back into the mattress below you. The new angle makes you moan in pleasure as you grip the sheets for support.

“Are you still feeling good, little flower?”, Halsin asks as he slides a hand from your hip under your back to support you. You can only form one thought. “More- please Halsin!” you whine desperately. You don’t have to ask twice, with a low growl he slides out - just to knock the breath out of you with his first, hard thrust. He sets a steady pace, one that leaves you moaning and gasping out his name. Halsin takes your small hands into his, pressing them into the bed beside you to pin you down, pushing into you deep and slow while he places bites and kisses on your throat and chest that will surely leave marks come morning.

Gods, Halsin thought. The sight of your small body sprawled beneath him, split apart by his thick cock while he fucks into you relentlessly is driving him insane. He is growling with every thrust now and each one of them makes you cry out in pleasure. It doesn’t take long until he has you on the precipice of release again, your cunt fluttering around Halsin’s length.

“H- halsin- please! I’m so close!” you can only beg, not sure if you can take much more, your body feeling like it might explode. “Come for me, my heart”, Halsin demands in a gravelly voice before pressing a thumb to your clit, rubbing and massaging until his name leaves your lips in a hoarse cry as your orgasm hits you with full force. Your hips jerk upwards, walls clenching around Halsin as you notice the tears from the overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. He continues to pound into you, prolonging your release and muttering praises for you under his breath.

Through the fog in your mind you wonder how Halsin still has the energy to keep going, his pace unwavering while you are completely spent, gladly accepting whatever your lover has to give you as long as you’re not required to move.

“I know it’s a lot right now but I need you to cum for me one more time, my heart”, Halsin huffs with a strained voice, pushing inside you once more and grabbing a fistful of your hair to keep you in place. The new position lets him slide even deeper than before and you can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you when Halsin starts pounding into you again, hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll back with blinding pleasure.

So, you do not see it coming when Halsin suddenly pulls out of you, the unexpected emptiness making you whine in displeasure, only for him to flip you over and press your chest into the soft bedding while he gently raises your hips.

“’s too much- please-!” you sob, your poor overstimulated clit still trying to recover from the last orgasm. But Halsin doesn’t relent and you can feel sharp pricks on your hips where his hand grips you, fingers partially wild-shaped into claws and his head thrown back in ecstasy. Seeing just how feral you drive him makes your hole clench around his shaft, the squeeze causing his hips to stutter as a grunt leaves his lips. “Silvanus preserve me”, Halsin pants as he fucks into you even faster, “if you keep squeezing me like that I will not be able to stop myself from claiming you completely, from making you mine and filling you up with my seed.”

You whimper at the image of Halsin pumping his cum into you, fucking it deep into your womb until he is sure that it has taken hold. You cannot pretend you haven’t thought about it before, the idea usually sending an embarrassed heat into your cheeks, but now - gods, now you needed it.

Completely breathless you moan, “Halsin I- ah-! please-! Fill me with your cubs!” These words were the last needed for Halsin to lose himself completely in you, driving himself into you with punishing strokes that cause you to arch yourself into him while moans and whispered curses fall from both your lips. The coil in your stomach is so tight again and when Halsin takes the hand from your hip to softly press on your lower belly you see stars. Your walls clench around Halsin’s cock and you feel him twitch inside you, a sign that he too is close to release. All it takes to send you over the edge is his finger pressed against your clit, your body shaking violently beneath him, toes curling, while waves of ecstasy course through you and you cry out his name.

With a last snap of his hips and a low moan, Halsin comes as well, twitching cock releasing hot spurts of cum inside your still fluttering walls. He continues to pump into you until the aftershocks of your shared orgasm have subsided, before he slowly pulls out. You collapse onto the mattress, exhaustion settling over your overstimulated body.

Halsin gets onto the bed with you, gently gathering you up in his arms and placing your head against his broad chest. “You’ve done so well for me, little flower”, he whispers into your ear, placing soft kisses on your face before he looks your body up and down. One of his hands comes up to stroke a strand of hair away from your damp forehead and to gently lift your chin in order to look you in the eyes. You note worry in his gaze, his brows furrowed in remorse when he plants a feather light kiss on your lips.

“I’ve hurt you”, he states. “I’m so sorry, my heart. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

You smile up at him and cuddle deeper into his arms before you shake your head. “Don’t apologise. I loved every second of it. There is no birthday present in this world that can ever match this”, you confess with a shy grin. “Although I have to admit I’m a little sore. You sure did your best to make sure I’m unable to walk tomorrow.”

Halsin chuckles. “I can help with that”, he answers with a sly smile, his free hand sliding down your body to stroke through your soft folds, muttering an incantation under his breath. As the familiar glow of the healing spell engulfs his fingers, you feel a rush of warmth where he touches you. A moan escapes your lips before you could stop it, eliciting a mischievous smirk from your lover as you hide your face against his chest in embarrassment.

“I’d be happy to go again, my love, but I think you need some rest first. Besides, we still have an Elderbrain to kill, so we’ll need our strength tomorrow.” You nod at that, the tiredness in your bones leaving you unable to object, even if you had wanted to. But you know he is right, so when Halsin wraps a blanket around you to carry you to the bathroom, you just relax into his chest, the sound of his steady breathing soothing you.

When the bathtub is filled with warm water, you are already half asleep, barely registering that Halsin is gently cleaning you up, rinsing the sweat from your hair and body and rubbing salve over the bite marks and the bruises on your hips once you are dry again.

You can hear the soft snores and deep breathing from your companions when Halsin brings you back into the room you share, all of them already fast asleep. Absentmindedly you wonder how long you and Halsin have been away, but the thought is gone as soon as Halsin places you on your bed.

“Goodnight, my little flower. Sleep well.” He gives you a kiss and turns to leave. You manage to grab his hand before he does, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stay with me tonight?” you mumble sleepily. Halsin smiles, warmth and adoration filling his chest as he carefully climbs next to you, the bedframe creaking slightly with his additional weight, and wraps his arms around your smaller figure. The thought of how your companions might react in the morning seeing you two in one bed briefly crosses your mind, but Halsin’s steady breathing and the soft pulse of his heart against your back soon drown out anything else as you drift to sleep in his warm embrace.

#bg3 #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 #halsin silverbough #halsin bg3 #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin smut #halsin fluff #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic

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targaryen-dynasty · 3 months

Text

OBJECT OF DESIRE (1/?)

Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

With your father being so insistent for you to marry some lord he’ll choose and your refusal of it, you’re more than interested in entertaining another option. And it would be stupid of you to let the idea of elopement with a man who could actually give you some power slip from your fingers.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dry humping, thigh riding, grinding

WORDS: 6 K

NOTES: It's based on a request I've received about Aemond being obsessed with Daemon's daughter. There's more to this story you'll find out in the future. Thank you for @happilyhertale for beta reading this (hdgdl) 🫶

A raven from King’s Landing, bidding for you to come to the capital, has reached Runestone two moons ago, though no distinct reason was stated in the explicit request. The question whether Ser Gerold should have gotten you ready to send you off never has never arisen with the signature of your father below, although you could spot a flicker of hesitation cross his features back when he has read the letter.

But there was no way he was going to deny Daemon Targaryen; not if he wanted Runestone to last longer, and not be burned down by the merciless flames of his dragon, Caraxes.

You can hardly remember the Blood Wyrm, except for his sparse roar and lean frame, but the stories are enough to know that he very much resembles his rider and his restless and chaotic temperament. That makes you three.

Even less you can remember the city whose gates you’ve just passed.

That’s because you’ve been to King’s Landing only once before, brought by your father to be presented to the King before he left you to grow up as a ward and the future Lady of Runestone alongside your mother’s cousin. And being but a moon's turn old back then, you were far too young to remember anything; not the short ride on the back of his dragon in honor of the king’s approval, and certainly not the people that had smothered you in attention afterwards.

The stench of the capital hangs thick in the air when the carriage makes its way past the city’s guards, prompting you to scrunch your nose in disgust. Your handmaids are more practiced at not letting their disgust show, and try to occupy their minds by straightening the skirts and fixing the clasps of your dress.

You would have liked to appear at the Red Keep in the bronzish riding attire you’ve worn back when Ser Gerold plucked you off your horse after your attempt to prolong the departure; riding at the front of your entourage and making a statement. But your father has requested the change of your attire beforehand, even going as far as sending an envoy with the dress for you to get it fitted before the five-and-twenty day long travel.

It has made your father’s aversion to everything you stand for more than apparent, considering the dress rather matches the attire of House Targaryen than House Royce. But half of his blood also flows through your veins, so you choose to silently swallow the obvious offense, having heard of it more often than not by Ser Gerold and the staff.

And the dress isn’t too bad, after all. It’s not something you would have picked out yourself, but there definitely could be far worse options. It’s simple, not made out of silk but something equally expensive, and more sturdy. The fabric is a softer, dark gray with dragon scale pieces running along the shoulders, the forearms and the collar. The clasps securing the belt around your waist and the cuffs are metal findings that resemble dragon feet, if you’d have to guess, and make it obvious that you’re a dragon in all but name.

The closer you get to the Red Keep, the more nervous your maids become. Taming your tousled waves hasn’t been an easy task, barely mastered by pulling them back into a half-up-half down hairstyle to keep the rest of your tresses open while the majority stays out of your face, yet Ysilla keeps on finding one loose strand after the other to smoothen out.

“That is enough, Ysilla. There can be hardly any more hair left for you to comb,” you say, gently swatting the hand of the older maid away.

She looks at you with shy eyes. “Y-Yes, you’re quite correct, my lady,” she gulps, lowering her hand and sitting back in her seat.

You sigh, and any anger you’ve felt before upon being summoned into the dragon’s lair vanishes, replaced by anxiety. “Believe me, I would love to be back at Runestone just as much as you do, alas, it is not possible.”

The nod she gives you has you setting your jaw, your gaze briefly flitting to the stoney, gray dragon egg that lays in your lap. It’s a solace, and although the egg hasn’t hatched, it makes you aware that a part of you indeed belongs to the strangers that so eagerly expect your arrival.

“My lady, may I speak freely?” Ysilla eventually asks, catching your attention.

“You may,” you affirm.

“Do you have any idea why the Prince Daemon has requested your presence in King’s Landing?”

Taking in a deep breath, you shrug your shoulders. “I do, and I am certain you do as well, but we have yet to find out if our stay will be a pleasant one or not.”

She hesitantly reaches out to place a hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently in a reassuring manner, and flashes you an apologetic gaze. There are a few years separating the two of you, but your maid has been nothing if not your closest advisor and your only, true friend.

“It is daunting, yes,” you mumble with a smile that hardly reaches your eyes.

You peek out of the carriage’s window as it comes to a halt a little roughly, causing one of your maids to stumble to the side with a loud gasp, and you bite your tongue to keep quiet.

All of the sudden, you’re well aware that you’ve reached your destination, and that you’ll probably be face to face with the man that has forced this misery on you in a matter of minutes.

Not knowing what to expect, you silently exit the carriage the moment you hear the guard announce your arrival, handing the egg over to the one you trusted most, Ysilla, instructing her to place it in a warm spot in your chambers.

She has also given you a detailed lecture of who’s most likely to greet you and how to make them out. So, you know that it’s Alicent Hightower and her father Otto standing at the front of the party, followed closely by her four children. The lack of the King leaves you wondering if he has to attend more important matters than greet the future Lady of Runestone and her entourage, although it takes a good bit of pressure from your shoulders.

A bit away from the crowd, lingering in the background and close to the castle’s entrance, is none other than your father, and though it has been a few moons, or rather years, since you’ve seen him last, he has not aged a day.

You find his gaze, and as quickly as the anger arises, it subsides, the smooth voice of Alicent catching your attention. “Lady Y/N,” she says, and it takes a moment for your lilac eyes to dart from your father’s to her hazel ones. There is a soft smile on her lips, a stark contrast to the stoic expressions of everyone around her. “It is lovely to see you again. It’s been years since we have seen you last.”

Bobbing a small curtsy, you return her smile and calm your fluttering nerves by merely focusing on her. “It’s a pleasure to have received the invitation, Your Grace,” you blatantly lie, a smile matching hers draped over your features. “I would say that I am more than pleased to be here again, but alas, I do not have any recollection of the few days I have spent in King’s Landing.” It’s a light-hearted joke, and with the way her eyes wrinkle you know she’s not cross with you.

“How was your journey from Runestone, my dear?”

“Long and tiresome, to be sure,” you say with a chuckle. “It felt endless, but when I saw the gates of the castle come into view it was a sigh of relief, I can definitely say.”

There follow a few more chuckles at your words, and it’s obvious that more than one member of House Targaryen is charmed by you and your soft humor. If only they’d truly know you, how chaotic you can become.

After inviting you to join her to break your fast in the morrow, the queen steps aside to make room for the other individuals to greet you. Something of the soft-spoken and calm demeanor of Helaena rubs off on you as she announces her participation in the breaking of the fast, and you momentarily forget that there are more important matters that await you.

Aemond and Aegon have been standing silently in the back, giving way to Helaena and Daeron, and just watch the scene play out without really paying you any mind.

That is, until King Viserys’ second son takes the opportunity to step forward, studying you for a moment before you’re allowed to hear his voice for the first time. The quiet, observing demeanor has been replaced by an edge of arrogance, as if something in him has been stirred.

“Lady Y/N, I do not believe we have been introduced before. I am Prince Aemond Targaryen. ‘Tis a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Keeping your tone polite and formal, you nod your head once. “Indeed we have not,” you say, “for you have not been much older than me when my father brought me here to receive the King‘s blessings. But it truly is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Aemond.”

A chill runs down your spine as his eye roams your form from top to bottom one more time, and you’re certain you see his tongue wet his lips briefly. “Oh, I’m sure we would have gotten along just swimmingly as children,” he says in a playful tone.

You look to the side curtly, nervous to have him staring at you so openly without shame. You’re used to men staring at you like that, since you have been raised around the men of the Vale your whole life with most of them thinking women were nothing more than broodmares and possessions to be traded at will, but it’s different when it’s a prince whose intentions aren’t quite clear to you. Yet.

“I have no doubt we would have, Prince Aemond,” you reply, “... perhaps we still will.”

You can see him trying to fight his lips from pulling into a smirk. “I would love nothing more than to put that to the test, my lady.”

The true meaning of his words has you pressing your lips into a thin line, a slight blush covering the apples of your cheeks. But before you can say anything in return, you spot your father making his way through the crowd of his relatives, bringing a hand to his nephew’s shoulder and pulling him back slightly as if he means to bring him down to Earth again. “Do not forget your manners,” he rasps, not mincing his words.

Raising a hand, Daemon calls for a guard without so much regarding you. “Bring my daughter to her chambers, so she can settle into her temporary home.”

You’re not used to the protectiveness of your father, for he has never before displayed such demeanor toward you, and judging by the scowl on your cousin’s face, he’s not at all pleased about the interruption.

The guard ushers you away from the scene, bringing you into the confines of Maegor’s Holdfast, and leading you towards the apartments you will occupy and call home for an unknown amount of time.

There are many thoughts racing through your mind on your way, especially after the brief encounter with Aemond, but the most prominent ones are the Valyrian customs and their engagement in incestuous marriages, leaving you wondering whether that fate will also include you in the future.

A part of you wishes for it, but the other part hopes it doesn’t. You’re not opposed to the idea, but it’s just that you don’t quite feel worthy of it. For all your life you’ve dreamt of finding a noble lord as husband, an ordinary lord if that’s what you can call it, and not one that is bonded with a beast that’s able to cross continents in mere hours.

When the door to your chambers opens, your maids already scurry through the room, unpacking your clothes and belongings. But it’s the dragon egg that sits neatly on the sill of the hearth that suddenly wrecks the most havoc on you. The thing that has calmed you before makes you terribly aware of your flaws, happening so abruptly even though it has been by your side for so, so long.

No, you don’t want an ordinary man, you’re afraid that they deem you ordinary for lacking a dragon in a family full of dragonlords.

Staring at the piece of stone, gaze tracing over the several scales littered all over it, you don’t register the multiple attempts of Ysilla to gain your attention by clearing her throat. You’re in a trance, processing something that has unconsciously accompanied you for all your life, and it’s your maid’s hand gently coming to your shoulder that causes you to flinch.

“My lady,” she says, curtsying deep to you. “I apologize, but I believe you are to report to Prince Daemon’s chambers. It appears that he has requested your presence without delay.”

Smoothing down your gown in a manner befitting of a young lady making an appearance before her father she hasn’t seen in so long; you try to cover the apprehension that graces your features. “Did my father specify what it is about?”

Ysilla shakes her head. “I am afraid not, my Lady.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you bow your head once. “Very well,” you reply, taking your leave with the guard that has been positioned at the door to your quarters bringing you to the room in question.

You use the distance to prepare yourself for what awaits you behind the heavy, iron-bound doors, but still are ambushed when you see your father sitting at the small table, clearly waiting for your arrival.

While there briefly has been time for you to dwell on the anger you feel upon being called to King’s Landing on your father’s order, knowing all too well what the reason for it is, you don’t manage to keep your emotions at bay the moment your eyes meet.

“What is this all about, father?” you ask bluntly upon stepping into the room, prompting your father to raise a brow. “I have not heard from you in years, and then I receive a raven meant to summon me to King’s Landing. What for?”

In moments like these, you resemble your mother more than he would like to admit, you can spot the disgust flicker in his eyes, but it’s also visible that he’s impressed by the mannerisms in you that are distinctly his.

He releases a deep breath, gesturing to the vacant place opposite of him, “sit.”

Approaching the table while still keeping a fair distance, you ball your hands to fist and shake your head. “I demand an answer,” you say, speaking firmly and confidently.

The smirk that briefly crosses your father’s features causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up, almost enough to make you submit to him. He then rubs his palm flatly over the table, seemingly soothing his anger. “And I demand obedience,” his voice is sharp, and you know there’s no way you will leave his chambers alive if you don’t comply with his command, “now sit.”

Setting your jaw, you reluctantly sit down in the chair, leaning back to keep a comfortable distance to your father.

“King Viserys wishes for me to find you a match among the nobility. He has deemed that it is time for you to marry.”

There comes no voiced reaction from you, having expected it to be the main reason for your visit, but you do clench and unclench your fingers to handle the storm of emotions raging within you.

Licking your lips, you contemplate over what to say next. “I am a woman grown and soon to be the Lady of Runestone. If anything, I can decide if and when I want to marry.” Your words come with a lilt of arrogance; but you keep your expression stern.

The amused chuckle he releases at your words makes your stomach drop, and he looks at you with the knowledge that your thoughts on your position are not quite in line with your true status.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” he replies sternly.

You jut your chin at, looking at your father defiantly. “So, I don’t have a say in this?”

Daemon shakes his head, and it seems as if there’s pity in his gaze as it flits down to his hand.

“I will not wed without getting a say on whom I wed.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a sigh. “Count your blessings, daughter,” he says in a condescending manner. “Most girls are forced by their fathers to marry whomever is given to them, but you are not going to be one of them. It is only by the King’s good will and good graces that he allows me to invite several suitors to court to woo for your hand. Be grateful.”

“And why should I trust that you’ll find a match worthy of me? Invite a man that is to my liking? It should be Ser Gerold arranging it for me, not you. You hardly know me.”

His jaw sets at your words, and it’s clear his patience runs thin, not having expected to be met with a reflection of himself when he called you to court. “Enough,” he says sharply. “I have a responsibility to the crown and the realm to ensure you are wed to a man fitting your station. It is not your place to question the men I call to court to vie for your hand. And you would do well to remember that.”

You narrow your eyes; hands remaining clenched. You stare at him with a look of pure defiance, ready to challenge him. Being pushed around by a man you hardly see more than once every five years isn’t something you envision about yourself. “Or what?”

His expression is one of cold, almost mocking amusement as his eyes take you in, clearly seeing much of himself in you. But he also knows he has to squash such defiance immediately. “You may toy with the lowly fools of stableboys you entertain at your whim, but I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to me, girl.”

You grit your teeth at his words, a look of unbridled determination on your face. “I am not the meek and submissive wench you expect me to be,” you hiss. “And I am certainly not a cow to be pawned off to the highest bidder. If anything, I am a dragon.”

If there is one thing you know about your father, it’s that he isn’t one for idle threats, always going straight for the jugular. And when his eyes narrow, you expect to be struck where it hurts. “You would do best to remember your place, girl, a place that is so far below me at all times. You may have my blood, but you don’t have the legacy, and certainly not the power that comes with it.”

Tears of anger brim in your eyes at his words; your glare making it obvious just how much your blood is boiling inside of you. The burn of his words reaches your heart, and although you're tempted to lash out at him, you have to admit defeat. Turning away from his glare, only fueling the humiliation that courses through your veins, you clench your jaw tightly.

Aiming to put you back in your place, your father decides to go one last time to provoke a reaction. “If you want to put up a challenge, at least have the wits not to let your tongue runoff like some spoiled brat.”

“May I leave now?” you ask sternly, keeping your head turned to the side.

Your father scoffs at the request, and doesn’t give you the satisfaction of immediately granting it to you. The silence stretches on for just a few more moments, enjoying to see you defiant but defeated, knowing he has succeeded.

“You may leave – on my graces alone,” he says, watching as you all but jump up to bring as much space as possible between you. You’re just about to walk out of the door when you hear his voice ring out once again, but you don’t stop for him.

“You are to receive suitors in two days, so you best prepare yourself for it.”

You press your lips into a thin line, and your shoulders tense at his words. If he wants you to meet the men he’s invited to court for you, you will play along and follow his orders, but no promise is made about you being on your best behavior.

Hurrying through the halls of Maegor‘s Holdfast, you don’t really see much with your vision blurred by tears, and that you don‘t know how to navigate the keep doesn‘t help either.

The Red Keep, as vast as it is, consists of innumerable corridors and holds many dark corners, most of which are rarely seen by others and seldom used, and you happen to stumble into one of them. There’s little to no traffic, and you blame it on most of the courtiers and servants tending to stick to the first and second floors, rather than the upper levels that are used by the royal family and a selected group of highborn individuals. Such as you.

There are a few guards stationed every now and then, but the last one you saw was the one guarding your father’s chambers, the guard charged with protecting yours clearly back at his post.

Rounding a corner, you’re caught off guard as you almost bump into someone on your way. The person stops short and is quick to sidestep to make room for you, and with them not moving, it’s clear they probably expect an apology.

You stop in your tracks and wipe your eyes before looking at the person whom you’ve inconvenienced, and you’re certain it couldn’t get any worse when you notice it’s none other than Aemond.

His chin is slightly tilted to the ceiling as he looks down at you, barely phased by your sniffing and the dried tears on your skin.

“Whatever ‘tis you are trying to run from, you will find no refuge down this corridor,“ he notes, raising a brow as he watches you wipe the tears with the back of your hand.

His smooth voice doesn’t stop you from frowning, and you look at him with reddened eyes. He‘s standing tall, easily towering over you, and the eyepatch doesn’t make him any less intimidating in this dimly lit part of the castle.

“I… it‘s-,“ you sigh, closing your eyes. “My apologies, Prince Aemond. I am not running from anything.“

Aemond‘s eye roams your form, assessing you, and a grin takes over his features. “It‘s quite alright, my lady,“ he hums. “What is it that has you in such a foul mood this evening?“

You set your jaw, biting back the anger and irritation at the thoughts of your father’s words. Your fists are now clenched tightly at your sides, and for a moment, he’s sure he’s pissed you off beyond the point of no return by just crossing your path. “I’m sure it would be none of your business if I told you,” you reply curtly, looking at the ground.

But Aemond isn’t having any of it, if anything, he appears to enjoy being met with someone that doesn’t bow to him. “Ah, but you see that’s exactly where you’re wrong, my lady,” he says, taking a step closer to you to which you react by taking one back, just reluctantly stepping out of his vicinity. He towers over you, looming presence enough to replace the distress you’ve felt by inquisitiveness. “As a prince of the Royal family, everyone who resides in this castle is my business. And it is my particular interest to learn what has you so agitated this evening.”

Something in his gaze turns more serious, and if there remains the flash of a smirk on his lips, it’s so subtle you barely notice it. But that might also be because you don’t have it in you to break the prolonged eye contact. There’s the hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on in his gaze, something that crawls under your skin.

“I assume it has something to do with the many noble lords flocking to the city to woo you as we speak. I can only imagine how annoying it must be to have everyone trying to charm you,” he says, a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. There’s truth in his words, but the way he voices it feels degrading, making you nervous to the point you cave in; your shoulders dropping slightly. “It’s my father,” you say with a huff of breath. “He’s so bloody insistent on me marrying some lord of the Realm, but I have absolutely no interest in doing so.”

“What a coincidence,” Aemond hums, advancing at you. You’re backed up against the wall, trapped with nothing standing between you. “Because I have absolutely no interest in you being married off to some other man as well.”

You feel your pulse quicken with his words and every single one of his steps, heat crossing your cheeks. Your gaze flits to your feet and back up, only to see him still staring at you.

Biting your bottom lip, Aemond takes that as his cue to continue speaking. “You know you wouldn’t have to go through with this ordeal if you decided to elope with someone special.”

You jut out your chin, and half-lidded eyes gaze up at him. “I’m curious, my prince,” you counter, licking your lips. “What would this special person look like?”

Watching him bring up a hand to rest on the wall next to your head, you struggle with not letting him see just how much you melt in his presence. You know what he’s referring to, and the thought seems enticing, all the more in the prospect of him not striking you as the kind of lord you detest more than anything.

With your father being so insistent for you to marry some lord he’ll choose and your refusal of it, you’re more than interested in entertaining another option.

“Someone like me, for example,” he says, holding himself with so much arrogance, so much self-confidence.

His offer makes you consider the circumstances. You’re half Targaryen without a dragon, while he has claimed the biggest dragon alive when he was a child, and it would be stupid of you to let the idea of elopement with a man who could actually give you some power slip from your fingers. Taking in a deep breath, you look to the side with vulnerability glimmering in your eyes.

“I imagine that– well, I would have to have a dragon to be a suitable match for someone that has claimed the mighty Vhagar.”

Taking the opportunity given to him and taking advantage of your moment of weakness, he caresses the side of your face with a gentle hand; his head dipping forwards to bring his mouth on a level with your ear. You feel the warmth radiating off of him, prompting your heart to pound in your throat.

“That seems like quite the predicament, my lady,” he says, a hint of amusement woven in his voice. “However, I may have a solution to your problem.”

His words make your head snap back towards him so fast, it’s surprising he doesn’t flinch; and most importantly, he doesn’t shy away from the proximity. You feel his breath fan over your lips, but the temptation of claiming your own dragon is just too irresistible for you to care. A dragon is a symbol of power and status, a way to take control over your own life, and to make a difference – clearly befitting for the future Lady of Runestone.

And what woman in her right mind would refuse the chance to claim such a wondrous beast herself?

“And that is?” you voice your curious inquiry.

“A dragon is not what is stopping us,” he rasps, eye glinting as he notices your curiosity. You’re definitely not averse to the idea. “Elope with me, and I shall get you one. The Bronze Fury, Vermithor. I dare say he might be a good fit for a woman of your temperament.”

You fail to conceal the slight reddening of your cheeks, just as much as the change in your breathing at his words. Everything he says sounds like sorcery to you; the offer to help you claim a dragon of your own, even mentioning a dragon in question, it all piques your curiosity. You’re hooked, and that’s his last move to reel you in.

“If only it were that simple,” you hum, leaning closer towards him. “How exactly would we–”

Aemond silences you by crashing his lips against yours in a sudden rush of passion, and his tongue is quick to invade your mouth, tasting and teasing you at the same time. The protest dies on your tongue in the aftermath, as if he knows you might be doubting him and his intentions, and this will be the only way for him to get what he wants.

His free hand slides down your side, tracing your curves in search of grasping on any part of your body, settling on your hip. You sling your arms around his neck immediately, accepting and embracing his advances.

A spark of something familiar ignites in the pit of your belly, something that has you pulling back just slightly to gasp. You were so lost in the kiss, that you haven’t paid any mind to him nudging your legs apart to place his in between, firmly pressing his muscular thigh against your clothed mound.

Your thighs lock around his in response, that friction alone granting you a good bit of pleasure that has you whimpering, and you hesitantly grind your hips against it once.

There’s a moment where neither of you moves in the following. He expects you to suddenly play the coy lady, to push him away and storm off, but when that doesn’t come, he can’t help but scoff.

“Look at you,” he rasps in between heavy breaths. “So desperate for relief that you can not even wait for me to whisk you away to some quiet corner of the world.”

He doesn’t expect an answer, not that you could give him one, and is quick to dive forwards to swallow down any further whimpers and gasps that spill past your lips as his hand starts to move your body in a push and pull motion.

It is iniquitous, but you’ve done far worse things before, and with this corridor lying relatively deserted and therefore sparsely manned, you don’t even bother to worry about someone coming upon you.

The pleasure blooming between your legs is enough to encourage you to grind against his thigh on your own, although you’re certain that if you were to touch him, you’d come to the realization that he’s hard and just as wanting as you are.

With the thick skirts of your dress and your smallclothes rubbing your sensitive pearl each time your hips drag over his thigh, you get somewhat off-balance, holding onto his shoulders for leverage while the kiss becomes all teeth and tongue, devouring each other with passion and fire.

You roll your hips back and forth, alternating between short, quick movements and long drags against him, your shoulders dropping as you’re completely consumed by pleasure. The friction is almost too much, rubbing you sore despite your cunt being soaked in your arousal - but you’re far too lost to really care.

Your lips release his to catch your breath, and with the pleasure in your belly soaring to the surface, you can’t stop yourself from tilting your head back to whimper into the Red Keep’s chilly night air. Aemond immediately seizes the opportunity to mouth along the column of your throat, before gently sinking his teeth into it.

Your hips increase the pace with the slight sting his teeth bring, chasing the sensation that bubbles inside of you. The taste of copper fills your mouth from how harshly you bite down on your bottom lip, the intimidating and domineering side of him feeding something in you you didn’t know was there.

He brings your face on level with his again to just watch yours contort in pleasure, dark blown eye practically glued to your scrunched features. And if you weren’t so consumed by it all, you probably would have noticed the glimmer of affection flashing in it. His other hand comes off the wall to find your hip to help you grind down on his thigh, and it’s a massive undertaking for you to keep your legs steady to support yourself.

Aemond is not ashamed to groan and pant with you, and although his groans are much quieter than yours, and you know your movements don’t grant enough friction for him to reach completion, each sound that fans over your face brings you closer to yours.

“That’s it,” he rasps the words against your swollen lips in between fervent panting, not audible to anyone else but you, “peak for me.” There’s innocence in the way he says it, but the possessive demand is not to be doubted and exactly what you need to hear.

The pleasure ripples through you in twitches, and your cunt spasms and clenches around nothing with your thighs squeezing his for dear life. It’s a frustrating feeling that is hardly surpassed by the relief that washes over you, but for now you’ll have to make do with it.

“Look at you,” he coos, his voice thick with arousal and desire. “My my, aren’t you a good and obedient girl?” His praise makes you dizzy and longing for more, and if it wasn’t for him taking a step back from you, the lack of his thigh between your legs making the uncomfortable burn more than prominent, you would have done everything to tear the breeches right off of him.

You look at him with wide, glazy eyes, your mouth agape. “I–what…” you trail off, wanting to take a step towards him. But you’re stopped by his hand coming to your waist, keeping a fair distance between you. It’s obvious he struggles to hold himself back, and you pray to the Seven for him to allow the thin thread to snap.

“I will come back,” he says, his words doing little to mend the rising doubts that perhaps you were exploited, the satisfied smirk adorning his features not helping either. “I will have my prize, and I will claim what is rightfully mine.”

And with that, he disappears down the hallway until you lose him in your line of sight. Everything that remains of him now is the aching between your legs and the rich blent of leather and sandalwood lingering in your nostrils, leaving you to be alone with your thoughts.

The encounter was as abrupt as it was passionate, and you just now start to process everything that was said and has happened, and how you’ve felt every emotion possible in such a short amount of time.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you retire into the opposite direction, wandering the sleeping castle, eventually finding a corridor that seems familiar enough and brings you to your chambers.

You hardly find sleep that night with your mind too occupied, wondering when will be the next time you’ll hear of him.

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isshua · 1 year

Text

Okay, something really, REALLY weird just happened to me in Genshin that I literally have never experienced before that is making me begin to question if my game is becoming self aware.

So I’m working on leveling up Xingqiu right? And I was fighting the Oceanid boss because I need the materials from the battle to ascend him. So I’m going through the motions right? I’m fighting the water animals, I’m healing, all the basic stuff. My main character for this boss is Razor because I take advantage of the electricity damage the water animals are given when the water in the arena gets electrified. The other character I rely on is Kaeya because naturally he can freeze the water animals. Usually I have no issues when I fight bosses, yeah my internet sucks but I’m usually fine when I fight boss battles, and my internet has never been bad enough to end a boss battle altogether.

But today, things were different. For some weird reason, I couldn’t switch between Razor and Kaeya like one usually does. Razor just simply refused to let me switch. And when I could switch to Kaeya, I’d go to press the button to use his burst and suddenly it would be Razor’s burst attack, like I accidentally touched Razor’s burst icon instead of Kaeya’s, when I know I didn’t.

This got so bad that the game literally fell apart on me. The entire Oceanid boss battle glitched and ended itself. Like one moment all of the water animals were surrounding me and the next moment it was like I never started the battle at all. Has this happened to any of you who see this? Am I just experiencing normal bad internet lag and glitches? Because this honestly freaked me out so much that I had to put the game down for a minute.

This could be me just being paranoid because I’ve been writing a lot of Messianic Aureation lately, but the writer part of my brain sees this as Razor wanting my attention to the point where him trying to be the only character I can play is causing my entire game to glitch out. Or it could be the Oceanid boss herself making the battle end because she’s tired of me beating the shit out of her whenever I need materials. I know it’s nothing and it’s just my internet, but can you imagine if it wasn’t?

#words from the wyrm #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #genshin impact #IM SCARED #I DONT WANT TO BE SUCKED INTO A VIDEOGAME AND HUNTED DOWN BY THE CHARACTERS I LOVE

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pencildragons · 20 days

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diversity win!! the bone mannequin conjured of lies that's in your mirror uses they/them pronouns!!

#baron from the baronies #d20 #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fh #d20 fhsy #words of wyrm

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direfang · 8 months

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i should rly change my icon off than but like i dont have anything to change it /to/ per se......... god somebody just perfectly read my mind on what i want my sona to look like so i can actually use My face

#wyrm words #HEEEAAAAALP IM SO BAD AT /COLORS/#i can follow a design well enough if i have a ref but i cant fckin make em from scratch as easy #its so frustrating #GOD i still hafta finish redoing jamjars' design AEGH

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kingsblaze · 2 years

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Your muse has to share something that’s hard for them to talk about. What is the biggest thing they don’t want to say aloud/admit? What makes it hard for them to say it?

[Headcanon/Development Questions: Accepting]

Aside from the gross neglect of a child celebrity and everything that title holds and does to a kid?

Probably that he does absolutely miss the security of being Champion in terms of being able to self identify. Being able to look into the mirror and recognize the man who stares back. Because currently, he struggles with that a lot.

Especially since depersonalization disassociative disorder is something that pings heavily as a mental illness he may have but has no real idea of.

#headcanon #Leon vc I literally and physically don't have the words to describe the feeling of watching myself do things but like a movie #Leon vc wait #also the fear it may come off negative for him to even say he wants his title back but hasn't done a thing to get it back #even actively saying he's retired from the league #there's a few things he struggles with saying my wyrm

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kittenintheden · 2 months

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Ethics Review

Dave Matthews voice: I DID IT

Tav (reader) and Astarion pay his old office at the Courts a visit in the middle of the night for funsies and things get spicy.

aka it's the switchy bitchy magistrate roleplay fic

Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Pairing: Astarion/reader (Tav) Content: 18+, light BDSM elements, sexual roleplay, bitches be switches, dirty talk, spanking, orgasm denial, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex (AFAB reader, not gendered)

AO3 Link

It’s late, but then, it’s always late when you’re out with Astarion these days. By necessity, mostly, but also because it’s the best time for the pair of you to get up to your more unsavory plans without catching the watchful eye of the newly-reformed Fist.

“Where are you taking me?” you laugh as you follow him through a series of dark alleys. “This better not end with me having to send for Gale to get your hand out of another magicked jar.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” He looks over his shoulder and gives you an affectionate smirk.

“Not ever.”

Astarion peers around the corner of a brown brick building, checking that the coast is clear. To you, he says, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving soul.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling his neck. “Two of your most obvious and accurate qualities.”

He chuckles. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

A labyrinthine dozen alleyways later, you’re deposited in an open square, quiet and still. The cobblestones are dark with recent rain, sending their petrichor scent into the air. As you follow Astarion out into the space, you realize where you are. It’s the Courthouse District of the Lower City, where people are tried and held for petty crimes that aren’t suitable for Wyrm’s Rock.

You huff a laugh through your nose and look over at your partner with a raised eyebrow. “Did you need to tell me something? Have a court date you forgot to mention?”

“Hush,” he playfully scolds you, holding a finger up to his lips. “Let me think a moment.”

He peers up at a particular building on the square and furrows his brow, closing his eyes and moving his hands through the air. You fold your arms and watch as he moves his fingers like he’s following a path only he can see, turning corners and raising level by level. At last, he opens his eyes, and points at window on the third floor, two in from the corner.

“That one,” he says.

“That one what?” you prompt.

He grins devilishly. “That…” he points again. “... is my old office. I thought we might pay it a visit.”

“To what end?” you laugh.

“What can I say, I’m feeling a touch nostalgic these days.” He keeps his eye on the window and beckons you to follow closer to the building. “Something about my old haunts is calling to me.”

Behind where he can’t see, you pay him an affectionate smile. In the last year or so since the fall of the Nether Brain, you’ve seen the city rebuilt and gone on your fair share of adventures and quests, always searching for some way to give Astarion back the sunlight you promised him. No luck yet, but there have been promising leads here and there. It’s not a lost cause. Not yet.

The last few months in particular have seen certain changes in your lover. The terror and fear he carried for so long clung to him like a shadow, and ever so slowly it’s beginning to lift. His laugh is more present than before, more real. The intimate moments you share are filled with trust and care, even as you get more comfortable pushing a few boundaries here and there.

Most of all, he’s been remembering. Not everything. There are parts of his past forever lost to him, written over by more years of torment than he ever had of life. But there’ve been flashes every now and again of who he used to be. Some of them he likes, some he loathes. He doesn’t always talk about it, but you know being able to pick up a piece once in a while has meant a great deal to him.

So you follow along with whatever little game he has planned.

He walks along the building, scanning the brick for footholds. Just as he puts his hand on a storm drain and tenses to leap, you halt him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks back at you, you flick your eyes up toward the window.

“Three up, two in from then end?” you ask.

He nods.

“Allow me, love.”

You hold up your hand and cobalt magic pools in your palm, forming into a sphere. You send it up above you, the arcane eye floating until it finds the correct window before it slips inside. You blink, your own eyes glowing blue as you use your magic to scan the room. It’s certainly an office of some sort.

Astarion takes your hand when you hold it out for him and instantly you’re transported inside the office thanks to a handy little dimensional door spell you picked up on one of your many adventures. You wave away the arcane eye and give Astarion a wink.

He smirks and shakes his head at you. “Take all of the fun out of the thing, why don’t you,” he says through his smile. “Suppose I’ll have to make do with checking that the place isn’t alarmed. Alas.”

The place is, indeed, alarmed. Astarion manages to disarm two common magic wires and one trickier sending stone scattered throughout the room. You reach out through the Weave for any other whispers of magic. Some artifacts and lightly magical office supplies. Nothing worrisome.

Once you’re both satisfied that you won’t end up immediately arrested, Astarion moves to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. You’re quiet as he scans the walls, turning in a slow circle as he takes everything in. His fangs flash as he gives a quiet laugh.

“The layout is different, and the color,” he says. “But yes, this is the place.” He furrows his brow slightly and holds out his hands, eyes on the floor. “I… worked here. Me. A magistrate.” His eyes find you and his smile widens. “It was a lie for so much longer than it was a reality. But it was a reality, once upon a time.”

“I’m surprised,” you say, folding your arms and nonchalantly stepping closer. “The way you spoke and dressed when we first met, I thought you must’ve been an Upper City fancy defending-the-powerful type.”

Astarion clicks his tongue at you. “Now, don’t be judgmental. That’s my job.” He waves a hand through the air. “I was quite young in my career, but I was working my way up. All the way to the third floor, thank you.”

You come in to wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Genuinely.”

He spreads his fingers over your forearm, pressing his lips to your hair. “Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” He clears his throat and removes your arms, backing away from you with a toss of his head. “But don’t be too proud. I wasn’t exactly a… what’s the term? Model citizen.”

Astarion begins to walk around the small table with four chairs set in the center of the room.

“Oh?” you say, walking around the other side to mirror him. “Were you terribly corrupt?”

He pauses and tilts his head, shrugging. “‘Terribly’ is such a strong word, isn’t it? Lets just say I may have been known to, ah… sway the odds in my favor.”

You stop and look across the table at him. “What do magistrates even do, exactly? What did you do, specifically?”

“An absolutely stupid amount of paperwork, as I recall,” he says. “At least, I certainly remember hating every scrap that came across the desk. Meting out appropriate punishment for any minor and petty crime you can think of, most of them horrifically boring. But…” He leans over the table and holds up a finger. “... sometimes I got to conduct interviews to determine if crime was worthy of Wyrm’s Rock, and I was very good at getting the verdict I wanted.”

You rather like seeing this side of Astarion. Honest pride, confidence, and authority. The tip of your tongue runs along your bottom lip as you take in your love leaning over that table, dappled in moonlight. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“And how did you do that?” You pop your hip and raise your thumb to your mouth, teasing your lip as you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “Exactly?”

Astarion notices the shift in your demeanor immediately, his own eyes going half-lidded as they track the path of your hand to your mouth. His grin goes predatory and he leans back so he can come around the table to you and pull out the chair.

“Please, darling,” he says, nodding for you to sit. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

You pay him a sultry smile and sink into the chair, which he pushes in under you. Then he walks back around to the other side with his spine straight, hands folded behind his back.

A new game begins.

Astarion rolls out his shoulders as if he’s shedding a coat. When he turns to look at you, he does so down the length of his nose, his hard gaze making it clear that he thinks you beneath him.

You shiver as a thrill runs down your back and attempt to hide it.

He shakes his head above you, tutting. You’ve disappointed him.

Instinctively, you shrink into your chair slightly as he leans forward and places the tips of his fingers against the table in front of him, continuing to lower his face until it’s a mere foot from yours.

“A pathetic display back there,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Your associates have hung you out to dry. You do know that…” He tilts his head. “... don’t you?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and drop your eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silly little patsy,” he chides as he straightens to glare down at you again. “Such stars in your eyes for friends who would sooner see you burn than stick their necks out for you.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you say, raising your eyes to him in defiance even as you let a waver of nerves shake your voice.

“What must it be like to be so tragically misguided?” he sneers. It’s like an echo of a man you once knew. One you met on a sunny beach amid burning wreckage.

You blink up at him, eyes going soft. “I can’t betray them.”

“Betray them,” he breathes, huffing a mirthless laugh as he leans one hand onto a nearby chair. “My dear, they are in the next room, and the room after that, giving you up as we speak. No loyalty among thieves, I fear.”

“No,” you gasp. “They wouldn’t.”

Astarion holds a finger up to his lips, shushing you. “I think you know better than that. But fine, have it your way. Don’t give them up to save your own hide. Let me sweeten the pot.”

He turns his body so he can side-sit on the table and put his first knuckle under your chin, lifting it so he can inspect you. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gold to line your pockets, perhaps?”

Though you try to stop it, your body betrays you as a bright blush blooms across your nose and cheeks. Astarion’s pupils dilate above you.

“Or something else entirely?” he whispers, tilting his mouth closer to yours. “I’d much sooner send those two cads to Wyrm’s Rock in your place. Help me, and maybe you and I could have a bit of…” His eyes trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and beyond before he looks back into your eyes. “... fun in celebration.”

“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper back.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I rather like you. Plus, I might get a little kickback in the form of a promotion for bringing in two thorns in the Fist’s side, but that’s neither here nor there.” He rolls his eyes and pays you a flirtatious smile on the last bit.

And that… is your opening.

Your expression grows serious and you note the moment that Astarion’s eyebrows give the briefest twitch of concern.

"You've overplayed your hand, Magistrate Ancunín," you say.

Astarion draws his hand back and gives you a perplexed look. “Have I?”

You smile, then. Calm and dangerous. "I've been sent by the Board of Ethics, you see."

Astarion is thrown by this turn, but he recovers quickly, offering a simpering smile. "Oh? Oh, dear. Seems I've been caught with my pants down."

You stand, holding his eye. "Indeed. Best go place your hands on the desk where I can see them."

With a flourish, he holds his hands up for you to see. No funny business, none at all. He goes to the desk and spreads his palms flat against the polished wood. He must feel the heat of your skin as you come close, only inches away. Inspecting. Considering.

You lean in close to his ear. "Say our word if you'd like me to stop, Ancunín," you whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks.

In answer, you grab his hips and pull them flush against your own with enough force that he gasps from it, genuinely surprised. In his ear again, you whisper, "Teaching you a lesson."

You release him and move to his side. He turns his head to look at you and you can see the openmouthed surprise in his face, but it’s more than that. Surprised, yes, but also open. Interested. Very turned on. You know this look.

This is Astarion’s “oh, we’re doing that thing I like?” look. It’s a good look on him.

You tap a finger on his nearest hand. “Keep these exactly where they are. I must warn you that you face serious repercussions for witness tampering. I have some questions. Answer them to my satisfaction, and I may consider…” Your gaze trails down to the front of his trousers, which are straining. When you meet his eye again, you add, “... reinstatement.”

Astarion tilts his chin down so he can give you a heated look. “Then by all means,” he says, lips parted. “Ask.”

“Hm,” you hum as you trail your fingers over the desk as you walk around to the other side. You mimic his stance with your hands on the table, though yours is one of authority while his is one of awaiting judgment. He tilts his head at you in question, gaze hot. You match it.

“Let’s start with an easy one.” You tilt your head toward the wall without breaking eye contact. “That placard hanging there. What is it?”

He looks and then huffs through his nose. “It’s an oath.”

You tilt your head the other way. “And what does it say?”

Astarion smirks. “‘As an officer of the Court, I will strive to conduct myself at all times with integrity, dignity, and honor.’”

“That’s right,” you say, nodding. “Now tell me, Ancunín… do you feel you’ve conducted yourself in accordance with that oath?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, flashing you a winning smile. “I offered you the utmost dignity and honor, did I not?”

An idea occurs to you and you imagine he catches the twinkle in your eye as you raise one of your hands to click your fingers, a glowing web of pale blue stretching to cage you both inside. Astarion frowns up at it. The moment he realizes what you’ve done, he gives you a look that’s half-exasperated and half-devious.

“What’s this?” he says, playing along.

“A little insurance policy. To ensure your adherence to honesty.” You reach to the collar of your shirt and undo one button. Then another.

Then another.

Astarion struggles to keep his eyes on your face, but when you lean back down onto the table, he can’t help but sneak a peek.

You toy with another button. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about dignity now?”

Astarion bites the corner of his lip to keep his expression serious. He keeps his eyes trained on your chest and seems to carefully consider his words before he says, “I maintain that I respect the dignity of your tits.”

That’s not what he meant to say. He blinks. His eyes flick up to yours. “Your position,” he amends.

His eyes flick back down. “Your position and your tits.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. That you might be… what do they say? Dipping your wick in the law office wax.”

You stand and come back around to his side, maintaining your spell as you do. Astarion tracks you all the way back around.

“I’d like you to be as honest with me as you can be,” you say softly. “Not that you’ve much choice. So, in that case, here’s some extra… motivation.”

You’re behind him now and you hear his sharp intake of breath when he feels your palms spread over either side of his hips before moving around to the ties at the front of his trousers. You loosen them just enough to give you space.

Astarion’s knuckles are going white where he presses his fingers against the desk.

Your fingers are soft and warm against his lower abdomen as they dip below his waistband, then inside his underthings. You find what you seek and grip it firmly, fisting the length of him. He bites back a groan and flexes his hands against the wood as you draw him out into the open air.

“You do keep it cool in here,” you whisper into his ear. You keep your touch light as you tease his cock, just enough to make him want but not nearly enough to satiate the need. “Why is that?”

Astarion swallows and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “A little discomfort loosens the tongue, I find.” He struggles to keep the breathiness out of his voice and very nearly succeeds.

Nearly.

Your smile is wicked. “I see. Well.”

You rest his hardened length against the varnished wood of the desk. It’s cool on his touch-warmed skin and he whines lightly as you leave him there to walk around to his other side, fingertips drawing a trail across his broad back and shoulders.

“In that case, we’ll be leaving that…” You glance down at his cock, then back at his face. “… out in the cold until you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction. Understood?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and meets your eye. “Completely.”

“Good.” You move one of his misplaced curls back into place. “If I’m satisfied, I just might let you warm it up again. We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” he says, voice dropping deeper, and you can sense the challenge there. You smile as you turn away from him.

“Let’s try again,” you say. “Do you make a habit of lying to your interviewees in hopes of manipulating a confession?”

“Is ‘lying’ the word we want to use?” he says with a lilt.

“Yes.” You turn back to look at him.

He clears his throat, chewing his tongue to hide another smile before he looks away. He thinks a moment, then says, “I occasionally massage my message to pave the way for a more fruitful discussion in my favor, yes. Only in the interest of this office and my personal satisfaction.” He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You shake your head. “My, my. And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Perhaps you need a reminder that I hold your immediate future in my hands?”

When you move back in and loosen his trousers still further to shove down his hips and below his arse, he wriggles to help. He seems to think he’s won this phase of the game. Adorable.

Rather than give him any relief, you reach out to the desk and pick up a wooden ruler, thin and flexible. Astarion opens his mouth, presumably to ask what you’re doing, but doesn’t get the chance as you use the flat of the ruler to give him a quick smack on his bare arse.

He cries out in surprise and looks around at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him the opportunity to call his out. Instead, you watch his eyes darken. He’s still in. Which is good, because gods above if you aren’t beginning to make a mess of your underwear already.

“Do you understand your situation?” you ask.

“Maybe you ought to remind me again,” he rumbles.

You do, leaving another slap on his pale skin. A shiver travels up his back from the base of his spine all the way up.

“I understand,” he says.

“Very good,” you say. “Do you manipulate the outcomes of your interviews?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he says quietly, peering up at you from under his brows.

“Thank you for your honesty. With bribery?”

He nods.

You bend forward so you’re eye-to-eye. “And do you frequently offer favors of a sexual nature?”

Astarion’s gaze drops to your mouth and he blinks heavily. “That’s only for when I see someone I like,” he says.

There’s another slap to his arse, quick as reflex, and he gives a small, broken “a-ah” as he drops his head. He spoke the truth, your spell ensures that, but you want him to be more specific. You look down to see he’s subtly grinding himself against the desk, his cock beginning to weep pre-fluid as you watch.

You place the ruler against his back to hold him in place. “None of that,” you say. “Not until you clarify. Why me?”

He groans in frustration. “Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you. Because I want to be inside you and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both hoarse from crying our ecstasy.”

Well. The pair of underwear you’re wearing are officially done for, you fear.

“What a wicked tongue you have,” you breathe, not quite able to keep up your aura of authority. You swallow and add, “Perhaps I’ll consider letting you off with a warning if we can figure out a better use for it.”

Astarion goes to his knees so quickly it makes your head spin. You don’t hesitate to take care of the bindings on your own trousers and he’s eager to help, shoving your clothing to the floor. You’re trying to remove a boot when he presses his face into the crux of your legs and runs his tongue along the seam of you so hotly that you nearly fall over. You lean down and give him another half-hearted smack. All it does is elicit a groan against your most sensitive of places.

With some struggle, you manage to remove the boot, kick your trousers and underthings off of one leg, and hop up to sit on the desk, Astarion follows you along, refusing to let you leave him now that he’s on you. His mouth works against you on its own, tongue lapping firmly at the edges of your cunt, flushing you and making you swell. He hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you know you’re already slick with desire.

You’re so momentarily distracted that you almost miss where his hands have gone.

Chest heaving, you weakly wave to dismiss your Zone of Truth and call up your mage hand, sending it down where you can’t reach to grab the wrist of the hand Astarion’s using to pump his cock while he licks at you.

“I don’t think so,” you gasp. “Still on… probation.”

You’re losing the thread and you’re perfectly okay with it.

Astarion growls in response and comes up higher on his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you tight against his face. His tongue finally finds your center and he rolls it against your entrance, plying the place just inside that makes you go flush with arousal, your clit swelling further. Then he finally pays it attention with a light draw followed by firm circles, teasing until you feel sparkles of arcane energy tingling at your fingertips and zaps of pleasure shoot through your core.

He holds you so tight to him that there’s no escape from the assault of pleasure he’s waging on your body. All too soon, you’re whimpering as you approach your peak.

And Astarion simply stops. He leaves you there, right before the edge, and you cry out in dismay and frustration. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s on his feet and pulling you onto yours, spinning you around until your hips are pressed to the edge of the dark wood. You can feel his rock hard length against the cleft of your arse, feel the wetness at the tip of him against your lower back.

“You’ve overplayed your hand this time, I think,” he pants into your ear. “Let your guard down. What member of the Board of Ethics accepts bribes?”

When you try to wriggle free, you feel his fingers at your wrists. He takes your hands and spreads them on the desk as you’d done to him, bending you over. His hips draw back and then return and you feel his hardness drag over your folds from behind, teasing but not quite putting pressure on your clit.

His breathing is heavy, but through it, he manages, “This time, you tell me the truth. Why did you meet with me?”

“To catch you out,” you gasp. “Your behavior has been… unethical.”

“Is it unethical to recognize when someone wants your cock?” he whispers, sending a tingle over your shoulders. “Is it against my oath to offer?”

“That’s not… I didn’t…”

The head of his cock nudges your clit and you both hiss through your teeth. He pulls back until he catches at your entrance, pushing in just barely. Just enough to begin to feel him, but nowhere near enough of him. Instinctively you arch your back harder, trying to take more, but he won’t let you.

“Beg me,” he growls in your ear. “Beg me for my cock. Tell me it’s why you came here.”

Your very last thread of remaining restraint is pulled to its absolute limit, but it doesn’t break quite yet. “I came here on orders to uncover a magistrate with loose morals,” you manage.

Astarion reaches a hand up to the hair at the back of your head, grabs a handful, and gently pulls to bend your head back. Directly into your ear, he whispers, “You’ve found him. Now beg for it.”

In the quiver of his voice, you can hear that he’s the one begging you.

So you give in.

“I came here for you,” you whisper back. “Please, let me. Let me take your cock.”

His breath shudders out of him. “Take it you shall.”

Astarion thrusts his hips forward, burying himself in you, and you hardly have time to so much as gasp before he sets a punishing rhythm, one arm around your waist to hold you in place and the other one still tangled up in your hair. You arch deeply, giving him as much access as you can, and he pounds into you relentlessly. On the outskirts of your awareness, you feel bruises beginning to form on your hipbones from where they repeatedly hit the desk.

You don’t care one whit.

He keeps you bent over the desk, your palms spread to keep you both upright as he fucks you hard, his moans trapped behind his clenched teeth. As you fly full speed back to your edge, he removes the hand from your head and absently places it over your mouth to muffle your own escalating cries.

The coil of your climax tightens and Astarion begins to mutter a steady mantra of “yes, yes, yes, gods, yes” beside your ear. He presses himself all the way to the hilt and rocks, the base of him stretching you just right and his balls pressed firm to your clit and there, oh there, it’s right-

You scream behind Astarion’s palm as you come, the delicious tension boiling and spilling over as contractions roll through you, pleasure washing over your body with every heartbeat. You nearly blank out for a second and when you blink back down, your lover continues to pump into you as he chases his own end.

With a shaking hand, you call up your mage hand from where it shimmers nearby and press it to his chest, pushing back with soft pressure.

“No,” Astarion whines, attempting one or two more thrusts before you back him up. “No, please, please, I didn’t finish, I-”

You turn, bottomless and eyes full of fuck and revenge, and add your own hands to the mix, all three pushing him back until he hits the deposition table, going flat on his back. You crawl up over him and straddle him, up on your knees just out of reach.

You look down upon him, beautiful and fucked out in the moonlight. “Do you regret any of it?” you say.

“I’m regretting a lot of my decisions at the moment,” he snarks. His lips part as he breathes.

With a smile, you roll your hips just enough to catch the head of his cock back at your opening. “Do you regret any of it?” you repeat.

He pants, looking up at you. Then he reaches up to grip the front of your shirt and pull you down over him in a searing kiss. When you break, he whispers, “No. Not a moment. It brought me to you.”

You roll back, sinking down onto him. He gasps and throws his arms around you, helping you get back into rhythm, and he’s so close that it’s barely any time at all before he arches his back clear up off the table and groans as he spills inside of you, the relief painted across every inch of his face. He comes for nearly a minute, twitching and humming beneath you until he finally relaxes into a boneless heap.

When he next opens his eyes, you lean down and catch him in another kiss.

The pair of you have barely redressed and cast a few prestidigitation cantrips as a courtesy before there’s a sound somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Shit,” Astarion whispers, startled. He grabs your hand and spins you both into a dim corner of the room before you both cast Invisibility. Just in the nick of time, it appears, because there’s a jangle of keys and then a harried-looking halfling comes bustling into the room, dark bags under their eyes.

They grumble to themselves for a moment, going to a box to sort through files. They don’t find what they’re looking for and move on to the desk. Once there, they open a drawer, then wrinkle their nose.

“Bleeding hells, it smells like sex in here,” they grumble. “Gonna tell Jackobson that Cole has been using his office again. Teach that arsehole for making me come fetch the file he forgot.”

The halfling pulls a file from the drawer, slams it, and exits the room.

Neither of you move for the rest of the minute your invisibility lasts. As soon as the cloaking spell fades, you both collapse to the floor in quiet giggles. You kiss Astarion through your laughter, again and again.

It’s nice to see this side of him.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tavstarion #kitten writes

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