in all seriousness though a fandom doesn't die when there's no new episodes or games or "content" to play with and it doesn't die because people aren't as loud as the day it first came out either. if you're still creating then the fandom is alive. if your mutual who has since moved on still reblogs a post about it every four months then the fandom is alive. if there is even one person out there still engaging in, creating for, or just enjoying that show or that game or those characters, then the fandom is alive.
"fresh content" isn't the soul of a fandom. you are.
Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).
WARNING: Graphic smut (hand + mouth stuffs), references to abusive backstory, dirty talk, top Astarion.
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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. đ
(Lots of comforting camp life content)
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A/N: My posting may be slow, but my chapters are juicy. Enjoy this one, my lovelies. đ
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Chapter Ten - Hard
Fuck, okay⌠FuckâŚ
Your tent walls never felt so transparent. The anxiety and conflict is practically radiating off your skin as the pit in your stomach only gouges deeper. Everything just needs to shut up for a minute, you need to think⌠But the soft snoring from neighbouring tents and the gentle breeze in the trees has never been more deafening.
Deep breath. Think.
Pros: Astarion wants to fuck you.
Cons: Astarion wants to fuck you.
Okay, that doesnât really clear things up⌠Gods, why does it feel so intense? Why canât it be easy? It seems easy enough for himâŚ
Itâs like being a virgin all over again. The thought of him seeing you naked for the first time constricts your throat. You arenât ashamed of your body, quite the opposite: You relish each wandering gaze you receive, each pair of eyes that struggles to focus on yours. But, here and now, you forget that heâd most likely be naked too. You can only think of his hands on you, feeling and grabbing for things you arenât ready to give.
Hands have done this before, touched and ripped pants and moans from your lips. Two hands. Hers. And you were so young when that started⌠Old enough for most, but, not for you. You didnât even know who you were yet.
So, do you know now? Are you ready, now?Â
Youâre ready for something... You donât know what it is, how to ask for it or if heâs even capable of giving it to you⌠So, is it worth the risk? Is it even possible?
Last time was different to what youâre used to, and you loved every moment. You felt things, you did things. It was all on your terms and it grounded you, if only for a moment. But what would this look like? Would you be suffocated by his selfish weight? Would he let you take the lead again? Would you have to fight him for it?
I just want to feel good, like everybody elseâŚ
You want it to be possible. Can he really do that? He certainly thinks he can⌠Gods, he could be fucking terrible, couldnât he? What a letdown that would beâŚ
Wait⌠Shit⌠You could be terribleâŚ
You donât think you are. But you only have one witness to those talents and she didnât have⌠A certain âappendageâ⌠The fuck do you even do with one of those? Thereâs a big difference between humping it through his breeches and having it directly in front of you⌠You guessâŚ
Okay, whatever, back on track. Are you doing this, or not?
The world outside your tent is cold. You should probably be wearing more than your shirt and small clothes, but is there really any point to putting more clothes on at this point? Your tent flap, flops behind you. The soil beneath you infuses a growing, aching chill into the soles of your feet. You glance at his tent, not far from yours, but far enough to piss you off a little. Hasty steps that grow numb with the cold andâŚ
There it is⌠And here you areâŚ
The red of his tent, coupled with an emerging candlelight glow, a moving shadow, the slightest sound of a metallic clink and a stroke of parchment.
Deep breath. Sigh.
âDarlingâŚ?â
Stop sighing. Stop sighing. âUh... NoâŚ?â
He chuckles softly. âDarling, I know itâs you⌠Are you coming in?â His voice is warm.
â... MaybeâŚ?â
Thereâs a pause as he waits for you to decide. âIsnât it cold, out thereâŚ?â
âŚ
âYesâŚâ
Fuck, okayâŚ
You step closer to the flap of his tent. Hesitating for a moment, you pull it up. Soft flame-light leaks onto the cool, blueish grass. You canât resist the promise of heat any longer, quickly ducking under and crawling inside. The flap hits your ass on your way in, shoving you the rest of the way, just in case you thought to abort your mission. You scoldingly look back at it as though it were a pushy friend.
âExcellent choiceâŚâ
You slowly drag your gaze towards him, and there he is. Shirtless, resting back on one elbow, a cup of wine in hand and a book on his blanket covered lap, grinning mercilessly. He silently appreciates your form: The way your plump thighs expand as you kneel beside him, the way the loose fastenings of your shirt expose your collarbones, and that small triangle of fabric sitting at the apex of your thighs.
Your breathing deepens at the sight of him like this, in a state of almost relaxation. You always knew you were attracted to men as well as women. But, this is a whole other level of attraction. The heat you feel is regardless of gender, you just see something you like. And gods, do you like itâŚ
You need to hurry up and get this over with, before you change your mind. Just have the experience, answer your questions and go.
âSo, how are we doing this?â You ask, looking around his tent and avoiding what you really want to see. It isnât the neatest of tents: Littered with small piles of books and a few bits of clothing heâs found along the way. Thereâs something else, too. A large fabric lies beside him that might have been white once, but now is stained with enough dirt to render the original colour unrecognisable.
His grin falters a little at your question. âAre you in a rush?â He inspects you, the way your hands fidget as you shrug in response. Youâre nervous. Itâs unlike you. What happened to the confident, flirty little brat that heâs grown so fond of? He takes a breath and rethinks his approach. He sits up properly, setting his book and wine aside, and shuffling closer. âDarling, why did you come, if youâre so nervous?â
Well, there goes any hope of seeming cool and casual about all of thisâŚ
Sighing exasperatedly, your chest finding relief in finally just being honest about your feelings. âFuck, I donât knowâŚâ
He smiles slightly, seeing your shoulders relax a little. Your hand is lifted into his, forcing you to glance up at him. âDo you actually want this?â
Taking a deep breath, you nod. âYeah, I think soâŚâ
His eyes narrow slightly and his eyes flick over you in suspicion. Then, he grins in slight amusement. âDonât tell me, youâre a virginâŚ?â
âWhat? No! Well⌠Not exactly.â Those burning red eyes could pierce your soul with how intrigued they are by your answer. âLook, Iâve had sex, alright? Just not⌠This kind.â
âAnd what kind is that, my darling?â
You sigh and roll your eyes at having to spell it out for him. You point directly at his crotch. âMy ex didnât have one of those, alright?!â
He canât help but huff in amusement. âAh, I see⌠And only the one âexâ, too? Hmm⌠Sounds rather tedious if you ask meâŚâ
âUgh, you have no ideaâŚâ Soft smiles are exchanged and the tension between you begins to feel less like a wall and more like a magnetism.
It feels good to talk.
âWell, I can assure you, I am far from a âtediousâ loverâŚâ
âUhuh, so you sayâŚâ You grin, beginning to feel your usual, sassy self return to your mouth.
He scoffs and grins right back, he shuffles closer, positively itching to prove it. âLie down.â The words rumble from his chest to yours, you feel them call to you, lure you, just as he designed them to do.
He lifts one side of the blanket, inviting you inside his bedroll. The glimpse of the waistband of his breeches at his abdomen both relieves and disappoints you. You attempt a confident smirk as you crawl in, beside him. He watches as you settle onto the pillow, covering you with the blanket and half leaning over you. Smiling softly, he appreciates your features and gently strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers.
âAre you comfortable?â He asks, more softly than heâs ever spoken to you before.
âYesâŚâ
âGood⌠Now, I need to know something, my dear.â
Your eyes widen. âWhat? What is it? Why?â
He chuckles softly. âDonât panic. I just like to know what Iâm dealing with. I want to know what you like. Can you give me that, darling?â
Fuck, okay. What do I like?
The question sounds so foreign. Itâs another language, another life that isnât yours. You nod anyway, at least willing to try, and he smiles, nodding back. He takes a moment to cup your cheek and leans down closer.
âIâm going to kiss you, now. Hard⌠Or soft?â His cool breath fans against your lips and you have to stop yourself from sucking it in, just to have a piece of him flow through you for a second.
âSoftâ? Can you even do âsoftâ? Yet another language you cannot speak.
âHardâŚâ Safe. Stick with what you know.
He isnât surprised by your answer, but he does inspect you for further insight. His trained vermillion almost deciphers you faster than you can decipher yourself. You donât know what he could discover, but you know you at least want to be the first to find it. But, then, the hand on your cheek slides down to your jaw and pulls you up to crash your lips against his. Heâs cold, just as he was before. And although youâve anticipated (obsessed) over this potential contact all evening, it still makes you gasp. A gasp that he almost instantly swallows. Itâs his now.
He harshly sucks your lower lip between his teeth, not biting yet. You expect the pain of it, but it becomes clear to you now that he wants you to wait. Heâs testing, experimenting, playing with you. Itâs quickly apparent that this is more than a kiss; heâs reading your palm, discovering who you are. He notes how you lean into him, how your brows knit for him, how your back arches for him. He slowly bites down until you hold your breath and instinctively reach for his shoulder. Your limit.
He releases your lip and soothes it with a gentle swirl of his tongue, coaxing the slightest of hums from your throat. If you could do anything but kiss, youâd probably scold yourself for that noise. That unfiltered, slight noise. His hand rests on the ground beside your head, body leaning over you further, the new angle giving him further command of your lips. His knee comes to sit between your thighs and he looks down at you. He grins at the sight of your wide eyes and parted lips, blanketed by his shadow, submerged in his likeness. Only now do you realise that your breathing is much deeper than before, not a full pant, but enough to be noticeable. And he doesnât miss a thing.
âWanting more, are we?â He grins, mischievously.
Smug fuckerâŚ
You canât help but huff in amusement, shaking your head in dismissal of his audacity. But he doesnât allow it, leaning in closer. âMy dear, this is what I do. Youâre allowed to enjoy it. In fact, I insist that you do.â He sees how you look away, the way your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Usually, heâd relish this, but he has a better goal in mind for tonight. And for that to happen⌠âYou need to relax. Can you do that for me?â
Deep breath. Nod.
He lifts his hand from beside your head and holds it in front of you. âI want you to take this, and put it anywhere you like to be touched.â
You glance at his hand, hesitating before holding it with both of yours and slowly guiding it down to the centre of your chest.
He watches as you move it across your shirt, fingers brushing against the underside of your breast to reach your waist. âHere.â
The journey isnât over though. Next, you guide his hand to cup your thigh. âHere.â
Finally, you slide it up your thigh until he instinctively squeezes the flesh of your rear. âHereâŚâ
Each word is breathier than the last. His eyes lock onto yours, though now, significantly more lidded. He squeezes again. âHereâŚ?â He asks, leaving his lips parted. You nod. You donât think his smirk could look any more wolfish if he tried. But, you only see it for a moment before he crashes his lips into yours once again, hand pawing at your soft skin and sliding down your leg to pull it up and hook it around his waist. The sound you make is enough to flush your cheeks with embarrassment, but then you feel how he only kisses you with more vigour.
Fuck itâŚ
Your fingers twist in his hair, earning a noise of his own to vibrate against your skin. His leg moves to join the other, between your thighs. He lowers himself onto you, his chest pressing against yours.
Now, youâre panting. You both are.
Open mouthed, messy movements paint each otherâs lips. His tongue seeks yours and you donât hesitate to taste him again. At this point, youâre convinced thereâs something supernaturally addictive about a vampireâs kiss. Itâs unlike any youâve had before and itâs driving you insane, just like last time. Just as he designed it to do.
But heâs not immune either, it seems. Thereâs something about the way you respond to him, the way your breath hitches with every move he makes⌠Gods, he could devour you if youâd let him. And that⌠That, is new⌠He cares about this⌠He wants you to understand, to know that heâs good at this. You have to know that heâs good at this.
His hand slips to your inner thigh, inching closer to the hem of your small clothes. âCan I touch you hereâŚ?â He whispers urgently against your lips.
âY-yesâŚâ You stammer back, no hesitation.
His fingers press into the warm, wet fabric that waits for him, earning a gasp and a moan from you. âGods⌠Youâre soakedâŚâ His fingers begin to rub you in large, perfect movements that make you whimper.
He needs so much more. He needs to hear what other noises he can coax out of you. âFuck⌠I⌠I want these off⌠Darling, can⌠Can I take them off?â He asks, tugging at the waistband. There are no words that leave your mouth. Your hands, eagerly shoving them down your thighs is your answer. Sitting back, he hungrily watches and reaches down to aid you, yanking them down and leaving them to hang around one of your ankles.
Instinctively, your legs close, causing him to stop and glance up at you. He places a hand on your knee, keeping his eyes on yours and offering you a small, reassuring nod. You bite your lip and take a second to breathe through any initial fears you may have, then, slowly, your knees part. He smiles softly in the knowledge that, in this moment, you trust him.
Seeing you like this for the first time, he releases a sigh of appreciation, hand sliding up your inner thigh. He canât help but push your legs further apart to get a better look. Heâs seen hundreds of these and hundreds of others. Seeing what lies beneath some strangerâs clothes is a novelty that wore off long ago. But you⌠You arenât a stranger⌠This is you⌠And this one⌠Itâs yours⌠It excites him, the sight of something so new, and yet, not new at allâŚ
His hand moves closer, his thumb brushes against the hair that frames your most sensitive and intimate parts. Biting his lip, he uses his thumb to gently guide your lips open, exposing you fully to his view. He has to suppress a groan, his mouth watering at the sight of your glistening arousal. He guesses how youâd taste: The sweetness of summer fruits with the richness of wine⌠Whatever it may be, it is undoubtedly, uniquely you. He yearns for it.
Patience.
Tearing his gaze away from the delicious sight before him, he focuses on your face. He leans over you again, finding your lips with his in another passionate, hard kiss. Gasp. The pad of his middle finger gently grazes just above your sensitive bud. He doesnât stop kissing you, even as your mouth opens wide with a barely suppressed moan. Again, his finger moves, but this time in steady, slow circles. âA-ahhâŚâ The moan escapes you anyway, thereâs no stopping it. He moves faster and you frantically cup his face, pulling him in to muffle your sounds with his mouth. Gods, the taste of him, the feel of him. You had braced for a messy, brutal chafe, but his touch is gentle, exactly when and where it should be.
Then, your hips jolt as he directly swipes over that oversensitive button.
He pulls back, enough to see your face. âToo much?â
âA-a littleâŚâ
He returns to his earlier ministrations and you feel yourself melting into the pillow once again, as if by his command. âLike this?â
A whimper pushes against the back of your teeth as you bite down hard on your lower lip, you nod fervently. You can feel that familiar tightening in your core as he continues that perfect movement. Itâs consistent, steady and if he could just keep it up for a little longer⌠âN-noâŚâ You whine with disappointment as he stops, leaving his post.
He chuckles softly. âPatience, my dear. I just want to take my time with you.â
You feel a second finger slide down your folds with the first, towards your entrance. You gasp as he finds it, preparing yourself for intrusion, but it doesnât quite come. Instead, he strokes the neighbouring, sensitive skin; playing with the abundance of slick that has gathered there. âDarlingâŚâ His darkened eyes are locked on yours, loving every twitch in your expression. âCan IâŚ?â
The question alone is enough to make you hold your breath. You manage to release enough for a small whisper. âYesâŚâ
He canât help but grin as he positions his fingers at your entrance. He starts with one, slowly sinking it into you with shallow pumps, easing you open. As you breathe a soft moan and close your eyes, one of your hands slides down his neck to grip onto his shoulder. Heâs cold, inside you. Your walls flutter around his finger at the strange, but welcome sensation. He feels your body adjust and accept him and it fills him with a hot thrill. Youâre vulnerable. His mind races with all the things he could do with that kind of power, but he canât even bring himself to gloat about this. He can only enjoy the tight, pulsing heat that relaxes around him.
You are so⌠AliveâŚ
Once youâve adjusted, he introduces the second one. But, this time, he delves into you so eagerly, so deeply, that he lifts your hips with his hand. Thank gods, youâre not a virginâŚ
Back arches, head tilts back, mouth opens and a loud, ragged, deep moan claws itâs way out of your throat. Thankfully, only the beginnings of it are unfiltered as his free hand quickly clamps down onto your mouth. âShh⌠Letâs not wake the others, hm?â He whispers with the most triumphant of grins.
Then, like the absolute prick that he is, he curls his fingers and begins to steadily pump them in and out of you. You whimper into his palm, wetting it with your breath. Your eyes can barely stay open, your hand pulls at his hair whilst the other claws at his shoulder. âMmmff! Mmm! Mmmhh!â
âGods, youâre so sensitive⌠And youâre taking it all so well, arenât you, dear?â He remarks, entranced by this view of you, completely consumed by pleasure. His long fingers stroke your walls in places that have never been reached before and massage that part of you that makes your eyes roll.
 He can only wonder: If this is how you react to his hand, how might you react toâŚ
He begins to grind his palm onto your clit with every deep thrust of his hand. Your whimpers staccato with your pants as he brings you closer to that glorious edge. âEyes on me, darling.â
You canât. Even if you could open your eyes, it would be a herculean effort to stop them from rolling back at this point.
So, he stops.
You whine again, you were so close. âEyes on me, or you wonât be coming, my dear.â He grins and speaks infuriatingly softly. Prying your lids open, you steer your eyes to connect with his. Heâs gorgeous like this: Half-lidded eyes, hair ruffled and unkempt, breathing heavily over you from his arousal and efforts.
âGood girl.â
Wet, rhythmic sounds fill the tent as he plunges his fingers in and out of your perfect cunt with increased intensity. Panting and digging your nails into his shoulders, you approach your peak once more. Your throat scratches with the guttural squeal that hits his palm. Convulsing, shuddering, your walls grip him tightly, to the point of almost halting his movements, which he continues mercilessly. And all the while, he is watching you. His obsessed, beguiled gaze pierces through the haze of your orgasm and you force yourself not to look away. Then, itâs too much. You reach down and grip his wrist to stop him.
He removes his fingers suddenly, releasing your mouth and sitting up as you gasp for air, dazed and disoriented beneath him. He looks down at his hand with a feral intensity, parting his fingers and admiring the connecting strands of your juices that glaze his skin. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around them, sucking them clean as though heâs alone in this tent. His free hand twitches, aching to free the strain within his breeches. Your chest rises and falls slower, even deeper than before as you are unable to tear your eyes from the sight. He moans around his fingers and reluctantly removes them once he realises that thereâs nothing left of you to taste. He sighs and looks up at you.
His eyes widen at first in what could be embarrassment, but itâs more like shock. He forgot himself for a moment there. He lost himself in youâŚ
His expression changes slightly, and thatâs when you realise that thereâs almost⌠Anger, in his eyes. He shakes his head, unable to look at you right now as he realises that heâs enjoying this too much, enjoying you, too much. Heâs served himself up on a platter, pleasured thousands of people and not thought twice about it in two-hundred years. He never got swept up in it, never let his guard down, not even for a moment.Â
Until now.
âWhat? No, fuck you. You⌠You donât get to do that.â His mind scrambles for understanding⌠For blameâŚ
You didnât even touch him. You just laid there and⌠No, it doesnât make sense and he wonât let it happen again.
He looks down at you, lay there before him, legs spread and body boneless, still catching your breath. Chuckling smugly, he places that careful smirk over his lips once again. âMore?â
You narrow your eyes at him, hating how easily heâs managed to reduce you to nothing but a wanton puddle. But, you canât help the way your eyes drift to the strained lacing of his breeches. Itâs true, you want more, but youâre not sure if your body can take it. You havenât had an orgasm like that in⌠Well, everâŚ
You sigh and reluctantly shake your head, still unable to form words. You expect disappointment, but he only grins wider. He tilts his head to the side and continues to observe you. âHave I tired you out already, dear?â Scoffing, the only thing you manage to do in response is hold up your middle finger. He laughs, takes it and places a soft kiss on your knuckle, gazing up at you. âIâll take that as a yesâŚâ
Heâd ask if you enjoyed it, but the sight of your utterly debauched form is all the answer he needs. He shuffles back and closes your legs for you, the shift causing you to shiver slightly. The pillow sinks on one side as he lays beside you, propping up his head by his elbow. You gaze up at him and that cocky fucking grin. You canât bring yourself to hate it, though⌠After all, he did earn it.
Eyes half-lidded and lazy, you reach up and cup his cheek. The tenderness of your touch causes his eyes to widen slightly. âThank youâŚâ You whisper.
He huffs amusedly and leans in closer. âAny time, darlingâŚâ The kiss is sweet and slow, betraying the brutal passion you shared only moments ago.
Pulling back, you open your eyes to find that his are still closed. That line between his brows seems fainter, his lips are relaxed and dusted with pink from your attention. He looks so⌠Peaceful⌠Like thisâŚ
Clearing your throat, you sit up, relieving the weight on your chest that only grew the longer you observed him. Letâs not get carried away, here. This was just a bit of fun. He got to prove his point and you got to lay there and take it. Simple. Easy.
Simple⌠EasyâŚ
âWell, I should probably go and get some sleepâŚâ You find your smallclothes, still hooked onto your ankle, and pull them up. He watches with an unreadable expression⌠Or maybe he isnât watching at all... His eyes seem focused, yet dormant, as though he canât see a thing. Youâre about to leave when he reaches out, gently holding onto your wrist. âWait...â
Your eyes shoot down to his hand on your wrist, then up at him with a raised eyebrow.
âI just⌠Want to make sure that weâre okay, that you wonât avoid me tomorrow, like you did last timeâŚâ His eyes are round and earnest as he looks up at you.
You feel the tent walls growing closer. âI⌠I wonât. Iâll be normal⌠I swear.â âNormalâ? Maybe not ânormalâ, after this⌠But youâll try. He inspects you, seeing no deception, even as you struggle to look him in the eye. Nodding, he releases your wrist, allowing you to leave. You turn and almost jump at the opportunity, but then, you stop in your tracks.
With a shameful sigh, you look back at him. âI⌠I never apologised for that⌠Did I?â He glances up at you in confusion. âFor avoiding you, afterâŚâ The confusion doesnât leave his face. You take a deep breath, choosing to continue anyway. âI⌠I didnât know how to feel about it⌠Iâd never done something like that before and⌠I just needed some space but I never⌠I never told you that⌠And that wasnât fairâŚâ He just stares at you, as though youâre speaking a different language. âSo⌠Iâm sorry⌠For making things weird.â You sigh, relieved to have finally addressed it.
Silence. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. Finding no words, he simply clears his throat and nods. You nod back. More silence. You clear your throat. âSo⌠I guess, Iâll see you in the morningâŚâ You smile softly, he returns it and nods again.
Lifting the flap to the tent, the chill of the outdoors hits your heated face, somehow even colder than before. When did the tent get so hot?
No matter. You duck under and it closes behind you.
He watches you disappear, mind still desperately trying to process your words. âSorryâ. Youâre⌠âsorryâ... A word heâs spoken countless times, begging for mercy, begging for safety. But no one has said that to him inâŚ
Gods, itâs just a word. He rubs his face and sighs, trying to get a hold of himself.
His eyes drift to the new, empty space beside him, that familiar dip in the pillow. The tent feels colder now, but he just chalks it up to you, annoyingly, letting all the heat out when you lifted the tent flap. He attempts to fill the space, shuffling up and laying on his back.
Luckily, it doesnât take long to regain himself again, but that momentary, strange pull in his chest makes him feel uneasy, even after it has passed. The fading warmth of your body is pressed into the bedroll, embracing his bare back and everything thatâs carved into it.
An hour passes, and he tries to fall into a trance, he really does. But the memory of you writhing beneath him, the feeling of you clenching around his fingers and the taste of you on his tongue refuses to leave his mind. He sighs in irritation, feeling no better than a horny teenager.
With his breeches unlaced and shimmied below his hips, his hand disappears beneath the blanket. His eyes close and there you are again: Soft skin, parted lips, heaving chest and eyes, needily locked onto his.
Thinking of doing BG3 writing commissions (SFW, NSFW, character letters, etc.).
Would any of ya'll actually be interested in that? đ
More details below.
Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).
WARNING: References to abuse, graphic descriptions of injury
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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. đ
(Lots of comforting camp life content)
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A/N: Did somebody order a random burst of productivity? đ¤
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Chapter Nine - Tantrum
âGet up.â
A clank of metal thunks into your bandaged abdomen. Air escapes you and your blurred eyes widen in search of the assailant. You find her. âW-what?â
âGet up.â Demands Laeâzel for a second time, standing proudly above you, paying no mind to your discomfort or exhaustion. You look down and see the weight trapping your legs: A greatsword.
âWhy? Whatâs happening-?â You call out in vain, but she doesnât waste her precious breath on helping you to understand as she walks away. Are you supposed to follow her? She stops and looks over her shoulder, impatiently waiting for you. You slide the sword off your lap despite the protest of your bruised muscles. âNnngh!â You sigh with relief and, through great effort, slowly begin to pull yourself up.
âStop it, you know she shouldnât be moving, right now.â Shadowheart advises, glaring up at Laeâzel, still hovering her luminescent hand over your wounds. Laeâzel scoffs and rolls her eyes, marching over to pull you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. Hissing with pain, you attempt to push her off, but she holds on strong. To her, youâre nothing but air. Wasted, useless air. She begins to drag you away, picking up the greatsword as she goes. âH-hey!â Shadowheart calls out, reaching out to continue the spell.
Your heels drag in the dirt as you feebly struggle in her grasp. âNngh-ahh!â The pathetic lump that is your body hits the dirt before her. âWhat the fuck is wrong with y-ahh!â Another hit to the abdomen from the tossed sword.
âPick it up.â She glares at you. You glare back.
âIf you want to kill me, just do it already.â The forced bravado in your voice wavers slightly.
âChk...â She responds simply, flicking a stray lock of her hair in the air. She doesnât ask again. Inspecting her face and the way she grips her own weapon, you realise just how quickly those muscles could tear you apart. And yet, they donât.
âWhat do you want?â
âI want you to pick up the damned sword, istik.â
Sighing, you reluctantly stumble to your feet, arms hanging from your bandaged torso. You stand before her, breeches soiled with dirt and blood, bandages corset tight and inhibiting your maximum breath capacity. You heave with the effort it takes to stand and strain to reach the sword below. Itâs in your hands, tugging at sinews that scream to your nerves. After you drop it, you glance up at her. She watches you intently, offering no assistance.
âAgain.â She commands.
âI-itâs too heavy-â You concede.
âAgain.â
You sigh and focus, willing your muscles to push through the pain and eventually, you lift the handle off the ground, the blade scoring the earth below. You grin up at her proudly and you swear, for just a moment, the corner of her lips twitched into the slightest smirk of her own.
The tip of her identical blade points towards you in challenge, her singular, glorious arm outstretched. âNow fight.â
âF-wha-?!â
She charges towards you and attempts a strike, to which you flinch and cower. She stops, inches from your neck. âYou have a weapon. Use it.â Peering from behind your bracing hands, you see her making her way back to her starting position. âAgain.â
Your eyes widen as her graceful steps seem to dance towards you, beautiful, methodical⌠Deadly. You struggle with the weight of your weapon, managing to hold it up in time to hear the clank of your connecting metal. She counters with ease, blades screeching as she masterfully choreographs the movement before your eyes. You lose control of it and stumble back as she prepares a new blow. She lunges at you, and hits nothing but the memory of where you used to be.
Looking down at your feet, you almost donât recognise them as they had worked of their own accord, instinctively dodging her attack. You glance up at her, panting and surprised. She doesnât praise. She furrows her brow and tries again. Stumbling back, your ass hits the floor, sending a jolt of pain through your aching muscles. Cold, sharp steel grazes your chin and you open your eyes to see the amber fire within hers.
The lines of her blade may as well be the lines of her face, of her body. It isnât an extension of her. It is her. And you start to think thereâs something⌠Thrilling⌠About being at her mercy.
âDo not let your guard down. Not even for a moment.â Her fierce glare seeps into your soul. She tilts her head down, allowing strands of her reddened hair to caress her cheeks. She pays them no mind. Her focus is her target. Her focus is you. She lowers her blade and steps back.
Bruised but somehow not broken, stumbling back to camp never felt so good. Muscles pained but, finally, with purpose.
âWhat in the hells- Tav?!â Wyll leaps up from his spot around the campfire, rushing towards you to help you stay standing. Looking down at your own legs, inked purple and blue, you wonder how they hold you up, you wonder why you donât feel it as much as you did before.
Laeâzel, who was following closely behind you, blocks Wyllâs frantic path. Some standing, some sat, all companions turn to face the scene. âEnough coddling. All of you.â She demands, firm and powerfully unyielding.
âSoldier, are you-?!â Karlach moves closer, but is, once again, blocked by Laeâzelâs magnificently crafted form. They stare each other down, neither formidable woman relenting until Karlach flicks her eyes to you, seeking insight.
You nod reassuringly and move to stand beside Laeâzel. âIâm fine, really.â
Your new mentor looks down at you⌠Approvingly⌠You think�
Limping your way to the campfire, you sit beside Shadowheart, whose hand is itching to heal your wounds. But she refrains as you do not ask for aid. You sit there, in pain and loving every sting and pang of it. Astarion finally dares to glance up at you as you close your eyes, lean back on your hands and breathe through your aching. Feeling confident you wonât notice it, his gaze lingers on your neck, the scars he left behind accompanied by new abrasions that are a little too close to them than heâd like. Itâs the first time heâs properly seen them since he put them there. They seem to be healing well. He shifts in his seat, unexplainably uncomfortable at the thought of them disappearing into your skin. Your eyes twitch with exhaustion as you begin to pry open. He looks away.
The others take their seats by the fire, occasionally glancing at you with concern. Shadowheartâs seething focus is mainly on Laeâzel though, who is digging into her meal without a care in the world. They lock eyes and you swear you hear a crackle in the air. Gale hasnât looked up at all. Heâs so still⌠Has he been like this⌠All day?
âGaleâŚ?â Wyll speaks softly as he sits beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. You watch as Gale slowly lifts his tired head, not daring to look at you.
âGale?â You give it a try, maybe heâll speak to you, if you invite him?
âIâŚâ He begins. âTav⌠I⌠I thought⌠You wereâŚâ
âBut I wasnât, was I?â You cut in dismissively, immediately defensive and irritated that he still speaks to you like a gloved hand, handling porcelain.
He sighs and rubs his face before looking up at you. âTav, you donât understand, you could have-â
âBut I didnât.â
âI know, but you could have and it wouldâve been all my fault and-â
âBut I didnât. Did I?â You state firmly, loudly, gaining everyoneâs attention. You look around, locking eyes with everyone individually, even Astarion. âI chose to leave this camp. I chose to take that risk. I merely invited Gale to come with me. What happens to me is on me, and only me.â
âTav, you were hurt. Thatâs on all of us.â Chimes in Karlach, who only suffers further heat from your piercing gaze.
âHow many times have I cleaned your blood from your clothes, hmm? How many times has Shadowheart casted a healing spell, hmm? You are all injured, all the time. Why is it so different when itâs me?!â
âBecause, unlike you, we can handle ourselves!â Shadowheart blurts out, earning a targeted, furious glare from your eyes.
âWell, fuck that!â You stand up abruptly, trying not to wince at the pain. âLook, Iâm not a fighter, I know that... But Iâm also not stupid. Having me by your side is going to get someone killed eventually.â You make eye contact with Laeâzel and smile proudly, standing up straight. âFrom now on, I want to train. And anyone who wants to stand in the way of that can go fuck themselves! Does that sound fair to all of you?!â You look around, daring anyone to speak. Laeâzel grins. Astarionâs mouth curls into a smirk, you donât know why exactly, but you also donât care. The rest look up at you, speechless. With a defiant huff, you storm off, not interested in what anyone else thinks anymore.
âFucking bullshit-Ugh!â You kick your bruised leg into a tree and clutch it as it aches. The pang fuels your roar of anger as your hands turn into fists and your purple knuckles collide with the bark. âAaargh!â
âOh, I do hope youâre not pretending that tree is meâŚâ
You turn to the voice with a fury in your eyes that doesnât lessen, even as you realise who it came from. âFuck off, Astarion! Iâm not in the mood!â
He pauses, a little taken aback, but not by your anger, but by something else. âSo you can speak to me, after allâŚâ
âW-whatâŚ?â You say, still panting from your punches, hands still clenched into fists.
âJust glad to have finally been acknowledged, is allâŚâ He walks over to you, no, past you, and examines the tree. Thereâs not much damage aside from smears of blood from your own knuckles. âYouâve been avoiding me.â
âNo I havenât.â And why not lie? You donât owe him anything. But then he looks at you with the most âseriously?â of expressions and you sigh in defeat.
âWhy?â He asks strangely softly as his gaze flicks back to the reddened bark of the tree. You shrug, avoiding looking at him.
âDid I make you uncomfortable? Hurt you?â
âNo⌠I mean, no more than⌠IntendedâŚâ Your fingertips ghost over his mark on your neck. He swipes his thumb through the blood on the tree and admires the colour against his skin.
âDid you enjoy it?â Itâs a simple question, infuriatingly so. But, you havenât felt anything but anxiety about the whole thing since it happened, so how can you answer him? You want to bite back, avoid the question and forget it ever happened⌠But you canât, because, for whatever reason, you know he wonât let you. So, you reluctantly search your memory and open yourself up to whatever feelings you remember.
His cold skin on yours, his fangs in your neck, his breath on your ear, the taste of his spit. You feel it all again. You feel your heart beat faster and the pooling between your legs at the thought. Of course, he never properly touched you⌠But, you touched him. And you suppose it served itâs purpose-⌠Okay⌠You really liked itâŚ
You nod. âYeah, I did.â
His eyes move to fully focus on you now. âEven though you didnâtâŚ?â
âI still enjoyed itâŚâ You look away.
âYou didâŚâ He repeats, in a tone of slight surprise and subtle confusion. But, itâs not a question and youâre not about to give him any more than you have to, so you stay quiet. For a moment, he simply examines you, presumably to glean any further insight into your answer. You feel the weight of his gaze and decide to meet it with your own, determined not to let him in. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat, looking away again.
âYour little tantrum earlier was certainly entertaining...â He states flippantly as the grin you know all too well stretches across his face once again.
You scoff. âIt wasnât a tantrum.â
âDarling, the only thing missing from your dramatic exit was a toddlerâs stomp.â
You scowl. âI meant everything I said.â
âI know.â He says quickly, without mockery and with confidence. You open your mouth to retort before you realise heâs being sincere, and nothing comes out. âTantrum or not, I⌠Admired you⌠For what you did back there... You stood up for yourselfâŚâ You can tell it was a fight to get the words out and you canât help but wonder why heâd even go to the trouble.
âThank youâŚâ You say earnestly. He nods and you mirror his exact expression from before, seeking insight.
âAlthough, going out there with nothing but Gale to protect you, wasnât your brightest idea was it, dear?â
âOh, shut up.â You fold your arms and roll your eyes.
He huffs with amusement, holding his hands up in playful surrender. âWhat? Iâm just saying⌠If you intend to âcarpe diemâ once again, maybe pick someone more like-â
âLet me guess, someone like you?â
âMe? Oh gods no, darling. Iâm not going to valiantly lug your unconscious body all the way back to camp.â You scoff, slightly offended, but mostly amused. âNo, no⌠Someone like Wyll or Shadowheart⌠Maybe even Laeâzel, since I see you two have found an understandingâŚ?â He pries.
You nod, smirking. âYeah, I think I might have made her smile once.â
He gasps melodramatically, clutching his chest before leaning in closer. âNow that is admirable.â He murmurs to you with a grin. A grin that is merely inches away. You observe it for a moment before speaking again.
âWhy did you follow me out here?â You ask, still smiling.
âI⌠Well, IâŚâ He pauses, grin faltering and standing up straight as he thinks on his answer. âI was wondering if I could, um⌠â He glances at the wounds on your neck.
âAh⌠And you thought now would be the best time, huh?â You gesture to your beaten form.
He looks at you guiltily and you almost believe it, he shakes his head. âYes, of course, youâre right⌠You need to, um⌠Save your strength. Forget I asked...â Taking a step back, he looks around, hands absentmindedly tapping his outer thighs.
You try to recall the last time you fed him and remember that due to your injuries, you had taken a couple of days off from your responsibilities to recover. He hasnât fed since. At least, not from you. âIs it badâŚ? The hunger, I meanâŚâ
âItâŚâ He sighs. âItâs been worse before... Much worse⌠Iâll live.â He glances at your neck again, but this time, not with longing. He reaches out his hand. âMay IâŚ?â Intrigued, if not a little wary, you nod. With your permission, he brushes his cool fingers lightly over the puncture marks along your pulse. âDo they hurt?â
You shake your head. âNot anymore. They just, kind of, itch, nowâŚâ
At your words, he allows himself to apply more pressure to your skin. His hand gently cups the side of your neck and traces the shape of the wounds with his thumb. After his moment of appreciation, he takes a deep breath and places his palm over them. The ice that is his skin soothes the inflamed marks as you gaze up at him, watching the way his eyebrows twitch as he touches you. He sees your eyes, the way theyâre locked onto him, and offers a slight smile. It could mean a thousand things, it could mean nothing, you donât know, but you do smile back.
Itâs almost comical, the situation youâve found yourself in. One month ago you were staring at that crack in the ceiling, the same one youâd stared at for years. You noticed how it had gotten bigger, how it had stayed with you. How it had been there when the tears in your eyes had blurred it, and when you couldnât muster any tears at all. How it had been there when you were desperate to feel something, and when you wanted to never be touched again. Now, you havenât seen a ceiling in weeks, only stars and clouds. You think itâs certainly prettier than that crack. But you do miss itâs company. You miss how it watched your wounds heal, how it was a witness to the new ones being created. Now you have wounds, they sting and they ache, but you hate the idea of covering them. You want the world to be your new crack in the ceiling, to witness your pain and your revelry in the fact that it did not break you.
Even the ones that Astarion put there, you see no sense in covering them. Unlike many of the others in your life, you feel no shame in wearing them. Because these were your doing, your choice to make. You cherish the proof of that moment. The moment that you shared something, that it wasnât taken from you.
âThank youâŚâ It slips out before you can stop it. His brows cock in confusion, shouldnât he be thanking you?
âWh-â
âNo, donât⌠Donât ask why⌠Just⌠Thank youâŚâ You cut him off, he narrows his eyes at you in inspection. But, then he takes a deep breath and nods, utterly perplexed, but respecting your wishes nonetheless. You canât help but huff in amusement at his bewilderment.
He rubs his thumb against your neck, his fangs protrude ever so slightly over his bottom lip as it stretches into a smile. You acknowledge them, but what really grabs your attention are the others. The blunt, ânormalâ looking ones. Theyâre perfectly aligned into perfect rows. Perfect pearly whites. A contrast to your off-kilter, off-colour bite. Must be those high-elven genes, you suppose⌠You watch them as they gently press into his lower lip. Then, your eyes flick up to see that youâre not alone. He, too, is watching your parted lips as they slowly relax from your earlier smile.
âYou know, if you want to kiss me again, you only have to askâŚâ He says, not breaking his concentration.
âOh-er, no I wasnât-â You say, caught off guard and uncharacteristically flustered.
âOh, you werenât?â He steps closer, grinning.
âNo, I was just-â
âStaring at my lips for a strangely long amount of time?â
âŚ
ShitâŚ
âLook, it wasnât like thatâŚâ
âOh, of course it wasnât, my dear⌠My mistakeâŚâ He places his hand on his chest in a feigned apologetic act. You sigh and look up at him with a firm, almost scolding look, to which he only grins at. âWould it help to know that I havenât been able to get the idea out of my head, since the last time?âÂ
Okay, that stops you in your tracks. You go to retort whatever tease he was planning next, but yet again, he has rendered you speechless. He chuckles softly, stepping closer again. âDonât tell me youâre surprised, darling. We shared a wonderful little moment together⌠I only want to show you what you missed out on⌠What I can really doâŚâ
âMissed out onâŚ? What?â You question, genuinely confused, you know you didnât leave that tent wanting.
âWell, I just donât feel that you got to experience myâŚâ He takes a deep breath. âFull portfolio of talentsâŚâ His eyes glance back down to your lips. âIâd quite like to show them to you, if youâre willing?â
Only in that moment do you realise just how long the air has been trapped inside your lungs, but you canât bear the thought of breathing it out, because you know just how shaky it will sound. Instead you swallow, eyes locked on his. But his eyes wander, they wander all over your face, taking in every detail of your deliciously stunned expression. He canât get enough of this, reducing you to little, if any, words. Itâs certainly a rarity. And he adores it.
That⌠âMomentâ⌠Was a moment of desperation. One you hadnât thought to repeat. Certainly not whilst comfortably present in your body. But, you canât deny the building heat in your core at the thought. The thought of potentially going even further with him than before. But you also canât deny the pressure in your chest, the kind that makes you feel naked, and not in a good wayâŚ
âIâŚâ
He hears your hesitation and removes his hand from your neck, you almost lean into it, not wanting his touch to end, but you stop yourself. He observes you, your body, black, red and blue. âIf itâs pain youâre worried about, I can help with thatâŚâ He steps closer. âYou wonât have to move. A. MuscleâŚâ
Panic? Lean in? Step back. âI donât know, I need to think about itâŚâ You hate how uncertain you sound. He doesnât.
âHmm⌠Alright, donât answer now.â He pauses to think for a moment. âTonight, Iâll stay up in my tent. Once youâve realised that resisting my charms is futile, come and find me.â
You take a deep breath. âAnd if I donât?â
âDarling, I never refuse an opportunity to enjoy a candlelit book and a cup of wine.â That earns a slight smile from you. âAnd⌠Iâll gracefully assume that our last⌠âEncounterâ⌠Was just a blip, a momentary lapse in judgement.â His playful grin falters a little. âWe can⌠Forget it ever happenedâŚâ
After a moment of contemplation, you nod in understanding. A new variant of pain hits your chest at the thought of him backing off completely, different from everything else youâve suffered today. And honestly, youâd rather feel the hilt of a sword in your stomach than whatever this is, right now⌠You need space to mull this over logically, not emotionally.
âAlright⌠Iâll⌠Yeah, okayâŚâ
He grins. âGoodâŚâ He takes a moment to appreciate your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes struggle to meet his, before stepping back. He looks towards the dim orange light from your campfire, peeking through the trees. âWell, if I donât see you⌠Goodnight, darlingâŚâ
You nod. âYeah⌠GoodnightâŚâ
He glances back at you and smiles before turning on his heel and sauntering off towards camp. You watch his every step and he knows it, purposefully slowing his steps.
Thinking of doing BG3 writing commissions (SFW, NSFW, character letters, etc.).
Would any of ya'll actually be interested in that? đ
More details below.
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Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).
WARNING: Contains graphic & gory description of injury, references to abuse.
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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. đ
(Lots of comforting camp life content)
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A/N: Tav and Gale go on a little adventure... đ
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Chapter Eight - Echoes
How many things can fit into a backpack? It doesnât matter, really. You will make them fit. Each bag is a new set of struggles. Does Gale really need this many scrolls? He sits nearby, inspecting the sunlight reflecting on a dark purple, egg shaped stone in his hand.
Itâs not gonnaâ fit, itâs not gonnaâ fit, itâs not gonnaâ- Oh would you look at that, it fitsâŚ
Kind ofâŚ
Itâs bulging in every place it can, but it will hold. As long as nobody handles it too roughly⌠With a sigh, you attempt to lift it. âHnngghh!â Itâs not budging and you almost pulled a muscle.
Gale turns to you and slips the stone into his pocket, coming to your aid. âOh, Tav. Here, allow me.â He bends and rises but, much to his surprise, halts as the bag refuses to lift from the ground. âOh⌠Heh⌠Itâs er- a heavy one, isnât it?â He tries again. You struggle to hide the grin on your face as he turns red with effort. He steps back and clears his throat, determined to save his pitiful display of strength by casting Reduce on it. It shrinks to half itâs size and is significantly cuter. He picks it up with ease, smiles at you and places it with the rest of the packed up camp supplies.
You smirk. âThank youâŚâ
You glance at the pile of luggage gathered in the centre of camp and sigh. Once Astarion had left after your⌠Tryst⌠You had continued your day with a twisted contortion of emotion in your gut. You were dreading his return that evening, unsure of how the dynamic between you would have shifted. The both of you had, luckily, managed to keep your little secret, and you avoided him like the plague as he glanced at you, busying yourself with imaginary chores and absentmindedly itching the little scabs on your neck.
This morning, you continued as though nothing had happened. His âbreakfastâ was prepared, well before he had exited his tent. He approached it with a difficult to read expression on his face. You probably could have identified it if you had looked at it for longer than a second, but you didnât. âThank you.â He said bluntly, tinged with disappointment that the cold, metallic rim of the cup would be pressed against his lips, rather than the soft, warm flesh of your neck.
He hadnât expected this to feel so⌠Detached. He wondered how things would have been different if he had pleased you in the way you had pleased him. He silently kicked himself for it. For his audacity to think that he could enjoy you, even though you had been clear in the dismissal of his attempts to reciprocate. You were playing coy, of course you wereâŚ
You didnât respond with much, just a simple nod and the slightest of smiles.
He glances at you now from across the camp, as he polishes his dagger. You donât understand yourself, much less him. What is he thinking? You had a great time with him, didnât you? Then why do you feel⌠Guilty?
Ugh⌠I canât deal with this right nowâŚ
The camp suddenly begins to feel claustrophobic. You canât stay here today, you need some space. Gale holds the stone in his hand once again, feeling itâs weight. âWhat is it?â You ask, moving closer to inspect it.
He looks up at you, then back at the stone. âIâm not entirely sure⌠Itâs not just a pretty stone, I know that much. Thereâs something about it⌠Something deeper.â
âHmmâŚâ He tentatively hands it over to you for a second opinion. As you bring it closer to your eyes, you almost get lost in itâs swirling glow. You hadnât noticed it before, but as it almost throbs with energy before you, this amethyst could be mistaken for having a soul.
âItâs⌠Itâs really something.â
âIt is, isnât it?â He says, taking it back from you. âIâm almost certain we missed something when we found it. But, with our time limit, I havenât had the chance to explore it further.â
You nod understandingly. âWhere did you find it?â
âIn some blighted village, just west of here. It was overrun with goblins, but since we secured the grove⌠Well, letâs just say they havenât been much of a problem for us anymore.â He winks.
âSo⌠Itâs safe?â You ask, eagerly.
He raises a curious eyebrow. âItâs clear of goblins, I donât know about âsafeâ. Why?â
âWell, we have some time now. We could always do a quick once over before we leave.â You say, trying to act nonchalant about it. Gale looks around at the other party members who are in the midst of organising and packing their belongings.
He smiles softly, shaking his head. âI donât think the others are quite ready to go on a last minute adventure.â
You shrug. âWho said anything about them joining us? We could go together, just⌠You and me?â
His smile fades into a firm expression as he shakes his head. âOh⌠N-no, Tav. I donât think thatâs a good idea. It could be dangerous. We donât even know if thereâs anything worth finding.â
You sigh and struggle to hide the annoyance on your face. Being useless is really starting to get old. âGale,â You begin, calmly. âYou said it yourself, itâs clear of goblins. Come on, Iâm sick of being stuck here all day. Just this once, please? Before we leave?â
âI⌠I donât knowâŚâ
Locking eyes with him, you stroke his arm and lean in closer. âI trust you to protect me. You can do that, canât you?â He swallows hard and you swear you heard it. It takes a decent amount of self control not to release the chuckle thatâs bubbling up in your throat. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, instead he just nods, his cheeks reddening rapidly.
The gravel beneath your feet crunches with each step towards the village. Neither of you had made a big deal about leaving. Gale uttered some small thing about it to Karlach as he filled your pack with a few too many precautionary potions. But you chose not to say anything to anyone for fear of being convinced to stay. Side by side you walk, he catches you up on their adventure so far. He goes into detail about his strange dreams and his feelings for each party member. Heâs polite about them all, but you can tell that the less he says about someone, the more he distrusts them. As he yaps, you realise that he hasnât asked you a question about yourself in over an hour. Usually, this would offend you, but today, youâre glad to be the listener.
âAnyway, enough about me. How have you been, Tav?â He smiles, genuinely.
UghhhhâŚ
âIâve been fine, nothing much to say, really.â You shrug.
âOh, come now. I know you arenât on the front lines but youâre still part of this⌠Us⌠And, I want to know more about you.â He nudges your arm.
You sigh. âWell⌠Would you believe me if I said that having a mind-flayer tadpole inserted into my orbital socket isnât the worst thing to have happened to me?â You laugh softly, trying to make light of the situation.
He chuckles in response. âFrom the sounds of it, you arenât alone. It seems we all have our baggage.â
âTrueâŚâ You nod with a smile.
You walk together in purposeful silence. He wants you to fill it, but in your own time, and you appreciate that. âCan I ask you something⌠About Mystra?â His eyes widen and he glances at you in surprise. He nods. âWere you in love?â
âI⌠WellâŚâ He spoke as though he had an answer ready to go, an âobviousâ one. But he caught himself and for the first time in years, really thought about it. âYes⌠But⌠It was more than that... More than love, in a way. It felt as though it transcended what anything but gods could feel⌠But, alas, Iâm not a god. So, who knows, really?â He looks forward in thought. âWhy do you ask?â
You take a deep breath and look forward too. âI think I was in love too, once. But like you said, it was complicated. My love wasnât the goddess of magic or anything,â You chuckle. âBut she was mine, and I was hers⌠But⌠After some time, she tipped the balanceâŚâ
âWhat do you mean?â He asks, now giving you his full attention.
âBelonging to each other didnât feel like it used to. Especially since she started implementing rules.â You scoff and shake your head. âAnd they were such ridiculous rules, too. I canât believe I ever actually followed them.â Then thereâs a pause. A pause that leaves you feeling awkward and like youâre taking up too much space.
âWere you scared of her?â He breaks the silence, eyes not leaving your face.
You chew on the inside of your cheek as you contemplate the question. âI think I was more scared of losing her. I didnât know who I was without her⌠Sometimes, I still donâtâŚâ His eyes widen in recognition. These feelings you describe, he knows them all too well. âWhat is it?â You ask softly.
âI just⌠Didnât realise how similar we are, thatâs all.â He smiles weakly. His hand itches to hold yours, not necessarily romantically, but more as a gesture of solidarity. But, he refrains, not wanting to cross any boundaries. âThank you, for telling me that, Tav.â His smile strengthens.
The smoke hits your nose first. The scent is pleasant yet dark as you look upon the dilapidated structures around you. The floor is scorched and littered with bodies. Although they mostly seem to be goblins, the sight of their half-cooked viscera still makes your heart twist in tandem with your stomach. You try to hide it, but this aftermath of brutality is still shocking to your untrained eyes. âI know, itâs ugly. But, we wouldnât be alive had we not resorted to such measuresâŚâ Gale says as he guides you through the village.
You pull your eyes from the scene and shake off any lingering feelings with a sigh. âSo, did you search all of these buildings?â You ask, attempting to move on.
âHmm, not thoroughly.â
âAlright, letâs split up and start searching for anything magical, then.â You say, already heading towards one of the buildings before he can protest. You walk inside and inspect the interior.Â
Dried, hanging greenery acts as curtains above a counter, littered with empty potion bottles and multicoloured dust. A book sits amongst the clutter and you open it, flicking through journal entries until you discover a clue. Thereâs a cellar beneath this place. Looking around, it isnât immediately obvious where it is. Thrilled to have an objective, you search the area: Peeling back dusty rugs and peering over counters. As you move through the room, your footsteps are nothing but quiet little thumps on the wood, until theyâre suddenly louder. You experimentally stomp your foot again. Hollow.
Found itâŚ
You open it up and almost jump straight in, eager and fuelled by your desire for adventure. But, you donât really fancy another lecture from Gale so you call him over. He hurries over, surprisingly quickly with a brief panic on his face before he sees that youâre perfectly fine. âTav-! Oh, did you find something?â
âEr-Yeah, a cellar, I think. Letâs check it out.â
He nods and steps forward, peering down into the dark cellar. He casts Light on his staff and heads down first to ensure that itâs safe before helping you down the ladder.
Moving through the cellar and itâs openings into a small cave, you pass by multiple wooden caskets on the floor. âStrangeâŚâ Gale comments as he looks over each one, not daring to open them.
âThis doesnât seem like your typical burial ground.â You say, crouching before one of the caskets.
âNo, it does not.â He shakes his head and looks at you, as you begin to pry open one of the lids. âW-wait, stop. We donât know what could be in these.â
âExactly, one of them could have what weâre looking for.â You say dismissively as you continue to loosen the lid. He takes your hands and moves them away from the casket. âHey!â
âShh, look.â He points to a large, ornate mirror, embedded in the wall nearby. âNow, that looks more promising, doesnât it?â You narrow your eyes at him and huff, irritated that heâs right. Rolling your eyes, you walk ahead as he chuckles behind you.
You both stand before the mirror, you lean in and inspect it as Gale appreciates the reflection of you standing beside each other. âI donât get it, what is-AH!â Youâre interrupted by your image in the material warping into a face. It speaks.
âSpeak your nameâŚâ
You look between Gale and the mirror, holding your tongue. You shrug at him, he shrugs back. It becomes a short battle of shrugs and silent gestures, fighting to get the other person to respond. Gale concedes with a sigh. âEr- Gale⌠Of Waterdeep.â
âI do not know this name⌠If you are known to my master, step forward and declare yourself an allyâŚâ
You both share panicked looks, unsure of the best next move. Gale clears his throat. âUm⌠Yes, we are your masterâs allies... May you grant us passage?â
âOnly a true ally of Ilyn Toth, may pass⌠What think you of the zulkir known as Szass Tam?â
Gale scoffs at the question, as though the answer is obvious. You havenât the faintest idea who the mirror refers to, but as your companion turns to you with a knowing look, expecting you to scoff with him, you do so⌠Albeit, a lot less convincingly.
âA foul lich. May he die a thousand more deaths.â He replies, confidently.
âYou are no zulkir⌠But are you wise? Tell me, why might one use balsam ointment?â
âBalsam⌠Hmm, I swear Iâve read about this⌠Just give me a moment, itâll come back to me-â
âIt cleans wounds.â You say, matter-of-factly. Gale raises an eyebrow at you as you interject and turns back to the mirror.
âAcceptable, finally⌠If you could see anything in me, what would it be?â
Gale thinks on the question, mulling it over to form the perfect articulation of the vision in his mind. âI'd see myself in my next incarnation: a living manifestation of Netherese magic. A mythal in my own right.â
âYou seek to survive⌠You seek power⌠And your companion? What of their desired reflection?â
Gale steps aside for you to take his place, you hesitantly do so and think. Thankfully, the mirror is patient as it anticipates your response. Galeâs interest in your answer grows, the longer you contemplate it. It has been a good few years since youâve pondered this question. This⌠Insignificant question. You grasp for anything in your mind to fill the space where your answer should sit. You donât find much. Gods, itâs frustratingâŚ
What do I want?
There are faint, truthful answers that echo in the back of your mind. Alas, you refuse to hear them, for they echo not only truth, but painful truth. Truth that doesnât look quite right: Warped and ugly. You donât recognise them, they donât look like you, but your soul holds onto them for dear life. This really is a stupid, fucking question⌠âI⌠I donât knowâŚâ
âPathetic⌠You will be purgedâŚâ The mirror responds.
Your reflections warp as the mirror appears to bulge in itâs centre. A spherical shape emerges from the surface of the mirror. You step back but your curious eyes encourage you to lean in, to inspect the strange construct before you. Thereâs light. A furious orange creeps through the gaps of steel, reaching out to you. It grows only stronger, brighter, hotter.
Gale yanks you to the side to take cover as the whirring of the machine crescendos and a stream of concentrated flame scorches the floor, causing the earth to rupture in a powerful yet contained explosion. âStay here.â He commands as the sphere continues itâs patrol around the area, leaving an ember trail behind. Your heart is beating faster than youâd like to admit as you watch the construct continue to create similar combustions, sending ripples of vibration through the ground and awakening the rotted residents of the scattered caskets.
They emerge from their resting places, bones grinding as they drag their skeletal bodies from their coffins. In their reanimation, you can see the faintest glint of afterlife in their deep, dark eye sockets. A purple, dim magic that binds their bones together and demands that they pursue their targets. As they begin their advance, Gale steps forward and confidently recites words that youâve only ever heard, but never understood. His eyes glow with the same light that emits from his fluid hands as a gust of flames engulf the nearest undead assailants.
You retreat, scurrying backwards and pressing your back against the cold mirror. Your companion stands proudly, determined to protect. He manipulates the weave with expert precision, so much so that youâve lost track of where one string of Latin ends and another begins. You see a frenzy of vicious colour and pattern travel from his hands to your foes, vanquishing them in varied yet equally violent ways. Bones are incinerated, marrow is electrified and cartilage is forced apart.
Safety lies behind his capable hands and so you stay put, wide eyed and darting your gaze across the room, attempting to follow the events of combat. The sphere constructâs patrol awakens more restless undead and surrounds the area with the cinders of burnt coffins. The force of both Galeâs and the constructâs explosions causes the stalactites to quiver above, some crashing to the ground and splintering into shrapnel. Shrapnel that embeds itself into Galeâs flesh, forcing him to crumble to the ground before you.
âGale!â You cry out, only to be responded to with a pained groan as he clutches his wounded torso. You dare not scramble towards him, not with the nearing threat of several skeletal fighters approaching him. You pant and try to think. You remove your backpack and open it, frantically searching it for something that can help.
Shit, shit, shit! Come on! There has to be something in here! Anything!
Invisibility. Perfect.
You waste no time pouring the vial into your mouth and gulping it down. You observe your hands flickering in and out of transparency as it takes effect, until you are gone.
Boned fingers grasp at Galeâs body, eager to tear him apart. Trembling into a standing position, you observe the scene before you, searching for escape. There is none. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes as you try to grapple with the knowledge that this could be your end. You look to your fallen companion, overwhelmed by enemies and desperately trying to form the eloquence that his speech once had, to no avail. Then, it occurs to you what will happen once his body is lifeless and can no longer contain the tempest within him.
You need him. Shit. Fucking shit. You need him alive.
Reaching into your bag once more, you retrieve a healing potion and begin to step forward, but your hesitation halts your movement. Your mind screams and thrashes within your body, demanding that you move. Slow, terrifying steps forward, each one enduring the strain of defying your instincts.
Hands shield his face as he writhes beneath each vicious blow. Death in battle, to some, may be an honourable, favourable way to go. But, until he was infected with the tadpole, he never truly felt he had the capability to die. Mystraâs Chosen, a prodigy from birth⌠Reduced to nothing but a failed footnote in history by, what? A mere group of skeletons? He feels the orb stir as his strength wanes and his tragically human body fails him, time and time again. He clutches at his chest and grimaces as the orb begins to spread itâs vicious, burning heat into his nerves.
He pants and glances to where you once were, only to find it void and cold without your presence. Frantically, he darts his gaze around, trying to find you until a comforting, soft warmth holds his face. Feeling the pad of a finger peeling back his lower lip, guiding his mouth to open, he obeys and follows the movement. His tongue tingles with the rejuvenating liquid. It absorbs into his mouth and welcomes the familiar taste to mend his wounds and give him strength. A slight break in the rhythm of the skeletonsâ onslaught affords him the moment he needs to utter the poetry he so desperately needs to save his life.
âDetono.â
A thunderous force throws both you and the skeletons away from Gale, hurtling you towards the mirror. A distant echo of a soul wails and the construct clatters to the ground as the mirror shatters from the impact, and you land in a bed of glass shards. They score deep lacerations into your back, but with the wind forced from your lungs, your gaping mouth produces no scream.
Echoes of muffled incantation and vicious impact from beyond the mirror slowly come to an end. A stumbling, adrenaline-filled Gale searches the area for you, rushing into the room to find a growing pool of blood coating fragmented glass. His eyes widen and he rushes towards it. âTav?! Is that you?!â He cries, searching the empty, red space before him for any sign of you.
Lips part but nothing comes out, you reach out to touch him. He gasps softly as he feels the tug on his robe. âGods, TavâŚâ He exclaims as he reaches for your pack and reaches out, expecting to graze the various, precautionary vials he had prepared earlier. Instead, his fingertips snag against jagged edges. âNoâŚâ He breathes and pulls the bag open to itâs widest span, searching the inside, finding itâs iridescently damp, geode-like interior, with protruding shards from the broken bottles lining the leather.
You lay prone, your pained countenance flickering back into perceivable as the potionâs effect wanes. You manage to speak, voice strained and barely audible. âW-what is itâŚ?â
Gale frantically tries to think. âI need to get you out of here. Now.â
Your eyes widen as you detect the solemnity in his tone. It hurts, sure, but could you die from this? From something as pathetic, as this? You attempt to push yourself up into a seated position, releasing choked groans. Gale helps you up as your strength is about to falter. You take his aid and eventually manage to stand together. Panting from the exertion, you glance around.
A suspended, large, animal skeleton looms over the room, you couldnât say what the creature once was, only that it must have been formidable. Thereâs a slab in the centre, the perfect size for an operating table, stained with brown streaks of what must be blood. Beside a grand fireplace, in the corner, a young, stuffed bear watches over the area with beaded, black, lifeless eyes. Then, you notice iron bars. A gate. Beyond, is a luminescent, violet presence that matches the hue of the amethyst that Gale carries.
Blinded by determination, you attempt to step towards it, only to be halted by your companion. âWhat are you doing?! We must leave!â He drags you along, towards the exit, but you fight him. Weakly, but stubbornly enough to make him listen.
âThere!â You wheeze, gesturing with a point of your trembling finger, towards the violet light.
He follows your gaze and peers beyond the gate to find the same, palpable energy that emanates from whatever lies beyond. He canât help but feel drawn to it, to the power that it must hold. Realising that heâs been leaning towards it and staring for a little too long, he pulls himself back, shaking his head.
âTav, no.â He states firmly, feeling a pang of loss at the potential that lies before him. You writhe in his grasp once again, only to be restrained. âStop s-struggling!â
âItâs what we came for!â You croak.
âI-it does not matter!â He strains, attempting to drag you along, only to be interrupted by a pulsing, squirming in his mind as your tadpole reaches out to his.
Your voice crashes and booms in his skull, desperate and far too loud. âGet it, now!â He groans as his ears ring, nearly falling and taking you with him. He glares at you with frustration and concern. âPleaseâŚâ You whisper within him, pleading with your eyes, soothing the ache in his head with a subtler sound.
He sighs, knowing you will only continue to fight him if he doesnât do as you ask. He hurriedly leans you against a wall and wastes no time ripping the gate apart with a thunderous incantation. Spotting a trap nearby, he quickly casts Mage Hand to retrieve whatever lies beyond the cloud of dust.
Flesh, stretched over a locked book. A book with amethyst eyes and a gaping maw, ready to receive itâs key. He takes it from his spectral assistant and the moment he touches it, he feels it throb. Pulse. Almost as though there are functional veins beneath the skin. It whispers to him, incoherently. Warnings, no doubt.
Deciding to examine it properly later, he pulls his gaze away from the alluring, violet stones and tucks it into his pack. He rushes towards you and you, finally, willingly let him lead the way. âThere. Now we really must go.â
im tucked into bed and itâs raining and im just thinking about softly threading your fingers through astarionâs hair, careful to slow down for any knots (that he would deny ever existed in the first place), his head heavy on your chest. he doesnât sleep. he doesnât really need this. none of those deep and soothing breaths of his will ever devolve into soft snores. his eyes are fluttered shut by choice, not necessity. he could be doing so much more with these dark hours â wandering the streets, hunting for blood, seeing the world even if itâs no longer in color like heâd experienced with the tadpole. precious time void of sunlight he should be taking full advantage of.
but heâd rather be here, with you. in bed.
because he didnât fall in love with the world, even basked in sunlight and a realm of possibilities presented to him.
no, he fell in love with you.
you, with a smile that outshone the sun even on your dimmest days. you, with eyes brighter than the entirety of the galaxyâs stars. you, whoâd found a way to sink warmth beneath his skin that he hadnât felt for over two centuries. a warmth he may have never even been acquainted with, in all honesty. he canât remember. he doesnât care to remember.
the world can wait.
for right now, astarion just wants his love. there will be an eternity to rediscover what the night has to offer â there is no guarantee of how long youâll offer him this shelter between your arms.
itâs enough. youâre enough. astarion has a choice for the first time in a very long time, and heâs going to choose you.
Synopsis: Nothing wrong with some good ol' love making with Astarion, now is there?
CW: LOVEY LOVE LOVE ITS SO LOVEY IT'S GROSS, cumming inside, reader has a hole and it's being used but not specified which hole.
And while the night seemed quiet and slow, the leaves on the nearby trees swaying in the short wind, the cries from two lovers demanded the moon's and stars' attention. All eyes were on them as the love they shared was on display.
You and Astarion, Astarion and you. Two perfect lovers, fitting together like a puzzle piece, sitting atop his waist, moving your hips in time with his pleas. He gripped your hips like a vice, his fingernails making half-moon crescents develop into your skin.
You call his name, he calls yours. How quaint.
The dark light from the full moon shines on your back, and the scene unfolding in Astarionâs eyes is like watching a god conquer a city, or create life in a meadow.
You huff, moan, and whine as his cock hits the deepest parts of you. Itâs like he wants to bury himself in your guts and never leave.
And maybe, thatâs exactly what Astarion wants. He wants to own you, but not in a possessive way like heâs so used to thinking. He wants to own your heart and your body only a sweet lover would want.
For the first time in a long time, heâs not climbing out of his mind to have sex. Heâs staying in the moment, committing your scent to memory, how your hands feel as they skim his nipples and down to his stomach. He commits the memory of you bouncing on his cock like such a sweet little thing. His thoughts race as he imagines you in other positions he could put you in. Bending you over a bed in a small home, presumably yours, on your back where he can touch and bite wherever he wants, holding you close in a chair as you stuff yourself full of him.
Your body races, and tingles. You can feel your toes curling as Astarion continues to hit that sweet spot inside of you. You can feel everything around you. The sweat from your skin falls from the tip of your nose onto Astarions stomach, and the short wind blows your hair into your face, causing you to have to pull it out of your vision with a giggle.
Youâre aware of the way Astarion is looking at you. His pupils are wide and his teeth are clenched, he looks in pain. You go to ask him whatâs wrong before he quickly shifts positions. He grips your waist and flips you onto your back in the cold dirt, settling in between your thighs and sinking into you once more. Being filled again and again relentlessly.
Your hand fumbles around his body, looking for his own. He leans down over your own beautiful body to grab your hand. Pushing it into the dirt as his eyes lock onto yours. Never has the color red looked so mesmerizing to you as it does now.
He calls your name again, softer. Like a real lover would do when they ask for a favor.
You can tell Astarion is close by the way his mouth hangs open and no noises come from him, and you feel as if you are going to cum too. Your whole body is alight, everywhere he touches prickles against your skin.
You hold one another close as you both climax. Screaming for one another into the air above, praying that your companions havenât heard your extravagant cries for one another.
Astarion looks exhausted above you, and you pull him closer to your chest to lie on.
âLay with me for a bit, please,â You whisper.
âOf course, my raven.â He murmured.
And in that moment, the world had stopped. There were no mind flayers, and no bloody messes with strangers, It was you and Astarion, Astarion and you. Forever as one.
