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fangswbenefits · 7 months

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The Arrangement (4) - Solution

Chapter summary: Wyll comes bearing a solution to your predicament with Astarion... what could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter . Series Masterlist . Ao3

Snow.

Why was it snowing in Baldur's Gate this time of the year?

It didn't make any sense whatsoever.

But there was no denying it when the cold yet tender caresses of snowflakes began to spread across the swell of your cheeks.

A distant voice was calling out to you, but you could only smile blissfully at the warm embrace of its familiarity.

It was as the winter sun that insisted on tearing through storm clouds rolling over the majestic Baldurian mountains: powerful enough to melt the frost away, and unforgiving once its rays shined out the brightest.

The faint scent of bergamot laced with rosemary surrounded you like a soft blanket.

You did recognise that scent… and your smile immediately dropped.

The voice got louder and louder, but your feet were now moving on their own until you were at the edge of a cliff.

Then you plummeted without looking back.

An agonising scream reverberated through your mind like a knife in the dark, twisting and prodding until you jolted awake at once.

Your eyes snapped open and you saw Astarion's face first and felt his icy fingers on your face next.

As a surge of panic and dread took over, you instinctively slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“You were squirming and screaming.”

You quickly propped yourself on your elbows, realising he sat at your feet, brows furrowed and an unreadable look on his face.

Another nightmare? But it hadn't started off like that. They rarely did.

As your eyes roamed along the length of your body, it dawned on you that his scent had made it all the way to your subconscious because his cloak was now covering you.

Noticing your realisation, he cleared his throat. “You were shivering in your sleep. You humans can be so… frail.”

You wish you could hate him. You truly wish you could loathe him with your entire being, especially after your earlier exchange.

It would make it so much easier to overcome the longing feelings you had for him.

But, it would seem, he was bent on making it harder for you and this bond wasn't easily severed on a whim.

Instinctively, you pulled the fabric of his cloak snuggly around your neck as if it would be enough to keep him at bay.

“I would have offered my body heat, if I had any left,” he said with a shrug, pulling one knee up against his chest.

Right.

Vampire.

No body heat unless he was well fed.

“Did I… say anything?”

The last thing you needed right now was for your subconscious to betray you by having you mumble out his name in a suggestive manner.

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hard to make out anything intelligible in the midst of all the grunts and moans.”

“Good.”

Hold on… grunts and… moans?

“Oh please, don't look so horrified,” he said with a click of his tongue. “A much welcome distraction considering how tedious it's been in here.”

Typical.

A scowl settled on your face as you shifted across the mattress, pulling your knees up together and increasing the distance between you two.

The faint earthy and citrusy scent of bergamot enveloped you, and your eyes fluttered shut.

For someone who was bound to live in the shadows and prowl the streets after the sun went down, Astarion surely carried the fragrance that resembled Summer days the most.

You didn't feel cold even in this damp-filled cell.

It wasn't even related to the cloak itself, as it wasn't thick enough to make much of a difference.

No.

It was purely an unavoidable consequence of being near him.

Even in his icy coldness, Astarion brought out warmth that would put the most fierce of flames pale in comparison.

“What's on your mind?”

His purring voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you blinked the tiredness away, ignoring his question. “What time is it?”

“Judging from how the guards are way past the threshold of sobriety… my guess is that it's close to midday.”

You slowly dragged yourself up into a sitting position, heaving a deep sigh. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Well, we can.”

“Astarion.”

He turned his head to you. “What? You are a powerful sorcerer. They wouldn't stand a chance.”

It was a proper observation, and it surely wasn't an attempt at stroking your ego. He had seen enough of your abilities to know you could have metal melt if you so desired.

But still… “I'm sure Wyll will come soon.”

He let out a sound of pure discontent. “Yes. Your prince charming shall be here soon to save the day.”

You simply ignored him.

And Astarion hated being ignored.

So, naturally, he made sure he had your attention.

“I would just like to point out that–”

His voice died in your ears as the sound of steady paces echoed across the halls with salutes being exchanged.

You immediately lunged forward, leaving his cloak behind before pressing your face against the bars and gripping them tightly.

“Excuse me? I was talking to you.”

Astarion's outrage would have to be put on hold for the time being.

You recognised that voice and that level of respect mimicked by the guards outside.

“Wyll!”

Astarion joined your side in an instant, as the Grand Duke came into sight.

His face was heavy and he didn't bear a reassuring smile. It was such a foreign look on him, it gave you whiplash.

Your hopeful smile eventually dropped as he approached you.

“My friends, what an unfortunate turn of events.”

He placed one hand atop yours and you nodded eagerly. “Please. We are not guilty of whatever they are accusing us of.”

His young face eased slightly. “So you haven't committed any crime?”

“That's the general definition,” Astarion chimed him, visibly annoyed.

“Why am I not surprised you are involved in this?” Wyll retorted, but his words – unlike Astarion's – held no ill-intent.

“Oh, I thought you were aware that I'm the root of all evil in Baldur's Gate?” he said, voice dripping with cutthroat sarcasm. “Your psychic powers must be below par as of late, Wyll.”

You shot him a death glare, wanting nothing more than to cast Silence on him.

However, Wyll let out a loud and heartfelt laughter that had the other prisoners whine and rattle against the bars of their enclosure.

“Charming as always – even under such dire circumstances.”

Astarion's lips held the fakest smile ever. “Glad I could be of entertainment.”

“Especially considering that I'm most likely your only way out of this.” Wyll said in a tone that prickled the hair at the nape of your neck.

Great.

Astarion and his never-ending ability to annoy people beyond oblivion.

“Yes, I'm sure Circus of the Last Days is one clown short,” you said maliciously, side-eyeing him. “Maybe he'd prefer it over there.”

He dreaded clowns in a way that was almost comical, and your remark was enough to silence him at once, but not without having him shoot daggers with his intense stare.

Wyll cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on you. “Listen. I believe in your innocence, my friend.”

Your heart soared high.

“However…”

Ah, yes. There was always an inconvenient ‘however’ somewhere.

“I must look into this matter further, as the Council of Four demands. If it were solely up to me, I would have you out of here right now.”

Your heart plummeted to the ground at once.

“But it is up to you. You have the final word,” Astarion pointed out.

“Be it as it may, I cannot favour acquaintances when an alleged crime is committed.”

Astarion scoffed. “Demoting us from friends to acquaintances in under thirty seconds. My, my… and you worried I was the power-hungry one of the group.”

Wyll placed his hand on your shoulder and you glared intensely at him. “Give me a few hours, and I will see to it that you get out of here.”

He wasn't being deceitful in the slightest. Wyll's sense of righteousness and moral compass were nearly always fine tuned.

Besides, you had nothing to fear.

Justice was on your side.

But there was clearly someone out there who wasn't, and that made your skin crawl.

Which begged the question… “Why do you believe in our innocence? I mean… I was expecting an interrogation at the very least.”

He gave you a sincere smile of affection. “My dear friend, I know you well enough to doubt your words. This crime doesn't suit you. Besides, across those weeks together, I was able to find hope where there was none. You joined forces with the unlikeliest of allies and turned on potential ones to help us all out – to help Baldur's Gate.”

A looming sense of discomfort was brewing deep inside as his words hit you.

It wasn't so much that he was exaggerating or singing praises that you were undeserving of, but you would have never made it that far on your own.

Not without him.

Or even without Astarion.

“This city is indebted to you,” he went on, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I am sure this misunderstanding will be resolved soon, but I'm afraid protocols and bureaucracy must still be addressed properly.”

You reluctantly nodded, knowing deep down that he was right.

His position was one that came with great responsibility, and it would be folly of him to not act in accordance to what was expected of him as Grand Duke.

“If you wish, I could have you moved to an overground cell – just in case Astarion is being too overbearing,” he quickly added.

“No, no. I reckon I can withstand a few more hours in his presence before losing my sanity,” you chuckled at him.

“You do know I can hear you, don't you?” Astarion said with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“I shall have some fruit sent over.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and turned his head to Astarion. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Yes, you can get me out of here.”

Wyll pursed his lips firmly together.

You hit with a ‘be nice’ scowl, which had him heave a deep sigh. “Alright, alright. I don't require any blood just yet. Our dear friend was kind enough to let me feed on her a few days ago.”

“Right.”

Wyll wasn't amused in the slightest and you couldn't blame him. It wasn't an ideal arrangement, and he was a monster hunter at heart, which only fueled his dislike for Astarion boasting about it.

With a final nod, he took his leave even as prisoners banged on the bars of their cells in a failed attempt at taunting him.

Once again, you pressed your forehead against the bars. “We're getting out of here soon.”

Astarion was leaning on his side against the door, eyeing you. “You know, darling… I do wonder if you're trying to convince me or yourself at this point.”

You didn't reply.

But it was probably both.

“So… who do you think got us into this mess?”

“Oh, I do so love guessing games,” he said, securing the cloak around him before sitting down on his mattress. “Well, I'm sure our list of foes didn't thin out even with the heroic display to save the city.”

Good point.

You took a hungry bite from an apple. “Hmm… it'd be less of a nuisance to just kill us, no?”

“If by ‘us’ you mean ‘you’, then sure. I don't die easily, as I know you're aware, darling.”

Another good point, even though a wooden stake might beg to differ.

“Maybe it really is just one big misunderstanding.”

“... but?”

You glared at him with furrowed brows. “But what?”

He shrugged. “Isn't there always a ‘but’?”

Your mind had begun to wander into other possibilities, each new one more alarming than the previous.

It was particularly daunting to wonder whether this Ava woman had had a hand in this.

Should you even bring it up to him? Maybe.

“Well?” He pressed, crimson eyes never leaving yours. “I know you have something on your mind, so feel free to share with the audience, darling.”

You hesitated at first, unsure it would be the wisest choice. He was clearly fond of her, but you just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she could be up to something.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Maybe you were simply allowing your protective feelings over Astarion to get in the way and cloud your judgment.

Maybe she was nothing more than a mere courtesan and not some scheming criminal.

Besides… what reason would she have to frame both of you for this?

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded, so you chose to keep it to yourself.

“I'm inclined to believe we were set up, but I don't know by whom,” you eventually said, not intending on passing out accusations just yet.

His eyes narrowed. “You're not being truthful.”

Thrown for a loop, you blinked. “You think I'm lying?”

“I know you're lying.”

You gave him a sour glare. “I suppose it takes one to know one.”

He actually genuinely laughed at your remark. “Touché, my dear.”

One didn't easily win the title of charlatan over nothing, after all.

He'd spent decades honing his skill in the art of deception, which had you falling for his sweet lies so easily when you two first met.

Not wanting to go down that road, you shove the memory aside and focused on the apple in your hand instead.

Silence settled heavily around you, only broken by your occasional bites.

The door to the prison hall swung open all of a sudden, but neither of you shifted.

It was probably nightfall by now, and you had gotten used to the intrusive sounds that erupted from time to time.

Hurried steps caught your attention and you turned to find Wyll by the bars.

You scrambled out of bed as fast as a lightning bolt with Astarion following suit.

“You're getting out of here.”

An overwhelming wave of relief washed over you and you could nearly cry of joy.

“Finally. Took you long enough.” Astarion said.

Wyll's face dropped slightly. “It is not without compromise, I'm afraid.”

Oh.

It was to be expected, really…

“The council has agreed to further the investigations without the need of imprisonment, so long as you stay confined to your place for the time being,” he went on, as two Fists joined his side, carrying your belongings. “With two guards stationed outside at all times.”

“Essentially treating us like criminals, then,” Astarion scoffed, clearly put out.

“You are suspected of being criminals,” Wyll pointed out. “I am quite certain it will only be for a couple of days, so do not fret.”

It seemed like a fair deal and, at this point, you would give anything to get out of this prison.

“Wait – hold on. What do you mean ‘your place’?”

Wyll glared at him in confusion. “Aren't you staying with the rest of the group?”

“No?” He pulled out a face of disgust as if Wyll had just implied he had been offered to share an accommodation with a pack of stinky gnolls.

“I did invite him – more than once.”

“And I declined every single time.”

You rolled your eyes.

As much as you had earlier wished to part ways with Astarion after that heated argument, you were more than willing to move past that for the greater good.

“Well, now would be an opportune time to accept the invitation,” Wyll said, motioning for the guards to unlock the door. “You will be escorted back to your place and await further instructions.”

Grabbing your belongings, you hurried past the door to walk alongside Wyll while both guards flanked you.

“What about my clothes? I need a couple of changes, then,” Astarion inquired as he expertly fastened the dagger holsters around his thigh and waist. “I'm staying at The Blushing Mermaid.”

He did have an interesting set of priorities, given the current predicament…

“We will have someone fetch it for you.”

“Ask for a woman named Ava. She will know what to pack.”

Wyll nodded in silence.

You nearly scoffed, but managed to disguise it as a throaty cough, which earned Wyll's attention.

“I'm afraid these dungeons are riddled with dust and present less than ideal conditions, my friend.”

You cleared your throat with a faint remorseful smile, already feeling guilty for your deception.

The torch-lit tunnel extended as far as the eye could see, and it seemed like forever before you finally made it topside.

The barracks were buzzing with whispers and intense glares, with each Flaming Fist saluting the Grand Duke as he made his way through the building.

A quick glance through the window and you realised the sun had already set.

Convenient for Astarion.

Wyll's feet came to a halt before the closed shut and sturdy double door.

“I am terribly sorry that we had to meet again under such grim circumstances, but I trust this matter will be resolved soon.”

You gave him a warm smile of gratitude. “Thank you for this, Wyll. I'm sure you were met with resistance.”

He chuckled. “Quite the resistance, but I believe being power-hungry does hold its advantages, right, Astarion?”

“I suppose.”

There was not a single part of Wyll that was power-hungry. He had earned the title and his position within Baldur's Gate elite. No one was more deserving of it.

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice, but I'm guessing that's as close to it as I'll get,” Wyll said in amusement as Astarion frowned.

You gave him a fleeting hug, earning some disapproving glares – including from Astarion.

“Thank you, Wyll.”

“You are most welcome. We'll talk soon.”

Parting ways, you stepped into the night with both Flaming Fists following closely behind.

“Well, I'm glad that's been dealt with.” You said in an attempt to break the layer of silence.

“Hardly. I'm merely hopping from one prison to another,” he muttered bitterly. “But I suppose it could be worse.”

As you hurried along the busy city streets, you noticed the inquisitive glares from passers-by. After all, being escorted by two guards often meant trouble.

“Come to think of it, this is entirely your fault.”

Your head snapped at him. “What?”

He nodded. “If you hadn't cast Sleep, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.”

You scolwed. “Seriously, Astarion? You were about to gut him open!”

“It would have been a better fate than what he actually deserved,” he bit back. “But that damned swirly pink spell drew too much attention.”

You shouldn't have been surprised that he was lashing out, but it still annoyed you to no end that he refused to acknowledge his part in this.

“You have some nerve to pin this on me when you were the one causing a ruckus.”

He was glaring at you like you'd just grown a third arm. “Remind me again who yelled out as they were casting a spell.”

“I didn't yell–”

One of the guards behind you cleared his throat, effectively silencing you.

Arguing with Astarion was about as pointless as fighting the sun from rising. He always had to have the final word.

You sighed. “This is pointless.”

“Agreed.”

As your house came into view, you began to make out a couple of figures by the door.

Gale and Shadowheart.

You heard Astarion immediately scoff once you were close enough. “Please be quiet.”

Gale frowned slightly. “What? I didn't utter a single word.”

“Oh, I know. I'm just practicing this line for the future.”

Shadowheart intervened before the wizard could. “Wyll informed us of what happened. Are you well?”

You nodded. “Within reason.”

She embraced you tightly. “I am sure this will all be resolved soon.”

“A very bizarre event, no doubt,” Gale said, patting your back affectionately. “This city is crawling with the most vile of creatures, indeed.”

The three of you made your way inside, and a dramatic cough was heard.

You turned to see Astarion standing by the doorway, and then it dawned on you that he would need a literal verbal invitation in order to walk in.

“Oh! Right… sorry… you may come in, Astarion.”

He didn't need to be told twice, taking careful steps at first just in case.

Upon concluding it was safe to continue, he made his way into the kitchen area, taking in his surroundings in silence.

Lae'zel was nowhere to be found, and you reckoned she might have gone out to hunt in the surrounding Baldurian woods.

“Your belongings are upstairs, already,” Shadowheart informed him as she leaned against a wood pillar. “I wasn't sure how to make a vampire abode feel more homely in such short notice, so you'll have to excuse the lack of frivolous and decadent decoration.”

He waved a hand dismissively, heading towards the staircase. “No need to concern yourself with it, darling. I'm not staying for long.”

You watched him round the corner and disappear into the hall.

“Your room is to your left, Astarion,” you called after him.

His footsteps halted and you smiled in amusement.

“Ah – yes. I was merely taking a look,” he said, reappearing at the top of the staircase again with a disapproving look on his face. “I must say… awful and dull decoration. This has Gale written all over it.”

You reckoned having Astarion stay over would prove more of a challenge than you had initially anticipated.

Series Masterlist

Sharing a house with Astarion under such circumstances.... what could possibly go wrong 😌

Next chapter: Confrontation

I don't keep taglists, so feel free to subscribe to it on Ao3 to get alerts 🩷

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion angst #astarion scenario

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yourfriendowlbear · 5 months

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Name Day

Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: It's your name day. Astarion wants to do something special for you.

today is my birthday, so I figured I'd write something a little self-indulgent

It’s your name day, and Astarion has been frantic

He doesn’t remember much about his life before Cazador, but he knows that birthdays are a big fucking deal for elves

And whether you’re an elf or not, he wants to do something. If you are an elf, it’s all the more important for him to celebrate accordingly.

He’s freaking out. What in the hells does he do for you? What in the hells can he get you?

He’s more than happy to buy you anything–he’s more than happy to steal you anything, but you have everything reasonable that you could want.

Nothing seems good enough for you. He knows that you’ll more than likely love whatever he ends up with, but that doesn’t mean he’s cutting himself any slack.

He’s so desperate that he goes to Gale. He’s got ideas, but he’s just a vampire with limited resources and limited nighttime hours. He knows when he’s at a disadvantage, and though he’s loathe to ask for help, he isn’t willing to fumble this.

So he convinces you to visit Waterdeep and to drop in on your wizard friend, who has insisted on numerous occasions that you’re more than welcome at his tower any time.

It takes a few days, but Gale does manage to enchant something for Astarion to gift you. The wizard had helped him plan it, and he’d basically had to create the enchantment from the ground up. It’s beautiful, and he absolutely cannot wait to give it to you.

The day of your birthday arrives, and you’re at your shared home in Bloomridge, in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. The house–like many of the homes in the neighborhood–is built onto the side of the city wall. It’s small but not cramped, with a large, inviting kitchen, a cozy drawing room, and two bedrooms. Two balconies–one off the main bedroom, one off the drawing room–look out over the city and Grey Harbor.

Astarion is nervous, and he’s never been more glad to not have a heart, since it would probably give him away.

It’s evening. The two of you have just gotten up. You’re sitting out on the balcony, curled up on the outdoor settee. There’s a lantern hanging on a hook above you as you read. Astarion’s arm rests around your shoulders, a book clasped in his other hand. You’re nestled into his side, a barely held together ancient tome in your lap. Scratch lays on the ground in front of the settee, head on his paws.

A raucous laughter pierces through the foggy evening. Karlach and Lae’zel are the first to appear on the stairs.

Leave it to your merry band of misfits to disrupt the peace of your little neighborhood.

You’re off the couch and at the front door in a flash. Scratch gives a confused woof before trotting off after you. Astarion can hear you laughing as you let them all in.

By the time he can see you at the door, you’re being squeezed by Karlach. Gale stands, grinning, in the hall. Wordlessly, he nudges a package into Astarion’s hands.

Wyll has brought a cake. Lae’zel carries something that looks strangely like a sword wrapped in paper. Shadowheart has a little box.

As you lead them all in, Gale hands you a large bottle of Blackstaff wine.

You drink and laugh with these people who, over the course of only a few months, became your best friends. And as much as Astarion hates to admit it, he loves them for showing up for you.

Eventually, Karlach pushes you to open the presents they’ve brought.

As expected, Lae’zel has brought you a Githyanki sword, a traditional gift for warriors on their name days. Shadowheart has brought you a necklace that she’s blessed.

Astarion saves his for last, sliding it into your lap when you’re laughing at something Wyll has said, your voices all a little louder from the wine. You look at him, a little confused, but you tear the paper off anyway.

You’re even more confused when you discover six stone tablets and wooden styluses inside.

Gale takes pity on you, and picks one up, using the stylus to write ‘happy name day, tav’ on one of the slates. You gasp when it appears on the other five almost immediately.

“So you can talk with everyone when you need to,” Astarion explains. He hates how soft his voice sounds, but gods above, he put a lot of thought into this. He so desperately wants you to like it.

But his fears evaporate when you launch out of your chair, your arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug.

He laughs and hugs you back, relieved that, for once, he could give you something nice, something you deserve, so that he could show you just how cared for you are.

#astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanons #astarion fic #astarion romance #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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inkyquince · 9 months

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anyway, durge having weird ritual blood sex with gortash. Shout out to @angrelysimpping who sent the prompt from the sex magic book they were reading because we're both insane.

characters. lord enver gortash :3

content warning. dark urge reader. pre-tadpole era. gortash being viciously down bad, because he's very willing to have sex with durge while they're covered in blood and being watched by the cultists. exhibitionism. blood play. gore mention, along with murder. 2.6k words.

"Howerever, he also added a powerful dose of Tantrism by suggesting that magical work should be conducted in the nude, with the ritual use of a flail, and that rites should be led by a High Priest and High Priestess who would literally or symbolically couple at the climax of certain rituals." The Book Of English Magic, Carr-Gomm. P.

Gortash was not one to be summoned. Summoned, sent for, demanded to show up with haste at the whim of someone else. While he might schmooze with the Duke and hastily head over when Ravengard demands him to come talk, he is a man not to be controlled and demanded things of.

But you always were such a delicious thorn in his side. While others, like Thorm, would try to pry it out, getting their fingers bloodied as they struggled to grip onto it, Gortash relished the sting that came with every movement. The ache, the soreness of the skin struggling to reject the barb, the trickle of blood leaking down his side. He adored it. The cushy life he led in Baldur’s Gate had softened his skin, despite the sulfur of the hells soaked into it. You were refreshing. A tinge of pain that was inflicted on him in the House of Hope by the boatload, except this time, the claws that had raked down his back as a punishment had turned into something deeply pleasurable for him.

So when you sent for him, he’d never dream of keeping you waiting. Your letter mentioned something about needing his help with a ritual of Bhaal’s, so while he was looking forward to seeing you, he was quietly hoping that you weren’t about to blood sacrifice him or something. It would put a damper on the plans you two shared.

Gortash knows the path down to Bhaal’s temple well enough by now. He almost basked in it, enjoying the looks the other worshippers would shoot him as he made his way down, some questioning, some openly hostile and a select few viciously jealous. But this journey down was different. No stray cultists, whispering about guts and garroting. No weird little butler scuttling after him.

Nothing.

Except when the chanting reaches his ears.

The low, rhythmic voices, all whispering, all culminating into something strange, something wrong, something that makes the hair on his neck stand up on end. Gods, he really hopes he isn’t a sacrificial lamb here. He refuses to spurn an invitation from you, so he continues down, down, down, the chanting getting louder, louder, louder.

Entering the main sanctum, he finally sees all. Bhaalists crowding all the stairs leading down to the platform with the sacrificial altar, with no sign of you. Just a deep, dark, pool of blood, big enough for someone to swim in. Even more worrying.

His presence didn’t go unnoticed. The cultists were already parting for him to make his way through, and closing in behind him, barring him from exiting. The whispers quietened for just a second before resuming, even louder as he was prodded, like cattle to continue down. Before too long he stood on the platform, his palms itching. Just when he was about to demand answers, the chanting stopped, the disconcerting whispers cutting off into dead silence immediately.

The blood in the pool quivered and a body breached the liquid, coated in a deep, slippery crimson.

Fuck.

Gortash always knew you were sublime in red. But you were completely covered. Dripping blood as you step out of the pool, you don’t even push away the blood painting your face, not when you open your eyes and focus on him.

The entire room seemed to drink you in, your naked form, glazed with the very essence your father urged you to spill. It was only a few seconds of silence before the chanting resumed, but it was different this time. As if the previous whispering had been a chorus of begging, for you to emerge, but now? It was a demand, for the ritual to resume, for it to be completed, to taint the room further.

All the air in Gortash’s lungs had stilled, but when you came closer, it rushed out all at once. Your naked form was always deeply divine to him, no matter how many times he bedded it. While he paid for his whores and some married ladies adorned his bed, he often got tired of them, seeing them as run through, and no longer exciting. But you? Fuck. Hells, even your bloodied, nude form was already getting him hard.

“Sorry for the vague invitation.” You murmur, as if you two were at a soiree that he just got the invitation for. “Needed someone for this and I don’t think Thorm can get it up at his age.”

Gortash’s lips twitch, but your bloodied fingers curling around his wrist silenced his snarky retort. Nothing to say, not when you lead him to the altar.

“What-”

You hushed him, pressing a finger against his lips and leaving a crimson mark in its wake.

“Don’t worry. Just a ritual for each decade that passes. Better me than Sarevok, believe me, even if he has run out of his own spawn to give daughters to.” You roll your eyes but push him back, against the altar, forcing him down as you straddle him, staining his clothes.

He’ll never throw them out.

The altar was no soft bed, and while he wasn’t a squeamish man, the strong smell of blood was clouding his head. It was at this angle, that he noticed the cuts along your side, looking like marks made by a flail, even though the blood you were drenched in weren’t from your own injuries. Even the dozens of eyes trained on the two of you, there was a delicious string of excitement, pulling his spine taut and tight.

Gortash was no Bhaalist, not when he followed Bane, so while he was no stranger to certain rituals, he was unused to ones of this… Variety. He made a note to himself that he should read up on them, just in case he was about to have a Bhaalspawn of his own somehow. Not that there has never been an attempt to baby trap him in the past, but this was… Different.

You, naked and bloodied, on top of him with wild, dark eyes, the chanting of some, excuse his phrasing, cultist weirdos echoing in his ears. The only thought his mind could form as you dragged your hand over his lips, down his throat, was that if this was a ritual purely for Bhaal, he did hope He wasn’t aware that he was the one getting hard underneath his favorite spawn.

But that seemed to be the point. You gave him a dangerous smile, blood slipping in between your lips and staining your teeth, similar to when you’d bite him during sex and come away with crimson painting your tongue. As per usual, you had no patience for his belt, instead opting to barely loosen it and slip his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Thank the Gods he had, a self admittedly fat, “pretty” cock. Though, he doubts if he didn’t, you wouldn’t have bothered with him beyond your first tryst. But being humiliated in front of the dagger happy zealots was not high on his list of priorities.

His busy mind screeched to a halt as you slowly began to pump his cock, even as he was hard as hells. Your touch, even just a nudge or your fingers brushing, felt like lightning, like something otherworldly was deigning to caress his very mortal skin. Your eyes, so delicious and darkened drank in his expression, his slow, shallow breaths as you continued to practically fucking play with him, like a mouse under your claw.

“Don’t tease me.” He murmured, low and throaty, just for the two of you and you just smiled your wicked grin.

Instead of heeding his request, you leaned down, as if to press a kiss to his chapped lips, and he raised his head to meet your kiss, but instead of something soft, he felt your teeth bite down. Splitting his bottom lip and letting his own blood trickle into your mouth. Even with just a few seconds of your lips against his even with the pain of being bitten, he missed it the second you pulled away. You firmly pushed him back down, but the ache from slamming his head against the stone altar was muted, when you refused to let up on massaging his cock, the pleasure seeping into his veins like poison.

“Fuck.” He hissed through his teeth, wanting to lean his head back and shut his eyes, but there was something deeply magnetic lingering in your eyes that made it impossible for him to ever look away.

You yourself slowly grinded against his thigh, enjoying the way the Chosen of Bane squirmed like a rodent caught in a trap. Shame he was such a charming rodent, one that nosed against your ear and chittered oh so invitingly. Your older brother hated the scurrying little things so, he used to take you aside as a child, and whisper to you exactly how to catch them, and then make them squeal. But this rodent, with his nice dark coat and fiendish eyes, the one who squirms so nice in your hand? He seems a bit too cute to crush.

Especially with the way he was panting low and hard, his tongue dragging over his teeth. Blood smeared over his mouth and chin, and his clothes were stained similarly. Delicious.

“Just let me fuck you already.” He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into your bare, bloodied thighs.

“Oh, that’s cute.” You murmured, low and heady in the way he adores so, at least in his room with the servants sent home for the day. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the tone. “This is about restraint. Submission.”

Gortash hissed through his teeth again, but said nothing, just drank the sight of you in. You finally took pity, with his hungry, desperate eyes that you usually only saw at the meetings, with maps strewn across the table, as he talked about the plans for the future. It’s also a look that he used to give you when you two first met. Raising your hands to his lips and kissing the knuckles, eyes boring into you. It’s a look that grew in intensity each time you met, until the night he got you alone finally, dragging his hand greedily over your side as he leaned in to kiss your throat. You’d thought it would end up diminishing but it never did. It quietened at times, but he had the look of an addict waiting for his next fix.

Finally shifting up, you pressed his leaking cockhead against your hole. Enver could feel it slicked with blood, but his mind raced with thoughts about you getting ready for the ritual, writing out the letter inviting him down as you slowly fingered yourself, lubed up to your knuckles and imagining him. Or Thorm, since apparently he was also an option. Thank the Gods that the sight of you dipped head to toe in blood was far more arousing than that intrusive thought, otherwise he might have gone soft. No doubt if you two were ever having sex and he lost his erection, you’d butcher him right then and there.

No, just his cockhead slipping inside of you had him struggling to concentrate, the chanting beginning to rise in volume again. Gortash couldn’t even figure out the words, it just made his head spin.

You just watched him try to breathe slowly and evenly as you enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you before you slammed your hips down, making him bottom out inside of you. His cock was your favorite, no doubt about it. Out of all the ones you’ve seen, flaccid and puckered in death as your followers stripped them of their belongings, hard and ready for the select lovers you picked out, unaware that they were bedding a spawn of Bhaal, his remained the best. Maybe it was because he was one of the few madmen ready to stick their dick in the God of Murder’s child, maybe it was because it was curved in a way that hit just right deep inside of you. Or maybe he was one of the few men that had the talent to back up their bragging mouth.

Gortash couldn’t help but thrust upwards, into you, basking in the whorish sounds of your moans. Your fingers dug into the section of his exposed chest, beginning to ride him in earnest, as if there weren't the cultists watching without heat to their eyes, as if watching you do your daily chores. Wasn’t exactly a turn on, Enver thought grimly, though if you would just let him finally take you to the brothel and allow at least the prostitutes to admire the amazing work you two put into having disgustingly dirty sex.

You rode him roughly, just watching as he struggled to look away from you, his own blunt nails digging into your thighs even more, as if trying to make sure to keep you there. Blood coated his cock as he thrusted up into you the wet slapping of skin against crimson glazed skin echoing throughout the room, the chanting drowning out your shared sighs and moans.

Fuck, it felt too good. He was dying to fondle your chest, pinch your nipples till they were all sore and puffy and so cute. The only downsides that he could only be half sure that you wouldn’t cut off his hand for touching anywhere other than your perfect fucking thighs. The blood was slowly drying on you, the glimmering sheen giving way to a dark matte look, pieces flaking off. You looked fucking perfect.

Gortash was clinging onto the edge, concentrating on not cumming before you did, but you wouldn’t be one of his favorite pieces of ass if you couldn’t see through him as if he was made of glass. With a nasty smirk, you leaned down again, mid bounce and kissed him right on the mouth, swearing the blood from his bitten lip. It was too much at that point. He was not some virgin who came from kissing, but fuck. Fuck.

He arched his back, pressing his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up till it began to drip out, along your bloodied thighs. You sighed, low and soft, tensing up around him to the point the poor fuck was seeing stars. The chanting slowly eased off into the casual hum of conversation, as you slowly slipped the Lord out of you, letting his cum spill out freely.

The cultists dispersed among themselves and back into the alternating halls as Gortash slowly regained his breath and sat up.

“A little head’s up would have been greatly appreciated.” He grumbled, hiking his trousers back up and tucking his softening cock away.

“And miss out on the chance of you chickening out?”

“I’d never.” He finally sat up and watched as the cum slipped down your legs to the floor, mixing with the blood to make a soft pink color. “... But if I did fail to show, any particular person you’d have picked?”

“Probably would have grabbed a random guy. Like the one who loves to skin people while they’re dying.”

Gortash quietly made a note to have that certain one jailed for some other thing as you stretched and glanced back at him.

“I need company as I bathe.”

You, of course, would never ask him to give you company as you washed yourself of all the blood and cum, but who was he to say no to such an appealing command?

#quincewrites #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge

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killerpancakeburger · 5 months

Text

The wizard is dead

Pairing: Rolan x f!Reader/Tav ("She" is used to refer to the Reader twice)

Summary: You didn’t expect to end the party celebrating Ketheric's final death at the Last Light Inn making out with a certain wizard. And least of all you certainly weren't expecting to meet him again in Baldur's Gate...

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav, insecure! Tav, Astarion ships it and never stfu.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death, spoilers for Acts 2 and 3 obvsly.

A/N: Making Rolan blush as much as possible. If you too felt murderous upon seeing his bruises, this is the fic for you!

“...up. Get up. Urgh. Get the fuck up.”

An exasperated, familiar voice pierced progressively the depths of your sleep. Didn’t mean you wanted to wake up, though. You felt deliciously drowsy and ready to plunge right back into the pit of slumber.

You grumbled in protest in response to the voice and submerged your head with your pillow.

The voice emitted a grunt of aggravation following your shenanigans.

“I can’t believe Karlack put up with this every morning…”

Something suddenly started to shove you repeatedly at waist level, and you identified the something as a foot.

You rolled over to escape, in vain.

“Go away, Astarion”, you whined, muffled by your pillow.

“Oh! She talks!” commented the vampire sarcastically. “Maybe now she will deign to join us for breakfast!”

“Why are you even here?”, you lamented. “Where’s Karlach? I want Karlach.”

It was your morning ritual since your hellish friend recovered her ability to touch without burning. She’d wake you up with a bones-crushing hug, some physical affection welcomed by both of you. In comparison to her, Astarion was cold and sharp, bodily and verbally.

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

He wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling arose within you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Suffice to say, Astarion was not a morning person.

Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed exaggeratedly Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring.

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction.

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded.

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation.

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“You even managed to make him dance. Well, dragged him there, really. Details. He had two left feet, so that was… endearing.”

He pronounced “endearing” the same way he called you naive that one time, and you knew that he held himself back from using a more… colorful adjective.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision.

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Karlach’s booming voice startled you. Astarion, on the contrary, greeted her appearance with a mischievous smile, seeing another occasion to poke fun at you.

“We were just remembering yesterday night and the boldness of our heartbreaker of a leader. It was fun, wasn’t it Karlach?”

“Oh yeah!” immediately agreed the tiefling, completely missing the horror on your face and your silent plea to not add to Astarion’s pestering. “You guys were really going at it. Didn’t see it coming but what matters is that you’re happy.”

A radiant and sincere smile was adorning her lips. You covered your blushing face in embarrassment, grunting in shame and frustration with yourself.

“Karlach, if I ever drink this much again, just knock me out.”

“I mean, if you’re sure… but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone is very supportive of you both.” she added, unsure of why you looked so down.

“You don’t understand”, you whined.

As she was about to ask for explanations, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your conversation. All three of you turned your gaze to Wyll, who had a tense smile - or grimace, you weren’t sure - on his face, and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ahrem. Lae’zel wanted me to let you know that if you don’t show up in the next three seconds, she would add you to the menu.”

Suddenly all thoughts of yesterday evening were forgotten as you three scrambled towards the campfire.

⚡⚡⚡

As your little band resumed their journey towards Baldur’s Gate, you resolved to use that time to put order in your memories from last evening and in your relationship with Rolan.

Your memories were gradually resurfacing, hand in hand with a pounding headache.

Despite Astarion and Karlach’s statements, you still couldn’t believe that you kissed Rolan. Not that the idea repulsed you - far from it, actually. The man was pretty, and he was even prettier when he wasn’t busy yelling at you. However, the idea that he let you put your lips anywhere on him was laughable.

You proceeded to rewind all your memories with the self-assured wizard, trying to find the key to decipher what was an enigma to you.

Truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your first meeting in the Grove. Except for his shooting match with Lia, which was impossible to miss once inside the shelter, you remembered him vaguely as a pompous character whose every statement dripped with snobbishness and bravado, so much that it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than his audience. Despite the airs he was giving himself, you caught him later during the tiefling party putting on a magic show simply to please his siblings, and the heartwarming display disconcerted you as much as it amused you.

The moment when you met him again in the Last Light Inn, on the other hand, was burned into your memory. He had once again caught your attention by his yelling. However, as you approached out of concern for the kids tending to the bar, the yelling quickly turned on you. You were ready to let it go - after all, if you weren’t in such a hurry to get rid of the parasite inside your head, you too would have drowned your sorrows in alcohol and lashed out at well-meaning strangers - until he accused you of being responsible for his siblings’ kidnapping by the cultists.

All your restraint snapped at those words, like a rubber band too stretched.

How did he dare? After everything you’ve done, after all the shit you’ve been through - and were still going through. You weren’t even expecting any thanks, you just wanted to be left alone. As if you malevolently sneaked inside Cal and Lia’s mind to trick them into doing your bidding. As if they weren’t both adults capable of making their own decisions.

A little voice in the back of your head whispered that he was blaming you because he was blaming himself, that rejecting the fault on someone else was the only way he found to contain the pain and guilt that were threatening to engulf him, but you ignored it. Understanding his reasons didn’t make you a doormat.

Karlach had to bodily restrain you as you were about to punch him in the face.

“Then stop whining and do something about it yourself, since I only make things worse.” you spat with as much venom you muster, leaving the Inn to find a training dummy to take out your vexation on. His shouts still reached you though.

“Oh, I will! I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!”

You had almost forgotten the incident until you stumbled upon Rolan on your way to Moonrise, in the middle of the shadows. He was largely outnumbered and doomed to a certain death if your group didn’t happen to pass this way completely randomly.

Once the shadows were taken care of, you pinched the bridge of your nose in bewilderment. Did he have a deathwish or something?

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.”

His shoulders were shaking in frustration and anger. However, something in the tone of his voice made you feel quite different from the last time you met him. You weren’t irritated, no. You felt… sorrow. For him. Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of your emotions, keeping his eyes on the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze.

He was more furious at himself than at you this time. There was also a dose of embarrassment in the mix, after failing to rescue his siblings on his own. This display of vulnerability was the antipodes of his usual self-assured behavior, to such an extent that you wondered if the shadows were making you hear things.

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise”, escaped your mouth before you could stop it, realizing that he very probably wouldn’t be any happier to see you now than last time.

He snapped back immediately - of course he did.

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there!”

You were about to retort that getting himself killed on the way there would help no one, Cal and Lia least of all, before the last thing you told him suddenly came back to you. A cold shiver ran down your back, as you wondered with horror if he was here because of your words. You never expected him to take your remark seriously. In the heat of the moment, you had wanted to hurt him, but you had never intended to send him to die alone in those cursed lands. Unease pooled in your stomach and a sharp pang of guilt twisted your heart. You gritted your teeth in frustration. Rolan kept ranting, oblivious to your inner turmoil, which was probably for the best.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

That last remark was meant as a jab at you, however it failed at riling you up. How could it have, when his voice trembled like he was about to shed tears? He was finally looking at you, and the heartfelt dejection painted on his features made you want to hold him in your arms more than anything else. You quickly pushed that urge aside, though - there was no doubt in your mind that your attempt at comfort would be unwelcome, to say the least. You probably wouldn’t like it either if the roles were reversed. You two weren’t close enough for this.

Nonetheless, you tried to bring him solace through your words, keeping your tone as neutral as possible:

“You were trying to help your family - you’re too hard on yourself.”

But your efforts seemed to have the opposite effect, as he retorted in an uncharastically acerbic tone:

“Or not hard enough.”

Both his words and his timber made a shiver of dread run through you. There was something terribly final in them, that made you reconsider your thoughts about him having a death wish.

But you were nothing to him, except an hindrance, and as he bid you farewell and walked away, you simply watched him, feeling bitterly powerless, wishing that he at least made it back safely to the Last Light Inn.

Following the defeat of Ketheric Thorm and the eradication of the shadow curse, Jaheira and the Harpers had organized a celebration at the Last Light Inn the night before your departure for Baldur’s Gate. The respite was welcome for your whole party. You really needed a break before taking up the arms against two more gods. Alcohol flew freely. Former prisoners were reuniting with their loved ones. Fighters numbed their wounds and the deceased’s sacrifice was honored.

As part of the acclaimed saviors, you were making your mandatory runs around the inn before you could slip away to a quiet and peaceful corner. It was during that errand that, once again, you walked in on Rolan and his siblings screaming at each other. You sighed, passing a hand over your tired face, somehow knowing that it would be up to you, once again, to play mediator.

You downed your drink and approached, waiting for your opportunity to interfere into the conversation. Noticing an opening, you slipped innocently, nose in your tankard:

“Rolan was in a bad state without the two of you.”

The swiftness at which the situation defused itself would have almost made you chuckle if it hadn’t been that serious. Hearing Rolan state that his struggle didn’t matter made you frown but you bit your tongue. Truly that man had serious insecurity issues under all that boasting. But just like in the shadows, it was none of your business.

Having played your role, you mumbled a “don’t mention it” to Cal who was thanking you, and took your leave. Or at least you had started to, until Rolan’s voice interrupted you.

“Wait.”

You turned around out of curiosity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, not sure if you were the one being addressed. Rolan was staring at you right into your eyes, erasing your previous doubt. Gods, had his yellow gaze always been that hard to hold?

As soon as he saw he had your attention, he started talking. And what he had to say took you completely aback.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.”

You held back from clarifying that you saved him from the shadows because he happened to be in the way. And that you saved Cal and Lia because… they were in the way too. You were gonna release the Moontower’s prisoners anyway, that Rolan’s siblings had been part of them was just a coincidence. However this little speech seemed to cost Rolan, which was understandable, so you kept your mouth shut.

“You didn’t deserve that - I’m sorry. And thank you.”

You opened your eyes wide - receiving an apology wasn’t on your todo list today. Least of all from someone as proud as Rolan. Even more mind-bending, he gave you a genuine smile. You were so focused on his face that it didn’t occur to you to refuse the money he offered.

Later in the night, as you were still processing his unhoped for change of demeanor, and were a fair bit tipsy, you ended up passing him a new bottle of Arabellan Dry - who gave it to you? Who told you it was Rolan’s favorite’s wine? And that you should give it to him? You had no idea. Not noticing the wine at first, he teased you:

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

Between his taunting words, his open smile, his beautiful eyes sparkling with mirth, and the realization that he was laughing with you, something inside you snapped. Suddenly you had butterflies in your stomach, weakness in your knees, and he looked like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You laughed heartily, before smiling frankly, noting that he looked - pleasantly? - surprised at your reaction, not expecting an audience that easy to entertain.

You remembered talking back to him, settling yourself in a spot nearby, sharing that bottle… But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember that pretended kiss. Did you actually manage to make him blush during the night or was it just the wine?

After reflecting over everything, you still felt as much - if not more - mortified. There was no way Rolan felt happy about making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people - and in front of his siblings, least of all. Those two must have had a field day deriding their eldest. As for the kiss, it must have been a result of the alcohol and the proximity. You didn’t get a lot of opportunities for… physical affection since the beginning of your tadpole adventure, and you could easily imagine that Rolan must not have been getting a lot of action either, between fleeing the Grove, dealing with the cultists, losing his siblings and enduring the shadow curse.

You could only imagine that after such a disaster, Rolan must be back to hating you.

You sighed deeply, to the point of attracting the questioning looks of some of your companions walking by your side, before shaking your head in resolve. It was just one, regrettable evening. As long as you didn’t run into Rolan again, you could put it behind you. And what were the chances of coming across him in Baldur’s Gate anyway?

⚡⚡⚡

High, apparently. Or at least high enough to make you eat your words.

Your merry band had just crossed the doors of some fancy magic shop that took up residence in a lavish tower. You were originally there to confront the man who had put a price on Aylin’s head. Whatever his intentions were with her, they couldn’t be good. Adding wizards’ characteristic hubris and what Ketheric Thorn previously inflicted to the Aasimar together, you quickly came to the conclusion that he sought to cage her and thereby attain immortality. Your purpose was therefore simple: explain in no uncertain terms to Ramazith’s tower’s new owner that he could - should - kiss goodbye his delusions of eternal life, and, if he proved to be too stubborn to be reasoned with, deal with him in such a way that he wouldn’t be an issue anymore for your winged friend.

However all Selune’s daughter-related considerations went out the window when you laid eyes upon the shopkeeper at the counter. Somehow the tiefling who had haunted your thoughts for weeks and made you recoil in embarrassment at night, when you were left alone with yourself, forced to cope with the memories of your last meeting, was standing right in front of you. Worse, he noticed you, and the natural blush of his infernal skin miserably failed to hide the vivid flush of his cheeks. Like his reflection in a mirror, you could distinctly feel your own face blaze fiercely.

It lasted a minute or an eternity, you had no idea, until you were brutally ejected from your trance at the view of the bruises covering his face. Rolan had been so severely pummeled that purple had become the prevailing color on his visage. Ice-cold, overpowering fury spread across your veins and possessed you to swiftly close the gap between the two of you.

Consumed by anger, you raised a hand to graze his tumefied skin.

“Who did this to you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

You felt a slight pang of remorse upon seeing him struggle to not back away from you after you charged at him like a ram. His tail had started to sway wildly at your approach.

However Rolan rapidly proceeded to regain his composure, as he always did. Coughing in his fist - maybe a desperate attempt to hide his still glowingly red cheeks, or simply a way to offer himself a moment to get a grip -, he answered you, way too nonchalantly for your taste.

“Nothing- ahrem… nothing for you to worry about.”

His reply stinged. Bitterly. After all that you’ve been through together, he still didn’t trust you. Or he was still resolutely convinced that he had to endure every tribulation alone - you sincerely doubted that Lia and Cal wouldn’t have thrown a fit upon his appearance.

You didn’t know which of those two possibilities hurt more.

The righteous wrath inside you disappeared, like extinguished by a bucket of icy water, replaced by a chilling insight - it was utterly useless to fight for him when he wouldn’t stand up for himself. And, more importantly, if he didn’t consider you close enough to him to ask your help, then it was time for you to move on.

“You suck at lying, you know that?” You felt obligated to point out.

As he was about to object, you continued.

“But you’re right. If you still don’t need my sanctimonious help, I’ll just go about my day. Sorry for the trouble.”

Immediately after spatting those words, you found your outburst childish, but you couldn’t take it back. You began to storm off, determined to fully focus on the wannabe-immortal wizard problem, but a clawed hand grabbing your forearm ended your departure.

“Wait-”

You whirled around, losing more and more patience.

“What.”

Rolan sighed, but not in a way that sounded like this was a chore to him. He sighed like one does to give themselves courage before overcoming adversity. The words had left his lips before he could even think them; before he could contemplate their effect on you. Being self-reliant and showing no weaknesses had become an automatic reflex forged by a life of survival. He couldn’t shrug it off overnight - but you were the first person who made him want to try.

He then compelled himself to look you straight in the eye.

“Don’t lea- I mean, I didn’t mean to…Urgh… Gods damn it… it’s Lorroakan.”

You stared back at him, split between the newfound joy of him confiding in you, and the confusion of hearing his confession.

“Lorrowho?” You asked, slightly tilting your head in puzzlement.

The name didn’t ring a bell for you, but according to your companions’ exasperated grunts in your back, it certainly did for them.

“The tower’s newest owner”, helpfully prompted Gale behind you. “So-called greatest wizard of the Sword Coast, aspiring to subjugate Dame Aylin, took our friend here as his apprentice?”

“Oooh! That guy!”, you exclaimed. “Well that’s perfect! We were going to kick his ass anyway!”

You could have announced to Rolan that you were planning to fight a dragon with your bare hands, he probably would have gazed at you the same way.

“By the way, Rolan, you can let go now”, you added with a pointed look towards his hand still squeezing your arm.

He let go like he got burned, cheeks reddening again, swore in hellish and apologized. You assured him it was fine.

“Can you share anything that would help us take down Lorra… Larro… whatever-his-name-his?”

The tiefling straightened up, clearly in his element.

“Mast- Lorroakan has four Myrmidons.”

He seemed about to carry on on the subject, but stopped in front of your confounded expression.

“Myrmiwhat?”

The apprentice wizard opened his mouth to start an informed lecture about the properties of Myrmidons, before closing it and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by your ignorance.

“Nevermind, I can make this simple for you.”

Feeling insulted, you proceeded to join your hands and excessively flutter your eyelashes to mimic a swooning admirer.

“Why, thank you Master Rolan! You are ever so generous to us simpletons!”

The aforenamed choked a bit at that, but you were not sure if it was in reaction to your ridiculous antics or to being called “master”.

“As I was saying, Myrmidons are very powerful elementals. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

You acquiesced with a nod of your head before turning to your Party.

“Let’s get going then.”

“Should we not fetch the Asimaar?” inquired Astarion, observing his nails with detachment. “Not that I particularly care, but with how strongly this concerns her, she may come after us if we keep her out of this.”

You replied without missing a beat, having already pondered the question.

“No, I want to spare her that.”

The Vampire Spawn let out one of those unhinged little laughs he had a knack for, blending contempt and incredulity.

“I must have misheard you - spare her? The cutthroat demigod who mercilessly crushes her enemies under her boot? That’s who you want to spare?”

You had expected that kind of reaction, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“That’s not what I meant” you grunted, aggravated by the elf’s taunting. “Of course she can take care of herself. But just because she can, doesn’t mean she has to. Dealing with relentless creeps who get off on the idea of breaking you, body and spirit, it’s exhausting, speaking from experience. I couldn’t imagine doing it for centuries. We can provide her a brief respite. If she takes it the wrong way, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Astarion shrugged, satisfied with your answer since it sheltered him from consequences. The others agreed with nods of the head.

Rolan gave you the directions to reach Lorroakan before adding, frowning:

“Be careful. He has a beastly temper.”

The recommendation made you snicker. Before the tiefling could take offense, you brought your face closer to his, lifting his chin with your index, a wolfish smile stretching your lips.

“I highly doubt that sorry excuse for a wizard is in any way a beast. But fear not, pretty boy, I’ll show you what beastly really means.”

Whistles and sniggers could be heard from behind you, demonstrating the maturity of your traveling companions. Meanwhile Rolan’s face somehow managed to turn even redder than when you both met again moments ago, and his attempts to come up with a rebuttal resulted only in stuttering.

Benevolently, you did not comment, careful to not overstep his boundaries too much, and changed the subject, rising an inquisitive eyebrow:

“Are you not coming with us?”

He cleared his throat to give himself a semblance of composure.

“I guess I should, if only to make sure you lot do not ravage the tower on your rampage.”

You smirked a little at his efforts to appear indifferent, but refrained from making any remark, content with his participation.

As you made your way towards your target, Astarion sneaked by your side, a mocking smile adorning his lips. You mentally braced yourself for the jibe that wouldn’t fail to come.

“I figured out why you didn’t want to bring Aylin on our little excursion, darling.”

“Oh really.” you replied with the most blasé tone you could muster.

Unfortunately, your lack of concern didn’t seem to deter your vampiric ally at all.

“You want to keep your prey for yourself. To be the one to slaughter the Master Wizard. You should have seen your face earlier when you threw a fit over Rolan’s bruises, I thought you were going to bite.”

“So what? Is that a problem?”

“Quite the opposite, really. I’m planning to revel in the show. Let’s hope for you that the little wizard is of the same mind, uh?”

You told him to mind his own business and he just laughed.

Your group crossed the magic portal, entering Lorroakan’s lavish office only to stumble upon the deplorable spectacle that was the supposed great wizard sadistically torturing his servant for his questionable experimentations. Thankfully, your noteworthy arrival put an end to the loathsome display as the red-haired wizard dismissed his domestic and his mechanical construction.

“I see no Nightsong. Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without the Nightsong in hand. Surely my worthless apprentice wouldn’t have allowed you to waste my time.”

That last remark made your blood boil as surely as it did earlier when you laid eyes upon Rolan’s contused face. You gritted your teeth, plastering on a fake smile, before giving the man a taste of his own scorn by ignoring him completely and ostensibly turning towards Rolan.

“Is that the pathetic excuse that serves as your mentor?”

The apprentice wizard spared a glance at Lorroakan who was suffocating with indignation before focusing on you.

“... Yes, he is.”

“Great! Would have been so awkward to kill the wrong guy!”

Bestowing your most bloodthirsty smile on your foe, you made a point to talk over his outraged diatribe.

“There’s only two things you should know, really. First : you will never get your hands on the Nightsong. Second : I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

Having said your piece, you unsheathed your weapon as the wizard invoked his Myrmidons, and the battle began.

⚡⚡⚡

Standing over Lorroakan’s battered body, you made sure that he was in too much pain to ramble again. Rolan came to stand beside you, the shock on his face telling you that he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

You looked at him inquisitively.

“Wanna do the honors?”, you suggested, referring to the final blow.

As he remained motionless and speechless, you started to worry you had said the wrong thing, but suddenly his expression turned resolute and he nodded.

You distanced yourself from the two wizards, not fancying getting caught in a spell’s blast. Rolan uttered his incantation with force - detono.

With a mixture of astonishment and awe, you watched Lorroakan’s body get hurled across the room and through the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. You leaned through the destroyed window to glimpse at the mangled corpse before turning to Rolan with a low whistle.

“So much for not ravaging the tower, uh-”

You found yourself unable to finish your clever quip as your favorite tiefling grabbed you by the collar and crushed his lips against yours. The motion was brutal and clumsy, to the point that you briefly wondered if he was trying to kiss you or punch you in the lips… with his lips.

Barely leaving you enough time to reciprocate the gesture, Rolan withdrew, a wild look in eyes, panting slightly. Did he forget to breathe during…?

“You-”

“This is all your fault!”

You gaped at him in uncomfortable silence, immobile, truly at a loss for words. What in the nine hells did you do this time, again?

One hand released your clothing as Rolan covered half his face with it in consternation.

“And to think I promised myself I wouldn’t lash out at you again… Do you see how I lose my composure in your presence? Every. Bloody. Time. It’s infuriating.” He sighed.

You crossed your arms, staring at his piercing yellow eyes.

“Riiight.”

He had at least the tact to appear marginally embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Not a day has passed since Last Light Inn where you weren’t on my mind.” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, rubbing his neck in bashfulness, and unable to meet your eyes.

Your eyes widened at the confession. This was a surprise, although a pleasant one.

“You… you don’t hate me for it?”

It was his turn to stare in astonishment.

“For what…?”

“You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole Inn because of me…”

“Please, I’m not tone-deaf enough to not acknowledge my own responsibility in this. We both had… a lot… to drink.”

“Oh… Well, in that case… I’ve been thinking about you too. Since the Inn.”

It was only fair to come clean too after he made the first move, which must have definitely cost him and his pride.

“Oh.”

There you were, two blushing idiots staring at their own feet in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with yourselves. That is, until you remembered what started all of this, and you raised your head so suddenly Rolan got startled.

“We need to heal your face.”

He chuckled openly at that, but instead of taking offense, seeing him happy spread warmth in your chest.

“You should heal yourself first, ô mighty hero. You’re in way worse shape than I am.”

You frowned and grabbed his face to inspect his bruises closer.

“Being injured is second-nature for me. I don’t think you can say the same. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He took hold of your hips in response. A derisive smile stretched his lips.

“What a poorly concealed way to get me to undress.”

“How dare you”, you protested, scandalized. “imply that my benevolence is anything but proper?”

“Maybe I wish it wasn’t.”

Before you could ask for clarification, he kissed you.

“Rolan…”

“Mmh…”

Again.

“I was serious about healing you…”

“Mh.”

And again.

You grabbed his robes and shoved him against the closest bookshelf in a drastic attempt to put some space between your bodies. The action didn’t seem to deter him at all, if anything it added fuel to the fire, as you could feel his claws even through your clothes. To make matters worse, you quickly realized that getting away was impossible with how tight his tail was coiled around your thigh.

All your worries disappeared however as a very familiar voice could be heard from somewhere on the floor underneath. Rolan definitely heard it too as he looked in its direction with a mixture of dread and annoyance.

You couldn’t discern entirely what Lia was saying, but the words “Rolan” and “Lorroakan” were definitely part of it.

You looked at Rolan with an unequivocal expression.

“We should go to them… and reassure them that you’re not dead or something.”

The new master of the tower threw his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine!”

“Also, we’re going to fall to our deaths in the stairs if you don’t keep your tail to yourself, Mister…”

Rolan dashed off in the direction of the stairs, grumbling about siblings and lack of privacy, not without grabbing your hand in passing.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 rolan #rolan x you #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #mine #rolan

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4st4rion · 7 months

Text

could've shouted out loud

ao3 link

at the end of the game i went with karlach and wyll to avernus without realizing that would like cement things and then watched how nervous astarion was about if you're really staying together when my gf finished the game with him. so i split the difference and wrote fix-it fic for my personal fuck-up lmao

just over 2k; spoilers for the end of bg3 of course. rated mature-ish, fully gender neutral tav. it takes a while to come back from avernus and when you find him he is Pissed with you (and very hurt). comforting and some spiciness ensues

It takes longer than you expect to find Astarion again.

You, Karlach, and Wyll have been working on carving out your little corner of Avernus; it's rough work, but Karlach pulls most of the literal weight of setting up shelter for the three of you. It's not much, little more than reinforced tents, but it's better than nothing.

You finally feel like it's safe to go back and look for Astarion, and Wyll opens a portal for you that brings you right to the heart of Baldur's Gate.

It takes three days and nights of asking around before you find him. A helpful bartender at the Blushing Mermaid informs you that someone matching your description of him comes in and sits at a certain table, alone, most nights, and you go there yourself to wait for him.

And sure enough.

Sure enough, come sunset, and given an hour, he walks through the door. He doesn't notice you right away, ordering himself a bottle of wine and taking a glass from the bartender, but when your eyes finally meet, he nearly drops them both.

You smile pathetically at him.

He does not smile back.

He makes his way to the secluded table and you stand to meet him when he does. He sets the bottle and glass on the table and folds his arms, looking you up and down.

"Is this a trick?" he asks, first, looking at you with scrutiny.

Despite his closed-off posture and his attempt at a foul expression for you, he's still just as beautiful as he had been when the sun began to burn him.

You shake your head.

"No, no trick," you promise, and he tenses hearing your voice. Disguises and illusions can mimic many things, but a voice is tough, too unique to recreate for most mages and wizards.

"I'm going insane, then?" he asks sarcastically, and gestures at you to a man passing by. "Excuse me? Do you see the person in front of me?"

The man looks between you and Astarion and you can only give a little wave.

"Yes?" the man answers, and fucks off.

Astarion's frown deepens.

"So, what?" he asks, voice dripping with venom. "It's you, then?"

You swallow nervously and hope that the time apart hasn't put you back to square one.

"It's me," you confirm. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you," you apologize, but he scoffs.

"Must not have been looking very hard," he huffs. "I thought you'd —" he says, voice cracking in vulnerability, and he steels himself all over again. "I thought you'd decided I wasn't worth the trouble once you saw me in the sun," he tries again, and this time, his volume is louder. "I thought you ran off so I couldn't find you and be your burden."

You reach out, but he smacks your hand away.

"Astarion," you breathe, heartbroken. Is this it? Does he... Has he gotten used to the idea of living without you?

Is this over, now?

"Where have you been, then?" he spits, looking away from you in a huff. "You'd better have a damn good answer, or I'll kill you right here myself."

"I'd let you," you breathe, smiling just a bit — threats of harm are better than a cold shoulder. "I've been in Avernus," you say. "With Karlach. And Wyll."

His shoulders relax just slightly hearing Karlach's name.

"She's still alive?" he asks, making glancing eye contact with you to show his sincerity.

You nod.

"She can't leave the hells anymore, not yet, but she's alive," you confirm. "We've been working on a solution, and working on making a home there, for now."

He doesn't say anything, waiting. You swallow nervously.

"We were chased by devils for a tenday when we arrived, otherwise I would have been back for you sooner," you say, and pray to any gods that might listen that he understands. "And then we had to get settled, make sure no one was on our trail," you continue.

Astarion scoffs, but his eyes glimmer with unshed tears.

"You could have written," he mutters, needing to make light of the situation for his own sanity.

"I owe you a postcard," you agree, the barest smile slowly returning to your face.

He sniffles, and curses under his breath.

"I thought...?" he starts, but can't finish, hiccuping back a sob.

"I know," you try to soothe. "I'm so sorry."

This time, when you reach out, he doesn't stop you. You put your hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly, stroking your thumb over the soft fabric he's wearing.

"I love you," you practically whisper. "I've thought of you every moment of every day since we were parted."

He doesn't answer with words — instead, he shoves himself against you, and it takes half a moment to realize he's trying for a hug, reluctant to wrap his arms around you but making the gesture anyway.

You fling your arms around him and squeeze him in tightly. He's cold, so much colder than he ever was when he was feeding from you regularly, and you realize he might not have been drinking from anything but animals again.

"I've missed you so much," you mumble against him, your head ducked against the side of his. "Astarion, I can't believe we're both here," you laugh, relieved, and he laughs too.

"I thought you might have been dead," he admits, and his voice is so, so small. "I thought I'd never see you again."

You hug him tighter.

"I'm here now," you promise.

His arms wrap around you properly now, too, and he almost starts to relax against you.

He's holding back because you're in public, but he shakes with emotion.

"Where have you been staying?" you ask, pulling back just enough to speak with him properly. "Let's get out of here and talk there."

"The Elfsong Tavern," he sniffs. He straightens himself up and quickly wipes the tears off his face, and suddenly the mask is back in place. "Let's, shall we?"

You hold his bottle of wine in one hand and his hand in the other as you walk back to the Elfsong. Neither of you speaks beyond his comment that it's a nice night out and your hum of agreement.

Once you arrive, you head upstairs. His hands shake as he pulls out his room key, and you've never seen him struggle with a lock more than now.

It finally gives way and opens, and then you're finally, finally alone together.

You set the bottle of wine on a side table, briefly turning away, and when you turn back to say So, where do we begin? he's already kissing you.

You've missed this. You've missed him, his insistent, smart, sharp mouth and his hands that pull at your waist to bring you in close and his fingers that dig into your sides like you could disappear if he ever loosened his grip.

He's crying again, tears catching on your lips and turning your kisses salty, but you don't care at all.

"Astarion," you gasp between breaths, just to hear his name on your tongue, and he drags you to his bed.

"I thought I was going to die without you," he growls, pushing you onto the mattress and crawling over you like a predator. "I was so scared, for you and for what I might do if you didn't — if I never saw you again," he admits, voice low and dangerous.

"I'm here," you reassure him, holding onto his arms and sliding your grip to ground him.

"I thought you were gone," he says, angry and scared and afraid and a thousand other things.

"Have you... Are we still...?" you start to ask, and he kisses you again.

"I've been mourning a lost love," he breathes against your lips. "Every face I've seen, I've only looked to see if it could be you, and then I've looked away," he admits. "When I saw a stranger with your stature or your hair, I'd hope, just for a moment, and then it'd be lost."

Your heart flares with love — even thinking you might have left him, abandoned him, died on him, he didn't give up hope that you might return.

"I'm so sorry," you apologize again, kissing him over and over. "I'm here now, I promise. I'd never leave you."

Rather than the coy, self-deprecating never say 'never', darling you might have heard when all this began, he hums with such pleasure it's nearly a moan, just hearing your dedication to him spoken aloud.

"I love you," you remind him, fingers tangling into his hair to keep him close. "I love you, I love you," you breathe, and with every word his breath hitches higher until he's kissing you hard, forcing you silent lest something in him break.

"I want you," he rumbles against you, and your heart soars while your insides dance with butterflies.

"You have me," you say, and you mean it. It doesn't matter if you do nothing but kiss and hold each other tightly until the sun comes up and then goes back down, you're his as much as he's yours and you're eager to remind him of that however you can.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he practically snarls, digging hands under your shirt and pulling roughly at things to loosen your breeches, and you wholeheartedly agree.

"So are you," you growl back.

You manage to get his shirt off over his head at the same time he's struggling with yours, and you sit up so he can do the same with yours.

Wriggling out of your bottoms is a little more difficult when neither of you can stand to be apart, but you both get the waistbands to your knees and that's good enough for you.

His cock is half-hard from excitement and anticipation and you're quick to reach for it, but he stops you by pinning your wrist beside your head.

"I've missed this," he purrs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He grabs for your other wrist and you let him, allowing him to pin you fully and press his body up against yours. "I've missed feeling you struggle against me," he laughs.

You arch up against him just for fun, pressing your leg up between his and rubbing his cock against your hip.

"Is that what you want tonight?" you ask, challenging him by straining against his hands. He's weak — he hasn't fed recently, or fed enough, and you can feel him put his full weight into keeping you down.

"Oh, darling, I want everything," he hums. He kisses you again and ruts his cock against your hip on purpose this time, moaning softly into your mouth. "I want you ruined under me," he breathes. "I want you debauched on top of me. I don't want to leave this room until tomorrow night at the earliest."

You laugh against him.

"Agreed," you hum back.

He lets go of your hands in favor of holding you by your hips, and your arms wrap around his shoulders like it's where they've always belonged.

"I missed you," he sighs. "So much."

"I'm here now," you reassure him again. He nuzzles into your throat and you bare it for him, inviting him, and he shudders.

"I don't suppose I'd be allowed a bite?" he asks, trailing kisses over your pulse.

"I've missed that, too," you sigh. "Go on."

He gives your neck one more tender, open-mouthed kiss before he sinks his teeth into you, a familiar pain that you've dearly missed.

He drinks deeply. You can feel his starvation sating, his body becoming warmer and softer against yours as he melts against you.

Gods, you've missed him. You never want to be separated again.

You feel the past slipping away from you, as though you've never been apart; all that has ever existed is this, this moment, with his mouth pressed to your neck, bite-wound weeping blood onto his tongue and him swallowing as greedily as you cling to him.

He finally pulls away, the perfect amount taken that you feel light-headed but not dizzy, and he feels sated but not full — a balance the two of you perfected over your journey, and one that he's apparently still in tune with.

"Perfect," he breathes into your neck, lapping at the fang marks still slowly oozing blood. "Oh, love," he sighs.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes deep.

"You smell like Avernus," he notes, amused.

"Ugh," you agree.

"You smell like you, though," he says, muffled against your skin. "Gods, I missed that."

You take a long moment to hold each other like that, arms wrapped around each other and clinging and just breathing deeply, taking each other in.

Eventually, his cock twitches impatiently against your skin, and you laugh.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his face out of your neck to kiss the corner of your mouth. "I really would just like to be close, if you're not up for anything like that," he says, almost shyly.

You press your hips up against him in answer, and catch the gasp off his lips with your mouth against his.

"I'm up for things," you grin, and he laughs against you.

"Alright," he agrees. "'Things', it is."

You give him one more long, lingering kiss before the two of you go any further, one that you'll remember years from now.

"I'm so happy you're here," he admits, and you smile against his mouth.

You are, too.

#astarion #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tavstarion

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deviouz · 7 months

Text

. . . mean!ascended astarion headcanons !!

Something about Astarion’s ascension had changed him, mind, body, and soul. His very chemistry had been altered, everything that had made him him, was rewritten. He had always said that it was for the best, that he was better in every way imaginable after gaining such heightened powers, but that day was troubling for you. Astarion, your Astarion, had died. Nothing perturbed him more than seeing that far off, longing expression etched into your features whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. Gods know he’ll make you regret it later.

“And just what was going on in that pretty little head of yours earlier, my sweet consort? You couldn’t possibly have been thinking about him, could you? No, that simply won’t do. Perhaps all could be forgiven if you get down to your knees and grovel before me. I’m feeling rather nice today, as it is, so beg and I might be tempted to show you a sliver of mercy.”

Astarion is no stranger to any kind of public displays, but he seems to be much keener on doing so in front of his inferiors. To look upon a crowd of people who are no doubt petrified of their ascended vampire lord alone is invigorating, but to be able to do so with you mindlessly rutting away on his thigh makes him feel much more powerful. To have the savior of Baldur’s Gate rendered down to a pleasure-driven pet, and all his for taking, is just one of the many ways he rules with an iron fist. He’ll have one hand on your hip, guiding you along the fine fabric of his pants, and the other propping his head up as he looks amongst the crowd with a smirk. It was completely and utterly humiliating the first few times he had called for your presence and demanded you to undress completely in front of so many people, but he had long since bullied those thoughts out of your head.

“Yes, that’s it. Come on, darling, you can moan louder than that. I would certainly know. Let them see how well I treat the savior of Baldur’s Gate.”

Your lover could be cruel at times, but nothing ever felt crueler than when he would relentlessly pound into your aching heat with such fervor you were sure you’d be unable to walk come the early hours of the morning. He simply adored pinning your hands above your head, his hips rutting in such a way that it made your eyes roll back and clamp shut. The pleasure was almost always too much yet never enough. It didn’t matter how prettily you begged for astarion, for your lord. He was cruel in these moments. With a grip to your jaw, he’d squeeze your cheeks together and demand you to gaze into his crimson eyes. Astarion relished in witnessing the glassy fog that overtook your irises each and every time you came around his cock, body perfectly bowed and cries loud enough to reverberate in the room, perhaps the entire castle. He was the only one ever capable enough to draw such intense pleasure from your body. He’d kill anyone who ever even thought of you in such a way.

“Ah, ah, ah. look at me, won’t you? Let me see lust-laden those eyes when I grant you such ecstasy. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Oh, how Astarion loved to hear those pathetic little pleas and blubbering begs escape past kiss-swollen lips. Your teary eyes read nothing but desperation, and that much was evident by the way your hips twitched and gyrated each time his touch would disappear. Of course, you had Astarion practically wrapped around your finger. All it took was a few slow, desperate blinks and a couple of soft pleas to have your way, but that was long before he had ascended. Now, Astarion would have you beg, long and loud, until your voice went hoarse and lungs felt as if they were going to give out. He would do this all the while smiling so sweetly down at you, a type of sickly sweet that made goosebumps dot across your skin and all the hairs on your body stand up.

“Come on, darling, don’t be so coy. This coquettish nature is long since necessary. Let me hear those pretty pleas and I will grant you such immense pleasure.”

Astarion’s ascension had brought something new from the depths of what was left of his depraved soul. He relished in your tears. The sheer vulnerability carved into such perfect, delicate features, and all by his doing? Oh, he simply adored it. Nothing is sweeter than seeing you write and sob in his arms, teetering on the edge of your umpteenth orgasm of the night, yet he wasn’t even halfway done with you. You’re a shuddering, sweating, and sobbing mess of numb limbs and can’t help but spew out a cacophony of desperate begs for his relent, but it is never really that easy. Not with Astarion, anyhow. On the other hand, he could be just as equally cruel and spend the entire day bringing you to the blissful edge of what was sure to be a mind-shattering orgasm, over and over and over again, just to practically laugh in your face and deny it. You can pout and grovel all you’d like, but your pleasure is his and his alone. Astarion is the only one who gets to decide when and where you are allowed the pleasure, and sometimes displeasure, of an orgasm, and it’s something he instills in your mind every now and again.

“Really now, pet, did you really think that I was finished with you? Oh, you poor thing — you are quite mistaken. The night has only just begun, after all, and I haven’t had my fill yet, so you will sit there, nice and pretty, and take what I give you with every ounce of gratitude that delectable body of yours can muster.”

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orangekittyenergy · 19 days

Note

hi! is it too late to do an ask for the kiss roulette?? if not could you please do rolan with 14? a kiss to the stomach. 👀

Oooooooh 😏 It's never too late my friend!! 🫦 (Kiss asks here)

A Kiss to the Stomach - Rolan x reader (early relationship)

(im in an angsty mood so it came out a little tender)

The first thing you hear is the rustling of pages. The soft scrape of paper on paper. Your newly awake ears immediately feel overwhelmed by it; it sounds like someone is shuffling reams of paper right at your cheek. Before you can get too annoyed, your other senses start to return. You sense bright light just beyond your eyelids. You can smell a soft delicate scent. Flowers? Your mind feels fuzzy. Are you outside?

Your body slowly catches up and you feel plush sheets beneath you. A soft bed is cradling your body. You find yourself blissfully wondering where you are for a moment before the sudden rush of memories and pain comes washing back. A heated battle. A crash down into the water.

Your body jolts back to reality with a lurch and you find yourself trying to move. Your body refuses to comply. Instead, you let out a small groan and feel your eyelids flutter.

"Good morning." A voice approaches swiftly, getting louder as it joins you at your side. You swallow thickly, your tongue heavy. You feel dizzy, confused. Everything is muddled.

"Where...where is everyone?" You mumble through parched lips. Flashes of your companions fill your mind as your brain races to catch up.

"Shhh..this is the first night you've slept all the way through. You might feel a little off from the sleep tonic." You feel a hand gently stroke your hair. Rolan. It was Rolan's voice.

Your eyes snap open and meet his, gazing down at you. A sudden flood of memories fills your brain. The battle in the sky. The parting of ways on the docks. Your first stop had been to come here; to see him. A few fitful nights filled with nightmares later and he had finally convinced you to try a sleep potion.

"Gods." You groan and force one heavy arm up to run a hand across your face. "Why did I let you convince me to try that?"

He smirks at you and lets out a huff of air.

"Well, you needed sleep. Dont cry. You'll be up and feeling much better in no time." He replies, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You turn your head to face him, begrudgingly having to admit to yourself that you are already feeling better and more alert by the second. But, you wouldn't admit that to him.

"Have you ever tried one? Ugh, I feel like I drank a whole barrel of wine last night." You give another groan. He fights away a smile and pushes his lips out in mock concern.

"I guess there's no helping you then. Here I thought I was housing the hero of Baldurs Gate, not a whimpering child."

You chuckle softly and attempt to sit up to be met with a rush of pain in your abdomen. You wince and pull down the covers a touch and raise your nightshirt to find your stomach still covered in bruises. You frown at the sight.

"Ah yes, potions and spells can only do so much. Your body still needs mending. You need r e s t." He says, enunciating each letter as if to prove his point that he was correct about the potion. Your eyes snap back up to his with a heated look.

"I can't just sit around here and let you wait on me." A slight blush crosses your cheek and a slight slip of a bruised ego at the idea of lazing around in bed all day and being tended to. Rolan smiles softly back at you; knowing all too well himself just how bad an ego can be bruised.

"You can and you will. I insist. Despite what others may think, I can be a very good caretaker." His smile fades slightly and his eyes dart away for a moment. "I won't let anything else happen to you." He adds quietly.

After a moment's hesitation, he leans down and plants a careful kiss on the tender skin of your stomach. He lingers there a moment, his breath hot on your skin, avoiding your gaze as he often does when confessing something emotional.

"Let me take care of you. Please?" He breathes out on your stomach.

You squeeze your lips together, the sudden moment of intimacy replacing all feelings of pain. You suddenly feel like you could hop out of bed right then, ready for battle again. Instead, you reach up and gently tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear letting your fingers linger there a moment.

"Fine. Tend to me. I won't argue." You let your body ease back into the bed, resolve gone and pushing away any lingering hints of your ego. Rolan gives one more soft kiss and leans up, pulling your shirt back down for you.

"There. Was that so hard?" He raises an eyebrow at you with a smirk on the corner of his lips, his teasing tone back. "I'll go fetch you breakfast."

#halp this got way longer than I intended #rolan x reader #kiss prompt #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan bg3

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lostinforestbound · 2 months

Text

It's finally here! I'm sorry it took me so long, with work and art projects I got completely swamped. But now it's here! I'm aware I'm posting this incredibly late so no one will see this until morning probably hahaha! Requested tag: @snoozeeebee

Rolan/M!Tiefling Tav

Third Time's the Charm - Ch.1

Rolan intends on doing great things when he finally gets to Baldur's Gate, but an utter idiot named Tav is distracting him. Unfortunately, against his better judgement, he's starting to fall for him.

Word Count: 5.9k (AO3)

Relevant Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rolan's POV, Makeout, No smut (yet) but it gets frisky, Slowburn

(If there's any tags I missed, please let me know!) NSFW, MDNI

They've been at this grove, stewing and waiting for too long. That Archdruid (Halsin was his name, he believes) might have been welcoming, but the other druids have not. Now he up and disappeared after he decided to follow a group of weak, loud, wannabe adventurers who were only out for themselves. When they cowered back inside the grove with less than half their group, he knew that this place was doomed. What's worse than all of that mess is that Lia is stubborn about leaving, and now they're in an argument again. They've been having them a lot in recent months, ever since the fall and rise of Elturel.

"-and all you care about is your stupid apprenticeship!" Lia shouts at him, his mind finally tuning back into the conversation- no, not a conversation, a damn shouting match.

Her words make him bristle and grind his teeth. How dare she? How dare she ever think this was all only for the apprenticeship? It's an insult to injury, knowing no matter what he does, trying to take care of them results in him being called selfish. What is selfish about wanting a better life for the three of them? They only have each other, their mother long gone. She's gone, and now he carries the sole responsibility of taking care of them.

She's gone.

"Take that back. Right now." He hisses, getting in her face as they glare each other down.

Cal immediately inserts himself in between the two of them, palms out in front of them both. "Can we all just take a moment? Please?"

Rolan idly notices the sweat gathering on Cal's temple as he pushes Lia back slightly by her shoulder, creating more space between all of them. He does the same to Rolan, but stays put in the middle to form a weak barrier- wait, who is that tiefling that approached? No, it doesn't matter.

"Hells, we can't just leave. They're kin!" Lia begs, almost pleading with him.

"I will not gamble our lives- our futures, on people who are as good as dead," He says somewhat calmly, though his tail still flicks behind him in irritation. "We must leave for Baldur's Gate at once."

Lia looks ready to bare her teeth at him, angry with him. She's always angry with him. "What's the point of blades and spells if we don't bloody use them?! We should stay! These people aren't fighters, we can help!"

"Or yell louder, that's fine too," Cal says with a familiar bitterness in his tone; gods, he hates that tone on Cal. He's been hearing it more often, these days.

"Have you forgotten Elturel?" A voice breaks through, and he finally acknowledges the presence beside them.

It's another tiefling, a much larger one at that. He's not part of the refugees, as he hasn't even seen him around until now. Did he just arrive here?

This one isn't that much taller than he is, only by a few inches; but hells, his mass absolutely dwarfs his own. A fighter most likely, or even worse, a barbarian. It doesn't matter which one he may be, he looks like an idiot that isn't worth his precious time.

"We should stand by our people. You know no one else will." He says lowly, giving a knowing look of both annoyance and sadness.

He loathes that look. He’s never wanted to blast someone more than in this moment. How dare he look at him as if he was some child throwing a tantrum?

"This isn't Elturel, and I'm not responsible for every damn tiefling in the world!" He exclaims, almost furious.

Lia pokes him harshly in the chest with her pointer finger, and he has to suppress a wince. "Just be responsible for yourself, then! We have to stay; it's the right thing to do."

He hates that fucking tiefling even more now. Not only has he butted into his family affairs, but now he turned his sister- Lia, even more against him. For once, why can't things go his way? Why do they not listen to him?

When did they stop listening to him?

"Zurgan. Fine! We'll stay. If we survive, it'll make for a good story, I suppose." He airs, rubbing a finger to his temple as he feels a headache form there.

For the first time in a long time, Lia gives him a genuine smile, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing. "Thank you, Rolan.” She says sincerely.

Cal now takes the calm moment to usher the two further into the grove, seeming to want to get away from the entranceway as soon as possible; for once, Rolan lets him. He doesn't pay any mind to the strange looks they get by going further into the grove with the other refugees, and he certainly doesn't pay any mind to the oaf of a tiefling that they left standing there by himself.

He decides he hates that man, and he pisses him off to no end.

"How long until Rolan shows off his Thunderwave?" Cal asks as they settle down near an old human woman's tent, who seems to be organizing some herbs in her storage crate. Something is off about her, but Rolan can’t put his finger on it. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Lia snickers at that moment, crossing her arms over her chest. "Depends, how many people are dumb enough to ask?"

"Hah! True."

Rolan rolls his eyes, trying to dust off the dirt on his robes. He hates the smell of this damned grove, it stinks. Is he truly supposed to arrive to Lorroakan with his clothes smelling like this? He'll have to burn them, no question.

"Don't be grumpy, Rolan. We'll get to the city soon." Cal chirps, bumping his shoulder with his own.

"I am not grumpy."

"The scowl on your face would frighten a troll."

Despite the foul move he's in, he smiles at his little brother. "Heh. You're an idiot."

-----

It's been days, and that tiefling is still here.

He's heard about his many exploits; saving one of the children the druids held hostage, saving another orphan child from a group of relentless harpies, getting their money back from that tiefling brat with the eyepatch, and slaughtering Kagha. Emphasis on slaughtering.

When he came out of that grove where the ritual had stopped, he saw the amount of blood that was covering the large man. None of it was his own, he realized. The man barely had a scratch on him and seemed proud when exiting.

He caught himself staring at him many times, watching how the muscles stretched across his skin, seeing all the little imperfections. Scars, beauty spots, all the like. He internally curses himself and looks away when he feels his face growing hot.

Paying back attention to his siblings, he notices how Cal stares at the blacksmith across the way, rubbing his hands absentmindedly as he thinks of something.

"You shouldn't waste precious time on distractions. We need to head to Baldur's gate after this goblin fiasco is over." He remarks, getting up and brushing off dirt.

"Rolan." Lia warns, but he ignores her and walks away with a roll of his eyes. They need supplies, so he will go get them if they are too lazy to do so.

And, of course, the oaf is already buying them off of one of the druids. Damn it all!

"Need something?" He asks, inspecting him as if Rolan was much shorter than him.

He scoffs, even more irritated than he was originally, "I was in need of potions, but it seems you got them all already."

"What did you need?"

"It doesn't matter, you beat me to it!” He instinctively snaps, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “Bloody health potions are so short of stock these days-"

Wordlessly, the man puts three large health potions into his arms, which, for once, renders Rolan speechless. He doesn’t even remember the original tangent he was about to go one. Something about price inflation, probably.

Staring down at the red potions in his arms, he snaps back into reality when he speaks again. "You three need it more than I do. I, at least, have a healer."

He sneers at him, gripping the potions tight. "So what, you look down on us?”

"Not at all."

"We are not charity cases,”He almost growls, baring his teeth. “What is your game here?"

"…Can I tell you a secret?"

Why is this his life? How did everything turn out this way? Why is he even entertaining this fool??

After a bit of contemplating his life choices, he finally responds. "What?"

The tiefling suddenly leans in to put his mouth near his ear, and gods he's so close. Tav was his name, wasn't it? He heard it in passing by one of his group mates. Balsam, rogue's morsel, and acorn truffle are what he smells on him, a strong scent that is surprisingly pleasant- gods, what is he thinking?! Feeling his face starting to heat up, he tries to take a step back, but Tav stills him with a hand on the back of his neck. It makes his breath catch in his throat.

Finally, Tav whispers to him, "I'm just being nice."

Tav pulls away, leaving Rolan completely dumbfounded as he continues. "I'm not trying to look down on you or be a pest, I just think you need the potions more than I do. Cause gods forbid these fucking druids try and help out people who need it." He spits with a roll of his eyes, staring directly at the Druid that was still besides them through this entire ordeal. He looks uncomfortable.

"Well, that is shockingly intelligent of you." He huffs, hoping the jab aggravated him. "Although, aren't you fighting a swarm of Goblins out there?"

"I am, but bold of you to assume they hit hard enough to hurt me." Before he could come up with another insult for his remark, Tav interjected. "Anyways, I have to return to my camp as it is getting late. Good luck to you and your siblings. Cal and Lia, right?"

He didn't have the chance to respond before the idiot sauntered off, back outside the grove. Great, now he's indebted to the bastard. Slowly, he stalks back into the grove, tying the potions to his belt as he does so.

-----

Some panic swept across the grove when people realized the goblin army planned to raid it for all it was worth. He's heard so many horror stories of slaughtered tieflings, their enemies sawing off their horns to keep as trophies or as foghorns.

If they think they could do the same to his family, they are sorely mistaken.

As others run and hide in Zevlor's war room, others stay to help fight, including himself. But, once again, the three of them can't stop arguing about their positions; he can tell Cal is getting pissed off, but so is he.

"I'm telling you to stay back. My Thunderwave will make short of any goblin that dares to come close. If you two are in the way, I'll knock you both over!"

"And I'm telling you to just get behind us! Spellcasters can't take a punch or a blade!" Lia shouts.

"Can we not argue over this? Please? How about we all line up together?"

"No." They both state and Cal immediately shuts up.

"Wow, you three must love each other very much." A familiar voice says sarcastically.

He grits his teeth and turns towards Tav. "Oh, piss off you oafish-"

"Wait! Wait, maybe Tav can help us out. Figure out positioning and whatnot?" Cal suggests quickly.

"Great idea Cal! Let's ask the professional harpy slayer."

Tav looks at them all, seeming to take in the equipment and weapons that they have on hand. In all honesty, Rolan didn't even think Tav could think.

Suddenly, Tav grabs Cal and moves him to the front, and in the next moment, he gently moves Lia to the back, leaving Rolan in the middle. "There. That's a good positioning."

"See? Easy!" Cal says cheerfully. "Now can we just-"

"Why can’t I be in the front with Cal?”

“Lia come on-“

“I want to be able to help out!”

Tav yawns briefly before explaining, "You will be helping, a lot. Both of you and Rolan are range users. You will hit goblins better by staying in the back where you'll be more effective. Cal here is in melee, with both a pike and a shield. He can protect you both and be your frontliner, while at the same time, you two cover his blind spot. Although, alternatively, you two could be next to each other, but stay behind him."

Rolan blinks slowly, processing the logic behind it. Damn it all, it's incredibly smart. Maybe Tav isn’t an idiot.

"There, good enough explanation?" He asks.

"It's great! Thank you, sincerely." Lia says, patting Tav's shoulder.

"…You're welcome." He pauses before putting a hand into his bag. "We'll kill those bastards out there, no doubt. But I would feel better if you all have this just in case."

Taking out a bright scroll, he holds it out to the three of them to take. Rolan instantly recognized it, especially with the unique binding on it.

A Resurrection Scroll.

Lia is the first to react and take it. "We won't need this, but thank you! Doesn't hurt to have a backup plan if things go wrong."

"I'll make sure it goes smoothly." He reassures, cracking his knuckles.

"What do you have planned, anyway?" Cal wonders aloud.

"I stole a bunch of smoke powder barrels in their camp and set them up along the perimeter. Anyways, they could be here any moment. Stay vigilant. If all goes super well, you won't even have to fight."

-----

They feel the explosions before they hear it. A deep rumbling in the ground that shakes them, awake and alert. There are so many of them that go off after the first one, like a domino effect. How many barrels could Tav have possibly gotten his hands on??

Unfortunately, those explosions didn’t stop a giant spider and some goblins from coming in.

Goblins were easy. He made quick work of them with his thunderwave, blasting them back into the stone wall. Though with his distraction of mentally stroking his own ego, he didn’t see the giant spider coming up until Cal quickly got to his side, blocking its oncoming fangs with his shield, the force of the bite splintering the wood.

His eyes widen, and he blasts a magic missile at the spider right as Lia shoots an arrow into one of its eyes. It screeches in pain, but it’s stubborn in its conviction. It lunges, and Cal cries out when it tears into his arm, trying to rip off his flesh.

Rolan shoots off another thunderwave in his anger and panic, killing the spider in an instant. He watches some of the legs get cut clean off, the body flying and crashing into some crates, destroying them, and its sickly green innards spilling onto the dirt floor. A disgusting sight, indeed.

“Cal!” Lia yells quickly, snapping Rolan back into reality and he quickly rushes over.

Cal is teary-eyed but tries to wave it off, even as Lia tries to get a better look. “I-I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Come here.” Rolan says maybe a little too harshly, making his brother sit down on a wayward crate and grabbing his elbow to hold it still.

“Rolan please-“

“You look close to crying! Just-“ He stops himself and takes a deep breath, eyes meeting his. “Let me help. Please.”

Cal sighs shakily but nods, letting his arm be lifted for him and Lia to see.

It’s a deep injury, but nothing deathly serious. It looks painful. The spider managed to inject some kind of poison, but Cal resisted whatever effect it could have taken.

Rolan takes out one of the health potions he’s received from Tav and carefully pours it over the injury, and it slowly seals the wound. No scar is left behind, surprisingly enough.

“Does it hurt?” Lia gently presses.

“Not anymore. Thanks, Rolan.”

He wants to yell at him so badly, the argument already bubbling up his throat. Why wasn’t he more careful? Why did he jump towards his side so quickly? He had it handled! He’s supposed to protect him, not the other way around.

Instead, he settles on, “You’re welcome.”

Knowing it’s safer, Cal leans against him quietly, and Rolan carefully holds him with Lia. It wasn’t even a close call, but it’s clear Cal needed some comfort.

No more enemies come through. There were no casualties, either.

Zevlor ends up making a speech at the gate when they check out the damage, and he’s sure others are inspired, but he’s barely paying attention to it. He doesn’t care, in all honestly. He wants to leave this fucking grove and never look back; it is by far the worst place they’ve ever stayed in, second to Avernus. Though, he might be being dramatic.

He found himself looking around for Tav, but he didn’t see him anywhere. Why was he looking for him, anyway?

When he finally spots him, he shouldn’t be shocked by the amount of gore he’s covered in, but he is. He’s completely drenched in blood, whether from the goblins or the Drow leading them. Some of it was his own since he spots injuries littering his frame.

He shakes his head and straightens up, shifting his attention to his siblings and ignoring the warmth growing in his cheeks. “Now that this fiasco is over, we will head to Baldur’s Gate.”

“Are you serious Rolan?! Come on, there’s going to be a party!” Lia complains, bumping her hip with his. “We have to go.”

“We don’t have time for parties! Lorroakan is waiting for me, I cannot be late.”

“What’s one party, Rolan? It’s just for a night. We need to rest anyways.” Cal says, looking around the other excited tieflings. When was the last time they saw a crowd of them so happy? He certainly doesn't remember, and it makes his original conviction crack a little.

“I will not-“

Cal takes hold of one of his arms, tugging him. “Please, Rolan? Just for tonight.”

“There’ll be free wine, provided by the heroes.” Lia sing-songs, leaning against him and almost making him stumble.

“…Free wine?” He questions, genuinely thinking about it.

“And free food,” Cal confirms.

Gods, he hates the pathetic puppy-dog eyes that they use. He can’t stand to look at their faces, and he hates it even more that he's falling for it, just as he always has.

He sighs heavily in defeat, head hanging a little low. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Cal cheers, giving him a tight hug.

To his surprise, Lia joins in, the both of them crushing him. “Thank you, Rolan!”

He rolls his eyes but lets a smile break through, even when he can hardly breathe. “All this over a party?”

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see!”

He smirks knowingly, finally separating from the two. “All right all right, I trust that this will be an exceptional occasion. I look forward to seeing you say you love me while drunk, Lia.”

"As if, brother."

It doesn’t take long for Tav to offer up his area with his party members, so they gather with the Tieflings and head to the camp. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s secluded at least.

That bard, Alfira, starts decorating the place in an instant; lantern lights go up, colorful ribbons decorate the trees, and boxes get moved to the side. Others help out, including Lia, but Rolan and Cal sit back and relax for the time being.

When the party finally starts, they pass wine between the three of them.

“Can you give us a magic show, Master Rolan?” She teases.

Rolan rolls his eyes playfully. “Already?”

“Oh! Can you make an owl bear?? Or a dragon!” Cal suggests, scooting forward more on the log.

He stretches out his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles while doing so. "Patience! Have you no respect for showmanship?"

"Having performance issues Rolan?" Cal whisper-shouts playfully, and Rolan idly notices Tav approaching.

He turns his nose up high momentarily before holding his hands out. "Hush, you. And behold!"

It's a brief performance, but amazing nonetheless if he says so himself. He makes it look like stars that spark, fly, and explode into various lights. He has always been irritated he could never make it last long, but that is what his training will be for.

He looks over at Tav as soon as he claps, seeing the way his eyes glide over the lights. His face doesn’t change in the slightest, so he can’t tell if his clapping is meant to be some sort of taunt or if he’s genuine.

Either way, he does a dramatic bow. "Adoring applause? You're too kind."

"Remember when he couldn't cast that?" Lia teases.

"They grow up so fast," Cal states.

"Never have I met such troglodytes. Now, pass the wine." Rolan demands, but a content smile is plastered on his face.

It seems Lia was about to offer Tav some of it, but when she and Rolan turn towards him, he’s already gone.

“Looks like he already got bored of you.” Lia sings to him.

“Oh hush up.” He huffs, snatching the wine bottle and taking a long drink.

He will never admit how much that comment stung. He doesn’t know why he was so bothered by it in the first place. There are many possibilities he goes over as he feels the alcohol give him a pleasant buzz; was it her wording, or was it the fact that Tav disappeared without a word? Did he get bored?

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what that man thinks of him. He swears he doesn’t.

Later in the night, he drank- no, chugged wine while Cal and Lia chatted with the other tieflings partying. As much as he loved to perform for them both, even someone as great as he gets tired after using a bunch of magic in rapid succession.

The wine wasn’t good; nothing compares to Arabellan Dry, but what else was there to drink? He refuses to partake in ale or beer, he never found the appeal of it. Honestly, it’s disgusting, and he doesn’t understand why Lia likes it so much. Cal seems to be looking for someone in particular but isn't finding them. He looks disappointed.

As he wonders about Cal and debates checking in on him, he doesn’t notice the brute approaching him until his giant form sits next to him with his own alcohol, the bark of the fallen tree groaning from the extra weight. He covers up how it startled him quickly, tilting his head up towards the brute with a bored expression.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m here to drink.” He says nonchalantly, sipping on the wine bottle. “Impressive display of magic earlier.”

His nose scrunches up, yellow eyes settling on his flaming ones with a glare. “Was that sarcasm?”

“No. Are you self-taught?”

Of all the things he expected tonight, it wasn’t this. Tav, a person who hits things and asks questions later, is curious about him? He wonders if he has an ulterior motive.

He pushes the thought to the back burner of his brain for now but approaches the conversation cautiously. “I am! And a man with many talents, may I add. I’m going straight to Baldur’s Gate to learn from the best: The Great Lorroakan.”

He sees the imposing Tiefling roll his eyes, putting his bottle down to stare out at the water surrounding the camp. Tav looks a little different, in the moonlight. Seeing him up close is a different experience entirely, and now he can see every little detail about him, including how he was shirtless-

Wait, did he just roll his eyes?

“What?” He demands, posture straightening as he grows defensive.

“Nothing. Just heard he’s a cad is all.” He mutters, deciding to pick the bottle back up and taking a long swig.

“Common gossip and rumors! He’s the greatest wizard in all of Baldur’s Gate. I’ve never imagined he would answer my letters.” He states with a happy sigh, idly swirling the liquid in his bottle. “I will become his apprentice as soon as I arrive. I cannot be late, yet Cal and Lia insist that this party is a wonderful idea. An adoring crowd, fine wine - I daresay this place is almost civilized.”

“Do you regret staying?”

“Of course I do. But Cal and Lia…” He trails off for only a moment but snaps back to it. “They deserve to have some fun for a little while. We’ll leave at dawn, either way.”

The Tiefling stares at him for a moment, seeming to be searching his face. For what, Rolan had no idea. Some kind of lie, perhaps?

“All right then. Good luck to you.” Tav eventually settles on.

“…That’s it??” He exasperates.

“If you’re looking for someone to argue with, find someone else.”

“You-“

“You talk too much.”

He settles a death glare on Tav's form. “Prick.”

Tav slowly looks at him with his own glare, determined to play his game. “Entitled fuck.”

“Dumb oaf.”

“Prickly bastard.”

They both stare each other down, faces too close but neither of them breaks their stare. He feels Tav's hot breath ghosting over his lips, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“You’re insufferable.” Tav huffs, suddenly gripping Rolan’s jaw and kissing him firmly.

He moans in surprise at the force but isn’t against it. In fact, his face gets incredibly red before he remembers he can kiss back.

It’s not like this is his first kiss. He’s given and received kisses before, he’s not some kind of reserved prude. But this is the first one that’s so heavy. Hot. He’s completely out of practice and can do nothing but grip Tav's thicker forearm.

Something about being desirable to Tav makes him throb in his pants, though it also may be the way Tav's tongue is tracing his bottom lip, seeking entry.

Tav's free hand trails to his rear and squeezes, making him inhale sharply; a perfect opportunity for Tav to slide his tongue in to taste him. He knows he's losing his composure and by extension, himself, but what's the harm in indulging in this? It's pathetic, but he's never felt so desired up until this moment, even if this ends up being a fling.

Why did the thought of this being a fling make him feel hollow?

He pulls away to give himself space and to breathe, but Tav doesn't pause, kissing along his jaw and ear. "My tent is west of here if you're interested. No one will hear us."

He shudders at the feeling of sharp teeth grazing the edge of his ear, teasing and provoking. Swallowing, he nods, and Tav pulls him away from the party towards a more secluded part of the area. He hopes that Lia and Cal didn't see him, but they most likely did. He’ll never hear the end of it when he returns.

Almost clumsily, Rolan finds himself in Tav’s tent quickly after, their kissing getting more heated between them. It was a strange feeling, exchanging breaths with someone else, but it felt good. Better than he thought.

They settle down on the floor of the tent, him sitting in Tav’s lap as they continue their make-out. Their tongues dance almost…lovingly. No, he can’t be reading into it right. They barely know each other; he's overthinking again.

He feels his large hands attempting to find the hem of his robes, and he seems to find it quickly as if from experience. Fingers start to dance across the bare skin of his back, running up the ridges of his spine. He sighs out shakily, goosebumps prickling out as his tail anxiously flicks about. Nerves hit him like a loose carriage, fast and suddenly, settling into the pit of his stomach. He felt cold, heart racing a mile a minute.

Why? This was good. Everything was good. This was supposed to feel good.

Why isn’t it?

He’ll give it time. It’s normal to be nervous about this kind of thing, right? Most definitely his lack of experience is a contributor, and doesn’t he deserve this after all his hardship? What’s the harm in pleasure for at least a night.

He feels his back hit the bedroll, warm calloused hands trailing over to the front of his body instead. Their kisses were feverish, desperate, and pent-up. All Rolan could do was grip the bedding below him as nails teased the textured skin of his sternum, a hand rolling a nipple between two fingers.

Tav’s lips go to his neck, finger tips trailing teasingly down his stomach before he begins to palm at his crotch through his smalls-

He can’t do it.

A cold sweat beads on the back of Rolan’s neck, panic and bile rising in his throat as it closes. He can’t do it, and he quickly grabs Tav’s arm with a death grip with wide eyes. “W-Wait, stop!”

Tav immediately gets his hands off of him, giving him space to move. His head reels from the sudden adrenaline, but also because Tav’s stoic demeanor is no longer present, and the man genuinely looks concerned. Fearful, even. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No.” He reassures quickly, but his vulnerable mind is scattered and unfocused as he sits up.

There’s so many reasons why he couldn’t do this, but he can’t pin one down. Surely, Tav deserves an explanation, so he rushes to think of one.

It’s too soon, he hasn’t done this before, and this isn’t the place for it, he’s not a degenerate, his siblings are nearby, Tav is too imposing, it might hurt, it’s too vulnerable, he’s never been with a man, he’s never been with anyone, this is the wrong place to do it, he’s a coward, he’s scared-

“I can’t.” He grimaces, with no actual reason good enough to say out loud. Part of him is worried about what Tav would say; would he be upset with him? On one hand, if he does, Rolan knows that Tav was never worth his time. But on the other, he found Tav not as insufferable as he thought, and he may have just ruined the strange bond they made by stopping everything. Gods, he is pathetic, isn’t he?

Tav sighs slowly in relief, sitting back. “That’s okay.”

It’s not good enough, not for Rolan. As a wizard, he demands answers for a multitude of reasons when things happen. It’s only fair that he gives an explanation, is it not? Finally, he pins down a reason he could give: he doesn’t want to do it after having so much wine. There, that should do it.

Before he could start his tangent, he felt a hand cover his mouth.

“I don’t need a reason. It’s okay.”

He’s about to argue, completely insulted, but it gets muffled by the hand on his mouth.

“You don’t ever have to explain to me why you want to stop.” He says, finally moving his hand away. “I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t say no to me earlier.”

“I did want it.” He assured quickly, because he did. He truly did. Why did he panic?

“But you changed your mind.” He began, not unkindly.

“I did.”

“That’s fine.” He says with a small shrug. “If you want, we can keep kissing. Nothing further than that.”

He laughs in disbelief, running a hand down his sweaty face. “And why would we do that?”

“Doesn’t hurt to have company for a night. Besides-“ He gently takes hold of his chin, tilting his face up. “You seemed to enjoy what we were doing. Why not indulge? Just for one night.”

He smirks up at him, leaning forward with false confidence. “Am I that irresistible?”

“You have a pretty face.” He noted, swiping his thumb across his kiss-bruised lip before kissing him again.

The kiss is lazy and less heated, but it makes his heart pound all the same. Being held so tenderly is new, and he’s growing attached.

He cannot have attachments. What is he thinking?

After kissing for a little longer, he lets himself be held in the bedroll as they lay down, indulging in the quiet night with Tav. They didn’t need to discuss what happened or question it. It’s exchanging favors. For Rolan, it’s just wanting the comfort of another body near him, letting him pretend that he’ll have something like this in the future. One day, he’ll be good enough for someone. He’s not sure what this does for Tav exactly, but he seems content to hold him.

“You can ask for more if you’d like.”

“I’d rather not embarrass myself more than I already have.” He barks before glancing at him in apology, eyes softer.

“Would it help if I said I will keep my mouth shut about this?” Tav suggested, pushing some hair away from his face.

He shifts to glance at his face, seeing if he is genuine. He can never read his face that well, but when he makes his judgment, he sighs and takes one of Tav’s hands, lacing his fingers through his.

“This is pathetic, I know.”

“I don’t think it’s pathetic.” He mumbles, squeezing his hand. “This is nice for me, too.”

Rolan feels himself relax more, body almost relieved that this hasn’t been rejected.

“What will you do, when you finally get your apprenticeship figured out?” Tav asks in the quiet.

“I’ll learn everything I can about all schools of magic. Then I can put on a real show for Cal and Lia.”

“They seem to love your shows already, why change them?”

“It’ll be different.” He pledged, “Bigger, better, and more sustainable. I’ll make them last so much longer, I’ll bring it more colors, and the illusion will look realistic. You will see.”

“I’m sure they’ll be great.” He yawns, nuzzling into the back of his neck.

“I will show you when you reach to Baldur’s Gate, my friend.”

There’s no response, only a quiet snore greets him. At first, he’s annoyed, but it’s hard to be angry when he is just as exhausted from today. For now, he falls asleep in his arms, hoping that for once no nightmares haunt him.

The Tiefling beside him is still fast asleep when he wakes at dawn, though he’s impressed by how the man can sleep through the screeching birds outside.

Quickly, he fixes his robes and hair, trying to not look like a mess. Cal and Lia are surely going to tease him, knowing he never returned to their tent. He debates on whether to wake the idiot up to say goodbye, but that seems foolish. He needs to sleep, and they need to head to Baldur’s gate immediately.

So he opens the tent, sparing one more look back before leaving.

He cannot create attachments. Not now, not ever. Not until he’s done with his apprenticeship.

#forest-writes #holy rolan empire #rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 #rolan x tav #cal #lia #rolan fanfic #rolan brainrot

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astarionslittlejuicebox · 6 months

Text

The Story in Our Scars

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader is concerned with the story behind Astarion’s scars, but what happens when he inquires about the story behind theirs?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Requested: Yes by Anonymous

Trigger warnings: minor spoilers (Act 2), suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of self-harm, mentions of self-degrading

Word Count: 1739

Side notes:

I own no rights to the characters of Baldur’s Gate 3.

Scars—a topic (TAV’s name) knew all too well that it was a touchy subject for anyone. Everyone in camp had their own scars—Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Halsin—and each scar carried its own story. Some people in camp were open to discussing them: Karlach proudly tells the story of how she got one of her scars from fighting a voracious devil in the Nine Hells. Others, like Halsin, took a bit more convincing to indulge in the stories of their scars. Astarion, the pale elf of the group, had shown her his scars after a night of pleasure, but he was also reluctant to speak further on the story of them.

Scars had been the topic of conversation lately between Astarion and (TAV’s name). The runes carved onto the flesh of the vampire spawn’s back were occupying Astarion’s mind since the (TAV’s race) had mentioned something about the scars being written in infernal. The spawn wouldn’t admit it to (TAV’s name), but the scars on his flesh had been taunting him since she drew the scars in the dirt at camp. After speaking to Raphael at Last Light Inn, the topic of the scars weighed even heavier on Astarion’s mind as he wondered when the devil would get back to him about the deal.

Scars was a topic that (TAV’s name) was hesitant to talk about. Raised areas on the skin often drew people’s curiosity, and not all scars came from a victoriously bloody battle or from a cruel, abusive master. No—some scars came from one’s own demons inhabiting their mind.

Scars had been the topic of discussion that night at camp after learning of Raphael’s deal with Astarion outside the tomb of Ketheric Thorm. Karlach and Wyll exchanged stories about fabled foes from the Nine Hells, while the others in the group listened and drank wine. (TAV’s name) felt comfortable with everyone as they shared, but when the attention turned to her, she avoided the topic entirely.

“My—it’s been a long day.” (TAV’s name) spoke with a yawn. “I believe that I shall be heading to bed. We do have a daunting task ahead of us tomorrow.” She stood up abruptly and told everyone good night before the (TAV’s race) rushed to her tent. The rest of the camp shared concerned glances, but continued their lighthearted conversations about bested beasts and other endeavors. Astarion, however, was far more curious about (TAV’s name)’s strange behavior than he was about the stories shared around the campfire.

(TAV’s name) quietly sank into her bedroll as the sound of the group’s laughter echoed off the temple walls around her. Her heart was beating rapidly in the center of her chest.

They’re laughing at you. The dark voice in her mind said, and she squeezed her eyes tighter. Your scars are pathetic compared to theirs. The voice taunted further. The (TAV’s race) felt a familiar pool of liquid form in her eyes as the words echoed in her head. Blinking, she focused on her breathing; a habit she had learned long ago to cry without bringing attention to herself.

You know you want to do it. The voice in her head taunted. You want to add to your story, and make more pretty thin lines on your skin. (TAV’s name) covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to silence the voice in her mind. The lady laying in her bedroll hadn’t brought a sharp instrument to her skin since she had been abducted by mind flayers, but that doesn’t mean the voice in her head had stopped tormenting her. Now, the voice grew louder as the minutes slowly turned into hours.

As the laughter and chatter slowly died and everyone went to their tents, (TAV’s name) laid quietly in her bedroll.

You’ve fallen in love with him, and he’s far too perfect for you. The taunting voice had taken a different approach now. His scars have meaning. What do yours mean? Tears started to form in her eyes again as she listened to what the voice was saying.

Across the camp, Astarion laid on his bedroll in his tent, but he was wide awake. Something about (TAV’s name)’s behavior earlier had left him unsettled. The talk of his scars never seemed to bother her, but when the conversation turned to her scars…something seemed to be off. Settling on the fact that something must be bothering her, the vampire spawn got up and started his way to her tent.

Your scars just prove how weak you truly are. Don’t they? The voice continued its ruthless monologue. Astarion spent two centuries enduring a living nightmare; Karlach got hers literally living in Hell. How did little ol’ (TAV’s name) get hers? Tears freely flowed out of the (TAV’s race)’s eyes as she sniffled. Holding her breath to calm her down only caused her to take a quick, almost hyperventilating breath. This noise, while she thought it to be quiet, was picked up by the vampire spawn’s sensitive ears. Astarion frowned and quickened his steps towards his destination.

(TAV’s name) got her pretty little scars because she was weak. The cruel voice continued its cruel taunting. (TAV’s name) couldn’t bear to compare herself to the others—Shadowheart, Laezel, and Karlach—so she carved reminders of her doubts. The tears flowed freely as the woman laying on the ground struggled to breathe properly. What a weak, pathetic woman that others have blindly—

“(TAV’s name)?” The tent flap lifted up, and Astarion saw the shaking shoulders of the (TAV’s race) before he heard the familiar sound of crying. The pale elf’s ears could hear the rapid rhythm in his traveling companion’s chest, and he rushed over to her. “(TAV’s name).” He repeated as he turned her to look at him. Tears streamed down her face as wide (TAV’s eye color) colored eyes stared at him wildly. She tried to form words, but her sobs stopped any and all words that tried to pass through her lips.

“It’s okay. I have you.” Astarion spoke in a hushed tone as he cradled her in his arms. The vampire spawn calmly stroked her hair as she had done to him a few times after he had nightmares. Slowly but surely, (TAV’s name)’s breaths slowed, and her body physically relaxed in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” (TAV’s name)’s soft voice spoke after a few moments of silence. “I was trying to calm down, but—“ Astarion kissed the (TAV’s race)’s forehead.

“I accept your apology, even though one is not necessary. However, I am more curious as to why you were crying. You acted so strange earlier when we were talking about scars.” Astarion shifted her in his arms, so he could look at her face. Her (TAV’s eye color) eyes refused to meet the intense gaze of Astarion’s crimson ones. She took a deep breath.

“Everyone’s scars have some story attached to them….” She quietly said with a look of pain evident on her face. “Yours made by a cruel master; Karlach’s made from fighting foes in the Hells; hell, even Halsin’s came from mating with an actual bear.” Astarion’s eyebrow raised itself, but he kept quiet as (TAV’s name) continued to speak. “Mine don’t come from either of those.” It was at this movement that (TAV’s name) moved the fabric of her sleeves to reveal several little white lines across her forearms. Astarion stared at the straight scars with a curious face.

“So, what’s the story behind your scars?” He asked, but his voice was soft with genuine curiosity; however, the woman in his arms sighed heavily.

“My scars—“ Pain was evident in her voice. “—are a product of the voices in my head.” Tears began to form again in her eyes. “Some are from the voice’s telling me I’m unworthy; some of the scars are from the comparison of myself to the others.” Her voice broke as tears started to steam down her face.

“I made most of them many years ago when I was teenager, but some old habits die hard.” A fake chuckle came from the woman Astarion was looking at with saddened eyes. “Some of these were made when we started this journey together….” Her voice grew very quiet.

“Darling,” Astarion’s voice was soft as he spoke to her. “Why would you do that to yourself?” (TAV’s name) sniffled her nose as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Sometimes I did it to silence the voices—they always went quiet afterwards. Sometimes I did it to try and bring myself back to reality.” Her eyes shifted to look up at the pale elf through her eyelashes. “I am not the strong person everyone at camp thinks I am.”

“I am not the prettiest, nor the strongest; I am not righteous, nor the sanest. I am the weakest because I have given myself these scars.” Astarion felt his heart break as the words left his companion’s trembling lips. “All because some voices in my head say I’m a horrible person.” She looked down, anger clear on her face. Astarion’s hand lifted her chin, so she would look at him.

“If there is something that I have learned from you, it is that people are more than their scars and the stories behind them.” Astarion’s soft voice drew (TAV’s name)‘s attention. “Scars don’t tell us anything about that person’s personality, their morals, or their values.” A soft smile was on the vampire spawn’s lips.

“You…you’re incredible.” Tears continued to stream down the (TAV’s race)’s face.

“You have given so much of yourself to everyone here. You have been the glue that has held each and every one of us together at some point, and you continue to do so despite everything those voices tell you. There is not one person in this camp that isn’t grateful that they have met you.” The vampire spawn wiped the tears falling freely from (TAV’s name)‘s eyes. “I am grateful to have met you.”

“So, let my voice be louder than those stupid little ones in your head: you are worthy; you are incredible; and…I’m so proud of you.” A small smile was present on the vampire spawn’s lips, but he was startled when the (TAV’s race) suddenly wrapped her arms around him.

“Thank you.” She whispered into his ear. His shock slowly dissipated as he slowly wrapped his arms around her.

“No—thank you.” He whispered back as he received his first hug in over two centuries.

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #astarion fluff

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moistmailman · 6 months

Text

Baldur Gate 3 AU

*At the camp where everyone is celebrating the defeat of the goblin camp*

*Pyrrha is sitting off by herself watching everyone celebrating; she looks very distant and deeply in her own head*

???: Hey, is this spot taken?

*Pyrrha slightly jump before turning to see a blond paladin standing over her with a sweet smile*

Pyrrha, awkwardly smiling: Oh, no. Here. *scoots over*

Jaune, sitting down: You seem kinda jumpy, everything okay?

Pyrrha, smiling: Yeah, everything’s great. We saved the tieflings and defeated all the goblins with little to no trouble.

*Pyrrha looks over to see Yang trying to out drink a random tiefling*

Pyrrha, chuckling: It’s a great night. A night of celebration.

Jaune, smiling: I know. Everyone seems to be on board but you, though. How come you’re all the way over here by your lonesome self? *nudges Pyrrha’s shoulder with his playfully*

Pyrrha, awkwardly: No reason. Just….lost in my thought is all. Got a lot going on in my head at the moment.

Jaune: Is it about your memory?

*pyrrha paused for a brief moment, almost questioning something to herself*

Pyrrha:….yeah, you got me. Like an open book.

Jaune, comfortingly: Hey, I’m sure that your memories are going to come back one day. Just a matter of time honestly.

Pyrrha: You think so?

Jaune: I’m certain. Besides, I’m sure there has to be some sort of magic out there that can help you. It’s just a matter of when and not if.

*Pyrrha pauses before looking off in the distance, obviously questioning something*

Jaune: You okay?

Pyrrha:….what if I don’t like what I was?

Jaune: What?

Pyrrha: W-what if….what if the person who I was before isn’t something i would want to know about? What if it’s just better to stay ignorant?

Jaune: Why would you think that?

Pyrrha, shrugging: I don’t know. *forces a chuckle* Maybe I’m just paranoid, you know? I’m probably just over thinking things.

Jaune: Look, I don’t know what kinda person you were in the past, but if there is one thing I’m certain of is that you must’ve been the sweetest woman in all of Baldur’s Gate.

Pyrrha: How can you be sure though?

Jaune: What other woman would take on an entire army of goblins to save a bunch of strangers she has never met before?

Pyrrha, blushing: I didn’t do it alone, though. You guys help.

Jaune: So? You still went through with the plan, regardless of how dangerous it could me. You put your neck on the line for strangers. I don’t know about you, but that’s something only a good person would do. A great person in fact. One of the bests.

*Pyrrha pauses for a moment for slowly smiling*

Pyrrha: You’re right. Thanks, Jaune.

Jaune, smiling back: No problem.

*as the party goes on, Pyrrha lies her head on Jaune’s shoulder as she watches everyone else have a good time*

*Yang and Nora were having an arm wrestling contest with Toby cheering them on and Weiss looking in disappointment while Blake is busy reading a book next to them with a subtle smile plastered on her face*

*Ren was entertaining children with his magic as he mad miniature fireworks for them to clap at*

*Pyrrha takes a deep breath before turning to look at Jaune, who was smiling while watching the party unfold*

Pyrrha, I’m her head: He’s oddly handsome for a paladin as scrawny as him, but his heart seems to really make up for his lack of muscles. He looks so sweet right now though. So nice, caring…..and vulnerable….

*suddenly a splitting headache creeps up on her as a dreadful and unfortunate familiar sensation appears*

A voice in Pyrrha’s head: KILL……KILL……KILL….KILL

*Pyrrha grits and teeth and clenches her eyes shut as she tries to ignore this enticing nature she has*

Voice: KILL….KILL….KILL HIM!!!!!

Pyrrha: *resists*

Voice, getting louder: KILL HIM! SNAP HIS NECK! CUT HIS THROAT! CAVE HIS SKULL! KILL KILL KILLLLLLL!

*Pyrrha starts to visibly shake as the voice is getting more powerful and demanding, but as fast as it appeared, it disappears, becoming nothing but a thought.

Pyrrha: *looks down to see Jaune squeezed her hand, which seem to what kill the urge in her*

Jaune, comfortingly: Hey, you okay? You look spook.

Pyrrha, finally finding her voice: Y-yeah. Thanks. *squeezes his hand back* Just lost in my thoughts again is all.

Jaune: You’re going to be alright?

Pyrrha: I-I…..I hope.

*Jaune gives Pyrrha a reassuring squeeze on her hand, which calms her nerves down even more, having her relax once again and burying the urge she just had even deeper away*

*the party goes on all night as Pyrrha soon wanders off to sleep, her head still on his shoulder the whole night*

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #jaune arc #arkos #!dark urge pyrrha #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #lie ren #ruby rose #Rwby au

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scuttlingcrab · 4 months

Text

Mortals

A Warlock is Born

Summary: Korrilla summons Raphael to aid her in a fight at the Devil’s Fee. Raphael recruits a new warlock to his cause.

Notes: This is part of an ongoing collection of short stories focusing on Raphael and the mortals who have impacted him throughout his existence. Each little story loosely ties into the main plot of Baldur’s Gate 3. The second part will be out soon!

The first story, The Curse of Lady Luck, can be found here. You do not need to read them in order, as each story is stand-alone.

Part 2: A Warlock’s Sacrifice is here!

(Image via breadandbloodybutter)

Raphael’s spine tingled when he felt Korrilla’s summons. There was a sharp tug at his chest, attempting to pull him towards her requested destination. Not now, imprudent creature. He anchored himself in his chair, falling back into a trance as he stared at his latest painting. His eyes danced over the thick swirling brush strokes and the vibrant oranges and reds of the setting sun.

He had positioned his easel on a hill near Neverwinter, a superb location overlooking the Trackless Sea. Raphael’s preferred spot for seclusion and indulging in mortal leisure pursuits, one of his many guilty pleasures.

The sky was ablaze around Raphael but there was no blistering heat. Instead it was juxtaposed with a gentle breeze that cooled his skin as he watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. There was no equivalent in Avernus, where the raging skies barely changed save for a sparse cloud or two that brought iron rain and the occasional arcane thunderstorm.

Fiery oranges clashed with dark blues and light purples as they fought for the dying attention of the sun. The ocean waves were calm, mirroring the chaos in the skies so perfectly that it looked like an infinite void. Raphael’s mouth salivated as he took it in. He must capture it all, a perfect addition to his ever growing art collection.

Raphael carefully picked up his paintbrush, as if it might crumble with the slightest change of pressure, and dabbed the tip of it in paint. The final stroke. As Raphael brought the brush to his canvas, Korrilla’s second summons tore through his body. He winced as his chest heaved forward, nearly sending him tumbling down the hill. His body flickered between both locations, a loud ringing pierced the air as he got glimpses of Korrilla’s face and the Devil’s Fee; her eyes frenzied, lips tight, she tried shouting something at him but Raphael snarled in response. Her image dissolved as he fought to stay centred in Neverwinter.

When Raphael blinked again, he found himself on the ground and the canvas in tatters beneath him. Raphael had punched a hole through the painting during his struggle against Korrilla’s beckoning. His hands trembled as he picked up the demolished canvas. He could fix it with a snap but that would simply be cheating. Raphael’s jaw locked and he dug his heels into the grass, the soil beneath him bubbling like lava.

“Will this infernal torment ever cease!”

Raphael roared, his voice booming throughout the deserted beach, louder than any thaumaturgy spell could ever hope to achieve. His canvas caught fire; his work, his precious sunset, dissolving in an instant. Whatever was left of his wasted afternoon blew away with the next breeze.

Raphael rose, his footsteps scorching the grass as he turned away from the ocean. He raised his arm, preparing to furiously snap his fingers but halted, eyes darting to his sleeves, then to his entire doublet, and trousers. He was covered in paint and dirt, his outfit wrinkled and soiled, as if he was a petty commoner. He huffed, disgusted with himself. How very mortal.

With a snap, Raphael undefiled his clothes, rectifying any hint of failure. He narrowed his eyes, unsure yet of the punishment he would bestow on Korrilla as he vanished into a deafening inferno.

––

“Korrilla! Did I not explicitly–”

Raphael emerged from his fiery portal and was immediately met with a blaze not of his making. Chaos and disorder welcomed him as he stood agape in the entranceway of the Devil’s Fee.

The diabolist shop was in ruin. A massive bookshelf on the far left of the room was the main source of fire; the flames grew, slowly licking their way across the ceiling. Raphael stepped forward, his feet crunching against broken glass and stone rubble from the shattered infernal statues that had once proudly stood high.

One of Helsik’s gilded imps lay mangled in the centre of the room, its body tangled in silk rugs and surrounded by deep claw marks on the parquet flooring. The reception desk was nonexistent, the only remains of the rich mahogany panelling were the sharp splinters scattered across on the floor.

Raphael’s imagination spun like dice as he observed Helsik’s unconscious body discarded in the far back of the shop, a fallen shelf sat atop her small frame. No amateur could get the better of Helsik, surely? Raphael’s interest had piqued, however he found himself gritting his teeth in frustration as he looked around for Korrilla. She would not get out of this so easily, even in death.

There was a loud crash from the second floor, glass shattering and muted sounds of struggling; grunting, kicking, the wood creaking above him with every faint movement. In a heartbeat, Raphael was up the stairs. He crept towards Helsik’s quarters, the door to her room falling off its hinges.

Korrilla was pushed into the far corner of the dining area, her face battered and bruised and her dress nearly burnt to a crisp. A scrawny half-elf gripped a curved dagger at Korrilla’s throat, drawing blood that trailed down her neck. The half-elf had a round youthful face and donned a messy bob. Korrilla outsmarted by that half-breed? A runt of the litter, at best.

Korrilla’s eyes lit up when she spotted Raphael lurking at the threshold. He did not acknowledge her in return, but continued to focus on the half-elf. His pupils dilated, exuberance simmering inside him as he observed this potential new investment.

“What an interesting turn of events.” Raphael proclaimed, as he entered the stage with a swagger.

The half-elf jumped like a spooked rabbit at Raphael’s words, quickly shimmying so that Korrilla’s body was now in front of her. The half-elf squeezed the dagger a bit more into Korrilla’s neck, causing her to grimace.

“Please, don’t let me stop you.” Raphael guffawed, “I do love a good show.”

Korrilla’s brows furrowed and she bit her lip, any ounce of relief Raphael had brought quickly drained from her face.

“What I find most curious… is if Korrilla couldn’t kill you, then you must have some talent. Yes? And besting Helsik? She will not be happy when she wakes. Even so, it is amusing to see the Devil’s Fee in such shambles. I’ve often dreamed of this day.” Raphael suppressed another chuckle.

The half-elf met Raphael’s calm visage with fierce eyes and determination. A creature yet to be tamed. This will be most enjoyable.

“Cat got your tongue? No bother. You will drop that weapon, pretty little thing, before we continue our game.”

“And if I don’t?” The half-elf responded, voice low and quivering.

“I’m afraid you’ll find a very unpleasant end to your miserable little existence. And it will be such a waste, as I hope to make some use out of you.”

The half-elf stared at Raphael, her expression unchanging.

“Did I forget to note that my patience is wearing thin?” Raphael spoke through pursed lips.

Korrilla’s face twisted as Raphael folded his arms, sensing his impending outburst.

The wood underneath Raphael’s feet started to smoke as he took a step forward, leaving charred marks in his wake. The half-elf sniffed the air as Raphael approached, her eyes growing in size. Raphael took another step and transfigured into his cambion form, loosening his neck as his wings filled the available space. His tail thrashed and his horns grated against the ceiling like nails on a chalkboard.

“Drop the weapon.”

The half-elf released the dagger, kicking it across the room. She raised her hands and backed away from Raphael.

“I yield.”

Raphael simpered.

“Wise.”

Korrilla stumbled forward at her release. She held a hand to the wound in her neck muttering a healing spell to seal it.

“And YOU!” Raphael rumbled, louring to Korrilla. “You simply couldn’t take care of this creature? You do not know what I have sacrificed to come to your beck and call. Your worth is diminishing, Korrilla.”

“Please accept my sincerest apologies, Raphael. I await whatever punishment you see fit for my errors.” Korrilla immediately bent the knee, staying submissive and daring not to move even a muscle.

“We will discuss your punishment later.”

Raphael stepped away from Korrilla, edging closer to the half-elf.

“Your name. Now.”

“Dolofina.”

“Dolofina…” Raphael repeated, chewing her name in his mouth.

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above Dolofina. She watched his movement, shrinking away in anticipation. Raphael bared his claws and paused, leaving his hand extended. Just one more moment… let her think it’s the end… Then with a sly smirk, he snapped his fingers and the pair vanished.

––

Raphael and Dolofina materialised in a rain of sparks, dropping into the central chamber of the House of Hope. The large circular table in the middle of the room, usually decorated with platters of delectable food and drink, was bare. A boring sight no less, but he had no time to waste on formalities today.

Dolofina fell to her knees on the polished marble floor, her thump reverberating throughout the vacant halls. Raphael saunted past her, moving towards the wall near the open hearth. He pressed his palm against one of the paintings and it popped open, revealing a hidden bar behind it.

“Your poison of choice?” Raphael asked, as he uncorked a bottle of Jasmarim Shadow, letting it breathe while readying a glass for himself.

Dolofina remained on her knees, panting heavily, her hair slick with sweat. Her face grew paler as she shook her head vigorously at Raphael’s hospitality.

“Oh? Are we not up for celebratory drinks?”

Dolofina floundered to her feet, retching over the balcony.

“Poor creature. Some get used to the sweltering heat of Avernus. Others simply learn to tolerate it. I can’t make any guarantees.”

Raphael poured the wine into his glass, savouring the glugging sound that issued from the bottle. Ah, sweet music. He swirled the beverage gently before bringing his nose close to the rim. He inhaled, smiling to himself before taking a sip.

“Exquisite. Rich and delicate, teases your senses, and makes you crave more, even after the bottle is finished. You can’t find an intoxicant like this anymore.”

Dolofina clung to the railing, dry heaving.

Raphael closed the painting and sat down on the studded leather couch underneath it, crossing his legs. His eyes surveyed Dolofina, observing every inch of her taut body, her once tall figure now reduced from the heat. What a gaunt little thing, and yet with so much joie de vivre.

He never tired of a mortal’s first introduction to the Hells. Most creatures reacted the same way, with their slight variations. Weeping, laughing hysterically at their fates, one poor sod even had a heart attack and expired in front of Raphael; luckily he had been expeditious to secure the deal so the soul wasn’t squandered. Yes, it was quite cruel, but his infernal blood thirst for the entertainment, the anguish. And oh, the mortal perspiration was mouth-watering.

“Pray tell, what was so important in the Devil’s Fee that you had to risk it all?”

Dolofina wiped her lips with the back of her hand before steadying herself against the balcony. She hesitantly removed a large diamond from her pocket, holding it between her thumb and index finger. Raphael lazily flicked a wrist and the diamond flew into his hands. Dolofina shrieked, attempting to grab it back.

“Oh, you’re joking?”

Raphael observed the diamond in his palm, rolling his eyes.

“I… needed money. They said the Devil’s Fee was an easy target.”

Raphael squeezed the diamond and his hand was suddenly engulfed in a white inferno. He watched the fire dance around his hands, the sensation tickling his knuckles, before it turned into a striking blue flame that somehow burned even brighter. He released his fist, the blaze dissolved and the diamond vanished, without even a trace of ash. Raphael rubbed his hands together, that was that.

“Twas worthless anyways. Mortals, always attracted to shiny little things of almost no importance.”

Dolofina stared at Raphael, her face contorted with rage, nostrils flaring. There she is. There’s the fight.

“That was mine. I nearly died retrieving it.”

“Nothing belongs to you anymore. I am not in a generous mood today, yet your antics have inspired me. I can make use of someone like you. Under my employment, you won’t be resorted to thievery.”

“I don’t work with devils.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Dolofina’s new contract appeared on the table with a low hiss, a quill floating beside it. Raphael didn’t even bother snapping his fingers, his painting, or the lack thereof, lurked at the back of his mind; taunting him, the wound stinging his ego.

“Today’s your lucky day. Refuse, and I strike you down where you stand and consume your soul as a measly canapé. Accept, and you get patronage. Power. Proficiency. And a longer life expectancy.”

“And you want what exactly? My soul?”

“Your soul and your cooperation. You will answer to me and act as my agent. There is a war of the millenia brewing and I need all the strongest fighters. You could become a champion, you know, there is a lot of potential.”

Dolofina peered over her shoulder, her eyes darting for any possible escape, a window, a door… that glimmer of hope Raphael loved to see sucked away from mortals still lingered on her face. Say goodbye to hope, little pet.

“Signature please, and your life will begin anew.”

Dolofina bit the side of her lip as she inhaled, looking up at the ceiling, as if pleading to the Gods for a last minute intervention. Her green eyes met his as she dragged her feet towards the table.

“Fucking Nine-Fingers…” Dolofina whispered to herself, “I’ll ring her bloody neck the next time I see her.”

Dolofina sank into one of the leather chairs in defeat, then signed herself away to Raphael.

“I will say this only once. In my house there is decorum. There are rules. There is a balance to uphold. If you make the same mistake as you did above, steal from me, even think about breaking the terms of our contract, you will wish for the sweet release of death by the time I am finished with you. Do not make me regret this decision.”

Raphael waved away the contract and Dolofina instantaneously fell to the floor, screaming in agony. Her body convulsed as if she was bewitched and she writhed in pain, tears pouring down her red cheeks. The veins in her legs briefly pulsed, turning dark purple as it continued to grow, slowly travelling up her body. Her hand reached out, as if seeking Raphael’s aid and instead, shot out a crackling bolt of purple lightning at the ceiling, shattering one of the metal chandeliers. It came crashing down next to Raphael, missing him by mere inches. He titled his head to the floor, eagerly watching his new pet, as he took a sip of wine.

“What the–!” Dolofina screamed again as her body accepted the new torrent of power.

“You will need training. I know the perfect teacher, and I think you’d get along splendidly.”

Will be continued.

#writing #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #bg3 #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #korrilla #mortals #RIP Raphaels painting #raphael #raphael bg3 x reader

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ploompkin · 1 month

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MORE Zevlor and Tilses because I have late night brain rot. Continuing off of the last scenario—

“Tilses…”

Even when he’s making a deliberate effort to keep his voice low and soft, it still sounds jarring against the quiet crickets within the woods.

She jumps, uncurling herself from the tree she had been huddled up against, and hastily wipes her eyes. After a few quick, short breaths she goes to lift her hand to her forehead in what he recognises as a salute— then stops. Her face crumples.

“Oh Tilly.” He murmurs, a deep ache in his chest. She’s so lively, so full of hope. She deserves better than this. He regrets having been so short with her earlier.

“Come here.” He opens his arms ever so slightly, in invitation.

She sniffles, before launching herself into his embrace, clutching tightly onto his armour. It’s times like these when he remembers just how young she really is. She’d just turned nineteen when she had come under his command. That was three years ago now, but even so. An adult in the eyes of the law, but very much a child in this wide world.

His arms tighten around her. It isn’t the first time he’s felt paternally towards her, and he knows it won’t be the last: he never had children of his own, but Tilly very much fills that emptiness in his life. Perhaps in another more peaceful life, he would have taken her in to live with him as his daughter. Well. Maybe they’ll still have that chance. But he’s too scared to allow himself to hope too much.

“I’m here, my dear.” He whispers, voice strained with emotion. “It’ll be alright, Tilly. You’ll see. When we get to Baldurs Gate, you’ll climb the Watch’s ranks like nobody’s business. And after your duty’s done… you’ll always have a warm meal to come back to.”

“Zevlor—“ she cries louder, before muffling herself, shaking her head.

“Hush, child…” he cradles the back of her skull, although he makes sure to hold no tension in his hand, so that she may slip away if she wishes.

She doesn’t.

“Let yourself cry. I mean it, Tilses. You’re far too young to keep all these things bottled up.”

“I’m not a child,” she mumbles through suppressed tears, and he can practically feel her scowl into his chest plate.

He sighs heavily. “I know. That’s what scares me. But, allow an old man to be paternal for once in his life. I don’t want to see you go through this alone.”

——————

‘FAR TOO YOUNG TO BOTTLE THINGS UP’ oh shut UP Zevlor damn you need a therapist,,

Anyway. Anyways. I love these two. Hope this silly lil’ snippet means something.

#zevlor #zevlor bg3 #tilses #tilses bg3 #bg3 #drabble #my writing

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killerpancakeburger · 6 months

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The wizard is dead - Teaser

Teaser as promised!

Pairing: Rolan x f!Tav

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death (Larrasomething dies, no surprises here. His death is canon to me lmao).

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

Astarion wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling rose in you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring.

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction.

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded.

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation.

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision.

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

Astarion when you kissed Rolan at the party :

#bg3 #bg3 rolan #rolan #teaser #to delete #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #rolan x tav #rolan x reader

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fangswbenefits · 6 months

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D-Do you think that Astarion would love someone who was so loud in bed that all the denizens in the Hells could hear them? I love being as loud as possible until my voice cracks and I always wonder if someone irl or Astarion could tolerate such a thing….

Darling, Astarion would have the windows wide open so that the entirety of Baldur's Gate could hear how good he makes you feel 🩷 the louder the better

#answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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mahiiimahiiii · 4 months

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its here!!!

An:/ will I ever finish a fic that I start? We will never know. Trying to keep this short and saucy. Maybe it will become a series…? Modern au Baldur’s gate, this is bisexual cat dad gale I mentioned earlier this week, feedback would be appreciated. (first time writing gale woohooo!!)

Tdlr: you thought that I was feelin’ you? Nah that rizzard’s a munch.

word count: around 4k

(this will have a named durge :9, her name is wynne and I post her often, but shes a brown drow with shoulder length curly hair and heterochromia due to her glass eye.)

Cw: cunnilingus, light consciousness, sleepy sex, breakfast in bed? More like breakfast and headdd. Possessiveness, previous substance usage, previously established relationship, durge is mentally illest, slight cervix brusing, hurt and comfort, biting/claiming, we must take it easy so gale doesn’t blow up.

Smothered in a deck of pillows you laid at the prodigal wizard’s bedside, a career you thought merely extinct in the modern era. A purveyor and ever the pioneer he was- integrating his magic into online technology, now consulting other businesses on its integration; Gale Dekarios was always ahead of the curve.

You didn’t think of him a fan of minimalism, his rooms each eggshell white with delicate paintings in dark oak frames. The only things maximalist was his collection of ancient tomes lining the walls of his cozy apartment, a certain fire hazard for one too prone to burning things.

He had worried, inviting you into his home. At one point you had invited him to stay at your home, a shabby apartment in disarray nestled in the lower city of Baldur’s gate- the political district. You hadn’t taken your meds in months, too busy to fill out a prescription- you snapped. It was terrifying and beautiful all together.

He called the pharmacy after that, setting alarms and reminders in your phone to take them. You had slept soundly with a little coaxing, your face softened into peaceful smile, surrounded by sensory items galore. He kissed you when you woke up and cried and apologized for your behavior. Your lips were salty from tears, but that made them sweeter.

He told you not to apologize, he promised he would take care of you.

“It’s rotten work” you had cried, and he laughed.

Not to me. Not if it’s you.

That was the first time your lips uttered an “I love you.” His heart sang- he gushed to tara when he got home afterwards, plucking out stacks of classical romance.

He had much he wanted to share with you. How he admired you.

He had told you as much.

His bedroom now, had touches of your presence. A couple of sweaters hung in his closet, perfume and soaps on his counter, meds, cup of water, and eyedrops on his bedside table. The door creaked open revealing the multi-colored tressym, the lady of the house, Tara. She chirped in acknowledgement before hopping onto the bed, noises from outside the door got a bit louder. The smell of coffee wafted in, notes of vanilla and cinnamon hit the air.

Tara began to purr loudly, nestled in the cleave of your thighs; she nipped at the hand closest to her. “Have you taken your meds yet?” she inquired, her voice was stern and motherly.

“jus’ gonna’ now.” Your voice slurred, the sleep obvious from your voice. You groped for the pill bottle, holding the tab down and twisting off the lid. You pulled out one and a half tabs, washing them down with water. you grabbed the eyedrop bottle, filled with a tonic gale made for you, compatible for a magic eye. You laid back, dropping the liquid into your eyes and rolling it around in the socket.

Your vision opens as you rub at your eyes, adjusting to sit up in bed. You combed a hand through your hair, knots popping through your anxiety ridden strokes.

“Was your sleep alright dear? You look rather vexed.” Tara was busy grooming, but kind enough to check in with you.

You laughed softly “vexation is a constant state of my life, but I appreciate the thought. Yes, it was fine, thank you. Just distant thoughts about previous me’s.” you rubbed your eyes again, “have you seen our wonderful gale?”

She tutted, stretching out over your legs and flopping to the side “he has requested you stay in bed. But- he is busy as a bee, as always. She began to purr again, rubbing her nose against the sheets. “Consider me your roadblock from getting up.”

You sank back into the pillows staring at the swirling texture of the ceiling. It was stuck with small glow stars that never got charged. Near the head of the bed was a small planetary mobile, little bells sang out from the room’s small fan. Gale likes his white noise.

A rap at the door broke you from your thoughts. Gale’s curious eyes peered over the door, crinkling as he broke into a smile. “Good morning my star, I hadn’t realize you had woken up already.” He wore a loose crew neck shirt, embroidered with flowers at the hems, his pants a taught cotton blend- ones he would call cozy dress pants, and ones you’ve seen him fallen asleep in. his hair was tied half up half down in a spikey bun, strands of steel grey hair glowed with he light of the sun. He held a mug in his hand, one of his kitsch collections. “I got a dig bick” it read.

He set it on the nightstand, caging you in for a sweet kiss. His thumb stroked the outline of your chin mindlessly, savoring the warm way his chest tightened at your tired and happy eyes. He tasted of caramel coffee and apple slices. He pulled away from your grasp, slightly breathless.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have come checked in on you sooner. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You could compete for the most beautiful creature in the heavens.”

“Certainly not compete- I am the most beautiful creature.”

He chortled heartily, kissing your lips gently once more. “You don’t know how right you are, my love.” Gale absentmindedly drew patterns onto your skin, his gaze gentle, yet longing. “Rest a bit more- I have some surprises planned.” With a kiss to your brow he pulled away, your skin felt flush with warmth.

You settled into your pillows, cupping the mug gingerly. You took a few sips. Brown sugar, ¼ milk and ¾ coffee. He always noticed the small details; it was comforting on your tongue. A small sigh of delight escaped your lips. For what good you did to deserve this- you don’t exactly know. Perhaps the gods favored you somewhat to be blessed with such a partner like gale.

The humming resumed from the kitchen, a hiss and a gentle swear as you heard the oven door click shut. Then the tap ran as he sighed out. He snacked on something as he gathered dishes, a bowl set to the floor, Taras’s breakfast. She stretched against your leg’s wings flapping out, and tail flicking idly. She chirps a couple of times before hopping off the bed.

The gentle music of plates approached your door, along with your beloved wizard, tray in hand.

“ta daaah!!” he lifted the tray in a slight ‘come see’ gesture. You took another deep sip of coffee before setting the mug down.

“Gale- you really didn’t have too.” A slight pout formed on your lips, setting the mug aside you placed your hands in your lap.

“Nonsense. It gives me great joy to make your life easier.” He paused, setting the tray down on the small desk in the corner. “It frustrates me, occasionally- that you wouldn’t deem yourself worthy of that sort of love, that sort of worship.” He crawls towards you on the bed, his tossed hair and neat beard framing his chin and cheeks. “I adore you.” He gently cupped your cheek, straddling your settled legs. “Let me worship you in the way I was made too”

Selune take the wheel, how your heart fluttered at his honeyed words! You tilted your head squinting slightly, processing in a way you only knew how to. “This may seem impulsive, or the urges doing the talking but forgive me. Worship me with sinew, carrion, and pools of warm blood…?”

He chucked gently, tilting your head up slightly. “Less bloody, though it can be dependent on your moon sickness.” He was gentle and patient, only activating at your confirmation. His gaze soft on yours, deep and inviting. “Let me know, I will only do so at your words.”

His breath smelled like cinnamon and caramel, skin scented like warm patchouli and rose. He kissed the insides of your wrists, your knuckles, and tips of your fingers.

“Yes, id like that.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d known it. Warm lips met your skin, kissing his way down your arm, his lashes brushed against you with every kiss. Warm pride surged through your belly, you were his, and he was yours.

You grasped at the back of his head, pulling him into your embrace. Gales legs shifted under yours, bending at the knee to allow you to rest your legs around his waist. He braced a hand behind your head, careful about dropping his head on yours. Your lips moved sloppily, he still kissed like an awkward teen- which ultimately you found endearing. His stubble brushed against your skin. one of hands cupping your jaw, he separated slightly breathless. “Sorry, orb. It’s getting a little tight in my chest. Mind if I…take it a bit slower?”

“You needn’t apologize my love.” You ran a finger against his bottom lip, “I’m always willing to go slow. Your company is something to be savored.”

“I was hoping id be more sweet.” He giggles at his own bad joke, lips returning to yours. He hummed into the kiss, the wizard’s tongue ran over your teeth gingerly, asking for entrance. You obliged parting your mouth slightly, he tilted his face his nose brushing against yours. You ran your tongue against the ridges in his mouth, he let out a low groan his tongue retreating into his. Gale’s breath was wonderfully heated.

“You are quite delicious my dear.” He grinned shifting his weight to move about. “I would like to- taste you a bit more if that’s alright.”

“oho!” you grin twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. “Shall I be finding out about your most practiced tongue this morning?”

“The very same” he beamed, crinkles forming around his eyes, he bends down kissing the column of your neck, his teeth gently grazing and nipping at the skin. “That is- if you’d like.”

You gave him a quiet nod, a little nervous to fully admit what you’d like. His lips trailed further down over your night shirt, his hands found the edge of the hem, gingerly pulling up his eyes flickered back to you again to check in.

you nodded once more.

The blissful sting of his teeth at your sides, he favored biting you around your hips and waist, a gentlemanly move and to lay proof of claim. Bites upon the neck were simply too gouache for him. You could feel the squeeze of your walls as he kissed his way back down your sternum, lips soft as ever he was a tease. You sighed when he made his way back to your thighs planting a kiss on each of them. He adjusted so he was under the covers, the top of his head tenting the blanket. His eyes claimed yours again, a swirling of questions in his deep brown eyes. You smiled, his gaze then relaxed and lowered.

He ran his tongue on the outline of slick in your underwear, electing a low whine from you. He smiled, hooking his fingers into your rubber band and kissing your skin as it was revealed. His glasses slid down his nose, the lenses fogging up from his breath. He pulled off the garment, a groan rumbling through his chest.

“By the weave… you are absolutely stunning.” His padded fingers grazed against your cunt, sweeping the juices onto his digits. He sucked at his fingers; eyes clamped shut to savor your taste. He exhaled, lips forming a delicious pout.

“You taste of the finest ambrosia…” his voice was soft, almost bashful. “I am blessed to be continuously surprised by the joys of the mortal realm.” His hands found the side of your thighs, hair fanning in front of his face. You reached out brushing it behind his ear, carefully running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head. The tip of his tongue traced shallow outlines around your clit, hot velvety breath layered against your thighs. He began to kitten lick up your sex, soft sighs of delight as he tasted you. He hovered over your clit, mouth latching onto the sensitive bud, his eyes caught yours again, the corners crinkling in delight at your slightly disheveled state. Breath catching in your throat, hand on his head, and heel of your foot braced against his back. The sunlight made your skin glow, eyes dark and pupils blown. Silver hair danced along your cheeks, perhaps this is what the visage of an angel looked like.

He swirled his tongue around you, mindful of suction and teeth. Using a hand to push up his glasses, glancing up occasionally. He let go of your clit, listening to the rush of air from your lungs. He muttered an incantation under his breath.

You watched as he worked, his strong nose pushed against your clit, his thick tongue dipping into your core. His hands cupped your hips and ass like he hasn’t eaten in a week, letting out a soft groan as he rutted against the mattress. Then you felt it, a cool touch on your inner thigh as he came up to breathe. His beard was stained with you, a signal to your arousal. You shivered under his gaze; the cool grasp felt wonderful against your puffy clit. It trailed down to your folds, gently prodding at your entrance. You groaned at the intrusion, cool invisible digits spearing your insides.

“Mage hand” the prodigy hummed, kissing the sides of your chin, fingers idly rubbing shapes into your clit. You groaned into his mouth as he peppered kisses onto your lips, his hands left your clit to pull off his shirt and pants, an obvious tent present in his boxers. He took off his glasses and untied his bun, his hair falling against his shoulders. It had gotten a bit longer, just dusting over his shoulders. Your lashes fluttered as the digits curled inside of you, stretching you gently.

“You are a work of art, my love.” He palmed his crotch, fingertips tracing against the swell of your breast. The hand works in tandem with his; slow tantalizing pumps against your inner walls. You squeezed down against the phantom feeling, the wizard sighing with delight. He kissed down your skin again, mouth back against your clit working to free you of the taught knot in the base of your stomach. One hand balanced on your hip the other under his waistband tugging at his shaft. Gasps escaped your lips, as you melted into his hands. He seemed smug and utterly pleased when his eyes met yours again.

The stimulation against your walls faded, a whine ripping though your lips. He gently shushed you, crawling back up your body, kissing every freckle or mole he came across.

“Now, my love, are you ready for me?” his words ached in the right places, dripping with arousal and tinged with need. He clumsily slid out of his boxers, tossing them somewhere in the room. His body has softened from time sat still, less definition from his college days and a soft slope of a belly coated in a fuzzy happy trail. He was slim- certainly, but he wasn’t fit either- Being cared for has that effect on people. You slid a hand down his hip, squeezing his muscular thigh on its way down back to your side. His hips canted slightly under your light touch, biting his inner cheek. “Oh, the things you do to me, my star, my precious little love.” His words flushed as pink as his cheeks.

“I’m so glad only I get to view you like this, your beauty- in the most natural state- forgive me a moment- I must- “he let out a shuddering exhale, catching his breath. “Ah. Can’t speak much when focus goes somewhere else” his eyes were apologetic.

“Would you prefer…being on bottom?” your concern evident from your voice.

“That would be wise.” He shifted to the center of the bed amongst the clouds of pillows, his hair settling haphazardly as its own halo.

You ran a hand down his chest, admiring your lovers’ body. Your hand cupped his hip as you clambered over him. His knees knocking together as you used them as leverage onto him. Gently you tested him against your entrance, beads of pre-cum welling from his slit. Every muscle of the man beneath you tensed in anticipation. Your hips shook slightly at the awkwardness of the position, head of his member broaching your folds. The insides of you felt plush and velveteen, as you took him inside of you, the most pathetic sound ripped its way from your throat, hanging in the air. Your toes twitched, a sigh shared in tandem at the hilt, one hand over his quick heart.

The outlines of the dark round tattoo glowed faintly, he spasmed underneath you, thighs tensing and untensing. This felt sweeter than any sex before it, each time you burned anew for him. Each ridge upon him your body memorized, cream and pink his skin ran. You kissed his adams apple as it bobbed, his breath ragged from adjusting. He screwed his eyes shut; face crinkled like crepe paper. You cupped his chest, testing a roll. It stung beautifully against your walls; warmth flooded your sides as you clenched down on him. His hands found your sides, pinching and cupping your ass, gentle to assist your bounces. He exhaled again muttering several incantations, cool slow buzzing ran over your clit.

“Oh, my love- how immaculate you look- “he sighed pushing up onto his toes, cementing you further onto him. His thighs wobbled as he speared you, aching to get every inch of himself into you. The head of his cock pulsed against your cervix, finding spongy spots within you. Your brain bubbled, cheeks flushed and radiating heat, a slight ring to your ears.

He stared at you with eyes you could never get tired of, pools of honey browns devouring your figure. Every flash of your image- ingrained into his memory.

He pulled you onto him, lips too quick to clamp down on yours. Your breath vanished between his teeth, nipping at your lower lips. His thrusts were desperate, earning a few moans from your lips. He captured them in return, his lips greedy for your sound. Your legs wormed around his, toe to toe. He set a bruising pace; his tip gently nestled against your cervix. You clamped and fluttered around him, cupping his chin and hand clamped in his hair.

He gasped for air, lips bruised “bhaal below- I can feel you- “he bit his lip, “gods your so close- so close and so good to me.” His hips pulsed erratically, tips of his toes sliding against the mussed sheets. “Beautiful- my star you are excellent-!”

No words fell from your mouth, just a coagulation of sighs running from your throat. Your core felt ironclad and taught, your cup overflowed with him around. The base of your hips ached from the muscle usage. His warm hand settled on your hips, his dulled nails digging into your plush flesh.

“Your so close- my darling, my love- “his words slurred, head tilted back to gulp back air. “Gods- come for me my star- I need you so bad-!” his voice slightly broke. Your mouth found the base of his throat clamping and sucking at his favorite spot. Quickly, he shoved you down as you crumbled into him, noses pressed together. Waves of heat pulsed through your core, sending his spent seed into you. He twitched and pulsed as he pulled you close, his chest gently glowing purple.

And then there was silence, blessed waves of relief as the shocks ran through your body. He deflated, sweat sticking to his forehead, curling the baby hairs around his scalp. You ached. Again, he was the first to stir a hand gently combing through your scalp. A gentle laugh erupting from his chest.

“Well, my dear- you are a gift that keeps on giving.” He hummed, closing his eyes. “I am spent- I don’t think id like to move for the rest of the day- I mean, if you’d like to, that would be our plan for today.”

You hummed in response, shifting your hips. “We forgot a towel.”

“No need to fret my dear…” he reached towards a drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a rag. “Always prepared.”

He helped you up, a whine ripping through your chest at the removal. Settling you back onto his chest, the rag settled comfortably between your thighs. He ran his hands up and down your back, tracing the dimples of your thighs, each ridge of bone and settled muscle. He stretched, reaching for his kindle on the bedside. Bracing an arm on your back. His skin smelt like lilies, soft and smooth under you. You listened to his dull heartbeat, peacefully drifting off in his arms.

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