#reader x baldurs gate

[undercoveravenger]

Intrusive Thoughts

Pairing: Astarion x Reader (written with a male!reader in mind, but can be read as gender neutral)

Requested: No

Summary: An unexpected side effect of the tadpole leads to you finding out what the camp’s resident vampire really thinks about you.

WARNINGS: Some suggestive content

-----

Nothing has been “normal” since your escape from the nautiloid, but you’d settled into your new life with your merry band of misfits. You’ve grown used to the rumble of Halsin’s snoring, to the ever-present bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel, to the prickle of Gale’s magic against your skin. You still don’t like it, but you’ve even become accustomed to the faint squirming of the parasite in your head and the strange powers it provides.

But now, only three days’ travel from home, from Baldur’s Gate, the rules have changed again.

You’d been speaking with Astarion, helping him by copying out the runes carved into his back when you hear it, hear his voice asking “Why would you help someone like me?”

You respond without thinking, not even looking up from your sketch. “I care about you, Astarion. I’m happy to help you.”

He shifts slightly, twisting to look at you over his shoulder. “Not that I don’t appreciate the declaration of your devotion, but that was rather out of the blue, don’t you think?”

“Not really?” you say, “You just asked me why I’d help.”

Astarion is quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t say that.”

You blink, eyes finally lifting from the parchment balanced on your lap to study him. Astarion loves mind games, thrives on the little bit of control they give him that he’d lacked for so long, but you’ve gotten good at reading him in the time you’ve been travelling together and you know he’s not playing with you now.

“I could have sworn-” you shake your head, dismissing what you thought you heard as a passing impulse, an errant daydream. “Never mind.”

Astarion hums agreeably but his eyes don’t waver from you, sharp as always but intense in a way you haven’t seen before. “What a pleasant sight,” his voice hums through you, “Wonder what else I could do to have you on your knees…”

Visions flash behind your eyes, perspective warped like you’re seeing yourself from someone else’s eyes. 

You, kneeling before Astarion with your hands settled against your thighs and your head tipped back so you can watch him, fingers twitching like you ache to reach for him and are only just restraining yourself. 

You, sprawled on your back near a roaring campfire and Astarion settled on your lap, pale thighs bracketing your hips. There’s a smile on your face as you offer him your wrist and he takes your gift - because that’s how it feels, like something to be treasured, hidden close to your heart and protected - and then you can hear the hitch in not-you’s breath as his fangs sink in and then liquid gold as your blood floods your mouth and he moves against you. 

The vision shifts again, to you curled up with Astarion, your arm curled around his waist and your head on his shoulder like it had always belonged there. Not for the first time, you’re struck by the strangeness of looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes, but the look of absolute trust in your eyes as you shift to look up at Astarion - at yourself? - and not-you’s mouth opens and “I love you” spills out with all the ease of something said a thousand times before.

A cold hand touches your face and you’re wrenched back to the present. Astarion is looking at you intently, worry evident in his brilliant ruby eyes. 

“Darling, are you alright?” He studies you, eyes trailing over the length of you like he’s looking for a wound that isn’t there. “You seemed rather lost in thought.”

Thought? Was that it? Had you been hearing- seeing- Astarion’s thoughts? Did he really want those things with you? Blood and sex, sure - those were things you’d shared already. But that intimate sort of trust - love? You’d never expected that he'd want that with you. 

You can feel it when he looks at you, not quite full thoughts but snippets, fragments - warm, safe, happy. There’s a sensation of  butterflies in your stomach and you have to ask before you choke on the wings.

“Astarion, are you in love with me?”

He freezes, eyes wide and startled. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might not have been able to see the mask starting to slip back into place. There’s a tension in him now, you can see the desire to run, can feel his thoughts whipping into a whirlwind. It’s a frantic mess of “Lie- run- yes- hide it- admit it- Cazador will use this against me- lie-”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes downcast like he can’t bear to look at you while he says it.

It’s such an Astarion-typical deflection that it gets a smile out of you. You roll your eyes, hands moving to cup his face and tug him closer until you can kiss him.

There’s a fraction of a second where he hesitates against you, frozen under your fingers, but the moment your lips touch he’s surging forward against you, his hands in your hair. There’s a flash of “Oh” and then “Good- Great- Wonderful,” that has you grinning against his lips. He pulls away after a few seconds and looks at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Am I to assume then, that you share my… interest?” There’s an echo of “say yes. Sweet Hells, please say yes,” and an ache in your chest, a yearning you’re not quite sure how to process.

You do your best to block his thoughts and feelings out, to focus only on your own. You think of the way his eyes shine when he’s amused, his wicked sense of humor, that infuriating charm. The white hot rage that flooded you when he told you what Cazador had done to him. You think of the future and can’t picture it without him at your side.

“I love you.” The words are easier to say than you’d expected, and the smile that overtakes him, bright and unrestrained, reassures you that you’ve made the right choice in telling him.

“Oh thank the gods,” slips past your mental barricade as Astarion moves to pepper your face in kisses and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

“Would it-” he interrupts you with a kiss, “be a bad time-” he kisses you again, “to mention that I’ve-” another kiss, “been hearing your thoughts this whole time?”

He leans in to kiss you again before your words sink in fully. “You WHAT?!”

You can’t contain your laughter and Astarion smiles as he redoubles his affectionate attack. For the first time, even with everything looming ahead, the future looks bright.

[undercoveravenger]

The First Step

Pairing: Astarion x Trans FtM!Reader 

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “Hiii!!! How are you??? Hope it isn't too much to ask but could you do a fic of Astarion with a Trans male reader? Like him probably finding out and his reaction about it, something like that 😅😁 (the Trans part can be up to you! Magic or surgically, go crazy! As a trans dude myself I'd really love to see more T-male rep in media, especially fanfictions) please and thank you kind sir! 😁😆”

A/N: Bet. I agree, there's not enough trans rep in media - hope I did your request justice ❤️

-----

It has been a very long time since Astarion has had anything that’s truly been his. He’s spent the last two centuries being Cazador’s prisoner and has only just begun to rediscover what it’s like to be a person again and now he’s losing the only person to make him feel like he’s enough to Gale of all people!

Astarion tells himself it doesn’t bother him. You’re free to talk to whomever you wish; he’s not your keeper, nor your lover, not really, despite the flirtatious banter between you. And still, as he watches you exit Gale’s tent with a smile and the tension that had been ever-present since the Nautiloid finally eased, the sour taste lingers.

He sits back against one of the logs surrounding the firepit of your little camp, arms crossed, watching you with carefully manufactured indifference. You don’t even notice him at first. too busy thanking Gale for something, voice light and sincere. Astarion’s jaw tightens. It’s ridiculous really, how easily the wizard can earn that kind of smile from you.

When you finally make your way over, he’s already schooled his expression into something charming and careless. “Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Positively glowing. Should I assume Gale’s responsible for your newfound radiance? I hadn’t realized you found the studious type so…” It feels so hard to force the words out he almost fears he may choke on them, “enrapturing.” He feels sick.

You blink and Astarion hates that he finds the confusion cute. “Enraptu-” You laugh, like the thought hadn’t even struck you, “Oh, no, nothing like that. Gale and I are just friends.”

Lovely. So he couldn’t even blame some misguided whim of the heart for your straying. Was he truly so pathetic that you’d rather have Gale warm your bed if you were looking for something noncommittal?

He forces a light laugh, brittle and elegant. “Just friends, of course. How very… wholesome of you.” He gestures vaguely, a careless flick of his fingers that doesn’t quite disguise the tension in his shoulders. “And here I was, imagining something scandalous to entertain myself with. A shame, really.”

You study him intently, that faint crease appearing between your brows - the one that always makes him feel as if you can see straight through him, and he hates that feeling almost as much as he needs your attention on him.

“Astarion,” you say, wary but careful, like the way you’d crooned over the stray dog and the owlbear cub, like one off word would send him fleeing, “is something bothering you?”

“Who, me? Not at all.” He smiles too wide, teeth flashing like a challenge. “Why ever would anything be wrong? I’m merely delighted to know our resident wizard has found such a devoted pupil.” If the word came out any sharper, Astarion knows you’d be bleeding. But your look doesn’t waver, and suddenly all that practiced charm feels like paper armour. He exhales, glancing away. “Fine. Perhaps a touch. You vanish into his tent every night, return with that… glow about you, and I’m left to assume the worst. Forgive me for having an imagination.”

The corner of your lip twitches slightly, barely discernible, but Astarion still catches it. He hates that he wants to kiss the laughter right out of your mouth.

“You could’ve asked,” you say, settling beside him without invitation, the glow of the fire catching at the line of your jaw, the slight swell of your Adam’s apple in your throat, the faint flicker of your pulse thrumming under your skin. “Before you assumed the worst.”

The silence stretches between you, broken intermittently by the crackling and popping of the fire. Astarion knows he’s being cruel, that he should apologize for making assumptions about you instead of just telling you that he was feeling jealous, but he’s still not used to his words being given weight, to the idea that someone - you - would care to hear what he thinks. 

“Gale’s been helping me with something… personal,” you start slowly, arms crossing over your chest in what might be the first defensive move Astarion’s ever seen you make. “But not - not like that.” You inhale, like bringing yourself to continue hurts, “He’s been showing me a few spells that help my body feel more like my own.” 

He can see the way your heart has sped up by the ticking of the vein at the side of your neck, can practically taste it in the air - you’re nervous, but Astarion can’t fathom why. If anyone understands not feeling at ease in one’s own body it’s him. 

“It’s- Well, I suppose I’ll just come out with it, huh?” You press on quickly, like if you’re interrupted you may never be able to say it, “I’m trans, Astarion. I was born with a body that didn’t fit and Gale is helping me with spells that let me continue my transition.”

Astarion blinks, the words hanging in the air between you. For once, he doesn’t have a quip waiting on his tongue. He just studies you—really studies you—as though seeing you anew. The flicker of the firelight paints your expression in gold and shadow, and all he can think, absurdly, is how steady you sound for someone baring so much of themselves.

“I see,” he says at last, quietly. It isn’t derision, or disbelief, or sarcasm - it’s thought. Real, deliberate thought. He feels like everything he’s learned about you to this point, all the little behaviors and quirks and tells, has been rewritten, not warped, not changed, just viewed under a new light that makes them feel all the more important now that you’ve shared something so important to you. 

Your shoulders tense, like you’ve already braced for whatever terrible thing comes next.

“I imagine that must take an incredible amount of trust,” he continues slowly, “letting someone wield that kind of power over your body.” His gaze flicks toward Gale’s tent before returning to you. “I can’t decide if that’s brave or foolish.”

“Maybe it’s just necessary,” you say after a moment, leaning back against the log behind you. It’s… easy, the way you say it. Like rewriting yourself from scratch isn’t the bravest thing Astarion can possibly think of. “The first step to feeling whole.”

He nods slowly, feels a bit like the warmth from the fire, the heat of you beside him, is finally thawing whatever he has that passes for a heart. You’re not different, he knows, from the man he’s grown close to. This will not make him start treating you differently or viewing you as any less, but it feels important that you’ve trusted him with this. 

“For what it’s worth,” Astarion says, drawing your attention away from the flames and back onto him, “I think who you are is very handsome.” He grins a little, eyes darting just briefly back toward the wizard’s tent, “And that you can do much better than Gale.”

Your surprised laughter is all the reassurance he needs that he’s happy, just where he is.

[undercoveravenger]

Excuses

Pairing: Astarion x Barbarian!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Could you do something with an Astarion x male barbarian. But where the barbarian isn’t totally a himbo and is more of a mother goose of the party?”

-----

It’s off, Astarion finds, to be cared for after so many decades of pain. To have come to not only anticipate your nightly check ins, but to expect them. To see you leave your seat at the fire just before the sun begins to sink past the horizon and start checking in on each of your companions - giving each of them a few minutes of your undivided attention before you move on to the next.

He can’t remember ever being treated like this - doesn’t recall anyone making the effort to routinely ask him how he’s doing or if he needs anything. And he knows you’re not just talk - he’s witnessed time and again your willingness to part with things to help others. To find little ways to take care of them. Infernal iron for Karlach, magic items for Gale, weapons for Lae’zel, and armor for Shadowheart. You’d stood up to a devil for Wyll and regularly sit with Halsin to learn more about medicinal herbs so you can help patch up your friends after a rough fight.

You arrive as he’s ruminating and sit quietly across from him, taking care not to disrupt his thoughts. He hates how such a small action makes him feel warm, how the look in your eyes makes his chest feel tight. His tongue is heavy, thick and useless in his mouth under the weight of your gaze. 

He can smell blood. Your blood. When he forces himself to look, he can see where it still seeps from your split knuckles. For once, the smell has him feeling sick to his stomach.

“Hello, dear,” he forces himself to purr after what has certainly been too long. “Come to see me at last?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling at him. He pointedly ignores the squeeze of what used to be his heart at the sight. “Saved the best for last,” you tease.

“Well,” Astarion says because his mind has quite suddenly gone blank. “I won’t argue on that. Though if you’ve come to offer yourself as a late night snack, I’ll have to decline - you’ve lost a bit more blood than you should’ve if you wanted a nibble.”

You laugh and Astarion hates himself for how much he wants to hear it again.

“I’m fine,” you say, waving off his concern and pulling out your bag, “Anyway, you lost a dagger earlier so I wanted to bring it back to you.”

Astarion blinks, fingers closing gently around the cool metal of the dagger he’d assumed was long gone. That you, tired and injured as you are, had sought it out and returned it to him just because it was his and you thought he’d like to have it back?

“And besides,” you continue, like he isn’t in the middle of a crisis, “I noticed the shirt you were wearing yesterday had a snag in the shoulder. Figured I’d ask if you wanted me to mend it for you?”

And, well, if you’re so desperate to find excuses to spend time with him, who is Astarion to say no? Especially since he’s feeling just as eager to spend time with you.

[undercoveravenger]

Doting

Pairing: Astarion x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Astarion is a little overwhelming when you’re injured.

-----

In your experience, there is almost nothing better than a good fight - the thrum of adrenaline, the pounding of your heart, the sweet sting of overworked muscles. Truly, there is little better, but this? This is torture.

You’re used to injury, it comes with the territory of being a melee fighter, but you’re not accustomed to taking it easy and letting yourself be doted on the way Astarion demands that you be. 

He hadn’t seemed to care about your hesitance to settle down and allow yourself to heal when you started traveling together, but ever since the fight at Moonrise Towers he’s been much more… invested in your recovery. He’d been on you almost as soon as General Thorm’s body hit the ground, prying the blood-slicked handle of your axe from your fingers and shoving it at Karlach so he could start dragging you back up the passageways back toward camp, waving away Jaheira and her Harpers and anyone else that sought to speak to you. 

Once you’d made it to camp, he was quick to unbuckle your armor and cast it aside, helping you clean off the blood in the river nearby before dumping you in your bedroll and demanding that you stay there. He’s been hovering since you got back, checking in near-constantly and always offering to bring things to you when you’re more than capable of fetching things yourself. You’d been the one to land the killing blow on the avatar of Myrkul, and now you’re barely allowed to lift your own canteen when you want a drink!

Even now, as you silently slip from your bedroll and move to take up your greataxe, you can hear him digging through the camp chest and muttering about the lack of medical supplies. He’ll be peeved when he figures out that you’ve snuck out, but you know you’ll be more helpful using your strength to clear what’s left of the battlefield than lying here counting the holes in your tent. Your fingers close around the haft of your axe and lift and there’s a flash of pain as the movement puts too much strain on your injured ribs. The stitches give as your skin tears and the wound pulses as it begins bleeding sluggishly again.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, free hand coming up to press over your wound like that’ll stop him from knowing.

Already you can hear the chest snap shut outside and swift footsteps approaching your tent. 

“I know I haven’t done anything to draw blood,” Astarion pushes aside the door flap, unimpressed crimson eyes fixing on you almost immediately. “So care to tell me why you’re bleeding again?” He raises an eyebrow at you and nods pointedly back at your bedroll. A sigh escapes you but you relent, placing your axe back in its place against the tent support and moving to sprawl back out on your bedroll at Astarion’s feet.

He settles silently at your side, unraveling your bandages until he can get at the pulled stitches. He uses the sharp tip of one of his daggers to slice through the damaged thread and carefully removes the remnants from your flesh before setting about threading up a curved needle so he can replace the stitches you’d pulled.

“I don’t understand,” Astarion says softly, voice hardly above a whisper, “why you won’t just let yourself heal.”

Your breath catches as the needle pierces your skin for the first stitch. “Because I’m fine and my time would be better spent helping out there.” You tip your head back to look at him but he won’t meet your eyes. “It’s just one little stab wound - it’s not like this would kill me.”

His lips twist into a sharp frown and his eyes flash up to meet yours. You’re more than a little surprised by the anger you see in them. “It could have. Any number of things in that dreadful place could have and then you’d be gone and I’d be alone again and I can’t be alone again!”

You’re stunned, baffled, by his outrage. Sure, you’d warmed each other’s bedrolls before and he’d told you something of his past, but he’d never led you to believe he cared this much. His chest heaves with the weight of his admission and his eyes are bright, like he’s on the verge of tears, but you knew he’d rather die than shed a tear over the likes of you.

“Astarion,” you say and the sound of your voice seems to snap him back to the present. You take his hand in yours and guide it up to press over your heart so he can feel its steady beating under his palm. “I am fine. Really, I’m alright. I am not going anywhere.”

He nods, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. He nods again, and turns back to your stitches. He finishes them deftly, and then settles down at your side as soon as your bandages are tied back in place, lying next to you with his head on your shoulder and his hand firmly against your heart.

“Once Shadowheart or Halsin get back, we’ll have them heal you,” he says quietly, “but until then, let me stay? Just-” Astarion’s voice breaks off slightly and you’re not quite sure where the two of you stand anymore, whether this has pushed you past your playful bullying and comfortable acquaintanceship and into new territory or if you’re expected to just keep on as you always had. “Just let me make sure you’re alright until then.”

You’re still antsy, still itching to go back to Moonrise and help with the wounded, to help clear the wreckage, but Astarion is warm where he is curled close to your side and the weight of him is soothing enough that you’re content to stay where you are for the time being. Slowly Astarion’s breath starts to even out and you find sleep beginning to creep up on you as well.

You know that you’ll have to talk to him about what this means for the two of you when you wake, but for now, at least, you don’t mind his doting.

[undercoveravenger]

Gale's Barbarian (Headcanons)

Pairing: Gale x Barbarian!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Gale dekarios x himbo barbarian male reader who is well meaning and caring but dumb as rock head cannons”

A/N: Okay, but I love smart-as-hell + dumb-as-a-brick duos. Hope you enjoy!

-----

Gale’s not sure what he was expecting when a hand clasps his to pull him back through the portal. Someone demanding repayment for their good deed, perhaps? He was not anticipating you.

He’s knocked off balance as his feet hit solid ground again and he has to remind himself that the sudden wave of dizziness is just a result of the magic (it’s definitely not attraction, that would be preposterous, wouldn’t it?)

He continues telling himself that each day when he joins you on your quest to rid your little adventuring party of the illithid tadpoles infecting you, despite the perpetual distraction posed by your flexing muscles and towering physique and the memory of how nice it felt to have you holding his hand.

Despite how undeniably kind you seem, Gale is naturally hesitant to tell you about his… condition. Eventually though, the time comes and he broaches the subject with you. Explains that he needs magic to keep himself from coming apart at the seams and that he understands that it’s inconvenient to sacrifice a magical item in order to - oh? You’re just giving that to him? Just like that?

It’s like you don’t even need to think about it. He needs a magic item? Sure, will this work? He’s never had someone be so… eager to help him. Gale almost wonders if you’ve got some ulterior motive.

Soon enough he learns that that’s just who you are, eager to help those who need it. Volunteering to find the druid Halsin to help the tieflings and to find a girl whose brothers think she was taken by a hag. It’s… heartwarming, to say the least.

He’s a scholar though, simply being kind isn’t enough to win his heart. He needs to be challenged! But well, when you agree to let him show you the Weave - the look in your eyes as you see the magic of the universe stitching together around you - well, there are other things than studiousness.

Okay, so maybe he admires you as more than a comrade, but he’ll be hells-damned before he says anything about it! At least, that’s what he resolves to until he sees Astarion of all people cozying up to you at camp a few days out from reaching Baldur’s Gate. Then he has to take action.

He sends a projection to disturb your moment with the vampire, to call you away to the spot he’d picked out in a meadow nearby. The sky is big and bright and colorful stretched out above the both of you and it feels like a good night for taking chances.

He finds it surprisingly difficult to find the words to do this - to tell you what he’s feeling- with you sitting there beside him. But that’s okay because you’re patient. You sit there beside him, watching the aurora above you.

Eventually he manages “I like you, rather a lot, really.” And you smile at him and he can feel his hopes lifting. 

He gets an “I like you too, Gale. You’re a great friend!” for his trouble.

Okay, so it’s back to the drawing board. He tries bringing you flowers and you ask him if he wants you to try to make a flower crown out of them for him, because why else would he be bringing you a bouquet? He tries to make your favorite food for dinner (and did not burn it, thank you very much!) and you just attribute it to coincidence!

From there he decides he must forsake the classic cliches because clearly they are not working. Eventually he manages to persuade you into a walk, just the two of you, and decides he needs to just come out with it. 

“I like you,” he has to be quick before you can dismiss it as friendship again, “I really quite like you. And I’m not sure if I wasn’t clear enough before, but I like you in a romantic fashion and I would rather like the opportunity to be your partner if you find that amenable.”

It takes you a second to parse through the big words (he rambles when he’s nervous, okay?) but then there’s “oh? Oh! That’s- you were trying to ask me out before?” and Gale wants to slap himself but then you smile and lean in to kiss him and Gale thinks that everything may be alright after all.

[undercoveravenger]

Strange Bedfellows

Pairing: Haarlep x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: You don’t realize that most of your recent bedfellows have all been Haarlep, but they’ll do what they must in order to be close to you. 

Warnings: 18+ Content, non-graphic smut, oral (M + F receiving), Haarlep shapeshifting to get closer to the reader, dubious consent? (the sex is consensual, reader just doesn’t know it’s Haarlep so dubcon to be safe), he/they pronouns used for Haarlep

A/N: First time writing for Haarlep - wasn't too sure about posting this since it's a bit of a divergence from what I normally write, but let me know what y'all think

-----

Haarlep’s first meeting with you is far from coincidence, a string of circumstances put into motion to have you running across him glamoured to look like a sweet little human bard in some seedy tavern. His only objective was to gather information on Raphael’s newest plaything. There’s a ragtag band of misfits with you, each clearly vying for your attention, but they doubt it’ll be difficult to lure you away from your friends. 

A few longing glances, a well-timed wink, and the exaggerated arch of their back as they lean across the bar for a drink pushing out their glamour’s chest and ass is all it takes to prove Haarlep right. You trail them eagerly up the stairs and into their room. 

They’re expecting mediocrity, anticipating another bland night with another ungenerous lover where they have to do all the work. 

For once, Haarlep is happy to be proven wrong. They’re glad to have you approach them, for you to take their face in your hands and kiss them, sweet and soft and exploratory, just because you want to. More than happy to have you guiding them back against the bed so you can eat them out until their legs shake and they feel like crying. 

You kiss him, after, and he can still catch the taste of the body he wears on your tongue before you bid him farewell and take your leave, without so much as asking them to return the favor. 

-----

It’s a few weeks before Haarlep is sent to you again, this time in the guise of a muscle-bound farm boy. They’re curious to see if you’re so eager to give when your partner has the strength to rival your own.

You are.

There’s a check in to establish boundaries and safewords and consent, and then you’re folding him damn-near in half and fucking him good and hard, leaving marks across their chest and neck and thighs that Haarlep almost wishes would still be there when he reverts back to his Cambion form, even though he knows the evidence of your little tryst will be wiped away with his glamour.

It’s just an itch, Haarlep has to remind themself when they can’t stop thinking of you. Just a temptation brought on by finally getting a good lay after ages of ungratifying sex with Raphael, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking of you as he chases his own high after another dull romp with his master, doesn’t stop the urge to go to you again, despite not being ordered to. 

So they do.

Haarlep is a tiefling this time, skin and horns a close mirror of the way he’d been before he entered Raphael’s service and found himself glamoured to look like the archdevil more often than not. He tells himself that the form he’s chosen is only coincidence, just a card pulled from a well-worn deck at random, not some misguided attempt to see if you might accept them as who and what they truly are, though they can feel the truth itching away at the back of their mind.

You let Haarlep suck you off this time and they can’t remember a time they were so eager to drop to their knees. He thinks he may very well be willing to stay there forever when you brush a strand of hair out of his eyes and call him beautiful.

-----

It’s hard to stay away after that - hard to time Raphael’s not-often-enough outings with you passing through a large enough settlement to warrant seeking out a stranger’s company for the night.

They’ve considered impersonating one of your companions before, thought of approaching you as that waifish vampire or the haughty half-elf or the pining wizard, but they’ve seen the way they look at you, the way all of your companions do, and he’d hate to give any of them a better chance at establishing a lasting hold over you. Not when he’s starting to suspect that he craves such a claim over you for himself. 

Raphael has been away more now that your little party has reached Baldur’s Gate and Haarlep aches to go to you, but he knows the risk he’d face daring to appear in the same city as his master without permission. If they were caught and the nature of their transgressions discovered, Raphael may forbid Haarlep from seeing you entirely. No, they would have to wait until you either accept Raphael’s offer (and suffer through the subsequent terrible celebratory sex), wait for the lot of you to leave the city once more, or hope, against his reasonable expectations, that you survive the coming battle with the Absolute. 

Truly, the future of Haarlep’s infatuation with you is grim, and they’re aware enough to know it. They may only get one last moment with you, if even that, and they will have to carefully strategize in order to bring it about.

-----

As it turns out, you come to him. He’s lounging back in the oversized bed in Raphael’s boudoir as he always is, wearing that same miserable glamour that Raphael always makes him use for their interactions, when the sound of rock shifting echoes from the balcony and he turns and there you are, only a few paces away, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Raphael.” Your fingers twitch toward the sword sheathed at your hip and your eyes are hard, cold in a way he’s never seen them before and a pleased little shiver runs down his spine at the sight. 

There’s blood splattered across your armor, and while he’s not surprised by the urge to lick it off of you, he is a little taken aback by the sting of concern - the hope that the blood isn’t yours.

“Not quite, pet,” Haarlep corrects with a grin, settling back on his elbows and leaving the rest of him sprawled out enticingly. The way your eyes keep drifting down to his chest and the plane of his abdomen is more than a little gratifying. “I’m called Haarlep. I’m Raphael’s personal incubus.” They catch the way your eyes dart back toward the balcony, the way your weight shifts like you’re considering running, and Haarlep’s speaking before they can think better of it. “I won’t tell him you’ve been here, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s… nice to have company other than him.”

You seem to settle at that, some of the tension easing from your shoulders and a bit of the wariness fading from your expression. A matching tightness releases in Haarlep’s chest, he’s relieved that you’re not eager to run from him. You catch a glimpse of one of Raphael’s portraits, massive garish manifestations of the archdevil’s ego, and your lips pull into a displeased frown. Haarlep remembers which glamour he’s wearing and cringes. 

“He’s, um. He only ever wants to sleep with himself,” they stretch, muscles reknitting and skin shifting as they shed Raphael’s form in favor of something that used to be far more familiar before they entered the archdevil’s service.

There’s a glint of recognition in your eyes, like you’ve spotted the similarities between the tiefling you’d bedded in Rivington and Haarlep as they stand before you now. As themself. “Better the devil you know, huh?”

“For some,” he agrees, “for others, variety is more captivating.” His smile widens as you take a thoughtless step toward him. Perhaps you found Haarlep as magnetic as they find you. “You’re the latter, aren’t you, dear? I’ve seen it.” He sits up to meet your approach, eagerness swirling in their stomach for the first time in ages.

You stop then, only a few steps away, and Haarlep almost regrets saying anything but you speak before they can devolve too far into overthinking. 

“It was you then, wasn’t it? In the taverns. I thought I’d sensed Infernal energy.” A sigh escapes you and you nod to yourself, like you’ve confirmed a suspicion, “He’s had you watching me from the beginning, hasn’t he?”

Haarlep shrugs, hands itching to reach out and pull you closer. “Admittedly, he sent me to you at first, but returning to you was my choice alone.” He hesitates, finds himself tongue-tied for the first time in eons. “I find myself captivated by you, my attention caught in a way it hasn’t been before.” The incubus swallows, knows the idea forming in their mind is a bad one but temptation weighs heavy and Haarlep seldom finds the strength to resist. “I offer you a deal,” Haarlep says before he can dwell too long on the idea of you tying yourself to him in such a meaningful way. “Not for something so lasting as your soul,” he says, trying to head off the distrust in your eyes. “You’ve come for the Orphic Hammer, yes? Well, I’ll give you all the information you need to retrieve it. All I want is-” they can’t believe they’re saying this. Offering so much and risking Raphael’s wrath in exchange for something as simple as “a kiss.”

You blink and Haarlep would’ve been tempted to laugh if they didn’t feel like they were about to be sick.

“A kiss?” Your confusion is palpable, but you don’t immediately reject him so he presses on.

“Of course, Raphael will know you’ve stolen from him and he’ll come for you as soon as you take it,” Haarlep points out, reluctant to set you up for a suicide mission, even with as tempting as the promise of earning a kiss from you is.

A thoughtful hum escapes you and Haarlep tries dutifully not to let himself be distracted by the idea of pulling similar sounds from you. “What if we can beat him?” you ask, eyes bright with determination. Haarlep’s heart squeezes in their chest - they’d suspected you were more than a passing fascination, but this, the terror of you facing this impossible battle, cements it. It’s not love, not yet, but he thinks it could grow into something like it if you manage not to die. 

“If you manage to face Raphael and survive it, I will do anything you ask of me.” They can’t bite back the fond little smile that twists at their lips, “Any boon, any request, as long as it is within my power to grant.” He tips his head, considers you for a long moment, “If you will let me stay at your side.”

You seem… curious. Your eyes are bright, thoughtful, as you approach him, stopping only a hair’s breadth away and he wonders if you ache to close the distance as much as he does. The air between you hums, charged and uncertain. 

“You’re serious,” you say. “A kiss, in exchange for the hammer.”

“That’s all I want.” Haarlep’s voice is quiet, a low, silken thread that trembles around the edges. “No soul, no blood, no vow. Just-” they gesture faintly toward you, claws curling in on themselves, “something real. For once.”

You study him, weighing the danger, the truth beneath the words. “You’d risk Raphael’s wrath for that?”

A flash of a smile — too sharp to be gentle, too fragile to be cruel. “I already have.”

You step closer. The scent of brimstone mingles with something warmer now, something like smoke after rain. “You might regret it,” you tell him.

“If it’s you,” they say, “I doubt I will.”

For a heartbeat, the world stills. Then your hand rises, fingers brushing along his jaw. Haarlep leans into the touch before he can stop himself, eyes half-lidded, lips parting just slightly - a man not begging, but hoping.

You don’t kiss them. Not yet. Instead, you smile, small and knowing.

“If I survive this,” you murmur, “I’ll come back for that kiss.”

His laugh is soft and startled, the sound of someone who hasn’t dared to believe in promises for a very long time. “Then I suppose,” he says, voice thick with something dangerously close to affection, “I’ll be waiting.”

When you turn toward the balcony, the infernal glow catches across his wings, half-unfurled behind him like an afterthought. Haarlep doesn’t move to stop you - he just watches, memorizing the line of your shoulders, the defiant set of your jaw.

And when you’re gone, he touches his fingers to his lips like he can already feel your mouth against his and smiles to himself.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, darling.”