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to eden | chapter seven

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly and her heart skipping a beat.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5,814

𝒶/𝓃: hey let's just pretend it hasn't taken me 5 weeks to write this, ok? but for real, I'm so happy to be back on my regular grind and posting again! I hope you all like this chapter, and I'm excited to keep writing for these two idiots 🫡 let me know your thoughts in the comments and thank you to every single one of you who take the time to read, like, comment, reblog etc. you all mean the world to me!!!!! love you all byeeeeee

ao3 here

masterlist

Something in the air is wrong.

Whatever that something is, though, Rin can’t quite place her finger on. 

But there’s something off in smell of the air, the cloying scent of rotting leaves and decay sickening her, souring her stomach as they creep along the narrow pathway. 

Or perhaps it is the dead breeze that rattles bare branches as it carries the memory of death on its ghostly wind, the feeling of it making her shudder and turn in on herself with every brush of it against her skin.

All of it just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Rin bites her lip as she moves down the narrow path carefully on their trek further and further into this cursed world, fingers aching to grab at the blade she keeps strapped to her back if only to make herself feel a little bit better lest anything decide to surprise her by launching itself into stabbing range. 

Her chest is uncomfortably tight here, a subtle fear she will never admit out loud curling around her ribs, squeezing itself around her lungs with every breath she takes. 

Even Astarion has been left on edge, his hand gripping tight around a knife as he walks on Rin’s left, ever silent as he steps with care and his eyes rove back and forth along the darkness.

Perhaps the most wrong thing, though, is the one that they follow. The one who she had summoned with that lyre she had pilfered off of the corpse of that drow weeks and weeks ago in the depths of the goblin’s lair; plucking at its strings to play a haunting melody befitting of the horror that skitters on eight legs ahead of them along the trodden path towards Moonrise Towers.

Kar’niss, with his too many eyes and lips pulled into an eerie grin that the light from the moon lantern he carries does nothing to soften the lines of, sharp claws curled around the long post.

The Absolute really did pull a certain type, didn’t it? 

Rin sighs softly as her steps quicken, abhorring the idea of being any closer to Kar’niss than necessary but her fear of whatever it is lurking out in the darkness far surpasses her distrust of the drider.

But as they round a corner, she sees a movement in the shadows of a ruined building just beyond the path—subtle, barely recognizable in the darkness. Another a sweep of her eyes and she notices that there are people—real, living people—hiding all around them with weapons drawn and at the ready.

She’s not the only one who notices either, Astarion already adjusting his grip on the dagger as he readies it to throw and Shadowheart brandishing her glaive as she calls upon her dark Lady. 

And as Kar’niss calls for battle against the so-called heretics hiding in shadows, one thing becomes crystal clear: the Harpers’ mean to kill.  

It’s a split second decision, one she communicates through the rarely used tadpole that sits idle in her brain.

Kill the drider, he’s not the only ticket into Moonrise. 

They’ll manage without him.

Rin shares a brief, sweeping glance among her companions, all of them meeting her gaze in resolute agreement, and whether that agreement is for the sake of morality or for violence she doesn’t care, as long as they’ll fight along her side against whatever horrors await on the path ahead.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The tightness in her chest doesn’t go away inside the warmth of the Last Light Inn but it loosens the smallest bit, no longer strangling around her insides as a candlelit glow washes over them and the Harpers mill about on all sides.

The goblet of wine she holds in her hand certainly doesn’t hurt, either. 

Jaheira—the one and only fabled hero of many a tale—looks at her from across the wide table, the strange upwards tick of her lips and carefully blank look in her eyes decidedly suspicious.

Rin takes a delicate sniff of the goblet in her hand, scenting a slight medicinal bitterness that doesn’t quite belong swirling amongst the red liquid. “Jaheira, I have to ask. Did you poison my wine?”

“This vintage is over a century old, you know. I’m sure a few drops of truth serum won’t affect the taste. Much.” The druid’s smile widens as she regards Rin with an appraising look, tawny eyes narrowing with interest as she waits for her next move.

“Well, in that case, even more reason to drink. Have you poisoned many people or am I one of the first?” Rin takes a dainty sip of the burgundy liquid, eyebrows raised pointedly towards the other woman as she swallows down the wine, the taste of it just a touch too bitter as she refrains from pulling a face at the acidity. “It’s an honor, either way.”

She doesn’t see but hears Astarion sputter behind her, face contorted into what she can only imagine as an expression of pure disbelief, positively aghast at her impulsivity as he scoffs.

Astarion’s apparent annoyance at her drinking the wine only serves to strengthen her resolve—a lovely, if unexpected, bonus that makes her smile.

With a shrug, she downs the rest of the goblet, another aggravated noise escaping the vampire from where he stands alongside Shadowheart, who releases a deep, weary sigh. “Still better than what the tieflings gave us back at the Grove.”

The wine goes down easily despite the taste of the truth serum, the flame of the taper wavering slightly as she sets her now empty goblet down onto the table between them. “So, what sort of burning questions do you need to ask me so badly that you decided to spike my drink in order to get the answers?”

“I had to know if you could be trusted. One can never be too careful when dealing with the Absolute. So I decided to add a few drops of a truth serum to your wine to speed up the process.” Jaheira finally takes a drink of her own wine, her eyes darting down to the now empty goblet resting innocuously between them. “Though I didn’t quite expect you to drink all of it.”

“One must live beyond expectation, don’t you agree?” An ungentlemanly snort sounds from behind her that Rin ignores, her most winning smile plastered on her face as she eyes the druid in front of her. 

The truth serum feels…strange as it begins to work its way through her body and up into her head; a certain weightlessness taking hold of her mind, as though she had drank one glass too many of wine, though with all of her thoughts and inhibitions still perfectly in place—not a one muddled or confusing or unnecessarily scandalous.

There is a certain inclination that rises up over all the others, a peculiar feeling that begs to break free of her lips with every question Jaheira asks, no lies able to be told under the potion’s spell.

And thus, the truth spills free from Rin’s lips.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin slouches inelegantly against the back wall of the great room, eyes bouncing from person to person as she surveys the space. Such lodgings were more than they could have asked for, really. 

At least, in terms of what she expected to find on their little jaunt to these lands.

It certainly beats camping out at Moonrise, or she assumes as much. Rin doubts that whoever’s in charge over there would have the hospitality to serve her wine upon arrival much like Jaheira had, even if it was technically poisoned.

And so, under the famed druid’s blessing they had successfully made their camp and put away their armor—exchanging hard leather and heavy metal for worn-in linen and thin spun cotton, blissfuly free from the pressing darkness of the shadow curse and the menace of the Absolute, if only for the night.

Really, Rin’s only problem was the fact that her ankle still smarts somewhat from where Jaheira’s vines had held her a bit too tight for her liking earlier, leaving behind a small twinge of pain that she should probably have Shadowheart heal, if only she could be bothered to go find the cleric wherever she was busy sulking.

That, and, maybe the truth serum she had drank a little while ago that was still swirling around happily in her brain, though she can feel the power it holds over her weakening as the minutes go by. 

It was perhaps not her brightest idea to drink the wine. Her companions were quite vocal of their disapproval of such a decision afterwards. But it had earned them Jaheira’s tentative trust, and what good was it to make allies if they weren’t going to be heroes of legend? 

An evening spent with a little bit of klauthgrass in her system was a small price to pay for such a boon.

Or so she hoped.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rin sees a familiar figure making their way towards where she lurks at the back of the room, clearly intent on ruining her peace if the look of discontent Astarion levels at her as he stalks over is anything to go by.

Oh Gods, must it be him? She would gladly take anyone else’s conversation on a night like tonight, where truths threaten to break free when faced with nothing more than a mere question. She had already put in hard work of avoiding him earlier as they built their camp, finding reason after reason to skirt away elsewhere anytime he seemed to near her.

With a bracing breath, she takes a long drink from her cup to mentally prepare herself for whatever scolding it is that will fall from those beautiful lips with razor-sharp accuracy. 

He’s had the time to prepare it, thanks to all of her efforts to stave him away so far that evening.

Astarion sidles over to her, somehow managing to look more elegant than usual when he leans back against the wall next to her—perfectly casual and the picture of charm as he props a leg up, knee bent and arms crossed in front of his broad chest. He looks almost mesmerizing in the warmth of the inn, dancing candlelight reflecting off his snowy hair and illuminating his pale skin to near perfection. 

It’s a pity that the illusion of it all will be ruined by that poor attitude of his.

“Do tell, darling, was the wine worth it?” Irritation sparks on the edge of the words as they slice through the air, the level of judgment so easily revealed by such a simple sentence almost impressive.

She readies herself for the now familiar pull of the klauthgrass in her mind as it loosens her lips, any number of truths ready to slip free at his urging of her, and she has no doubt that Astarion is intending to waste such an opportunity.

Rin sends him a cursory glance as she takes another sip from her goblet, painting an easy smile on her lips. “I would say so, yes. It’s not everyday a girl like me from the Lower City gets to drink from such an expensive bottle.”

“Next time you want a nice bottle of wine, let me steal it for you instead of doing something utterly stupid that could have ruined our entire plan,” Astarion speaks through gritted teeth, voice kept low as he growls at her. 

“I thought you liked a little chaos in your day.” Rin can’t help the snicker that sneaks into the words, hiding it behind the cup that she raises to her lips.

“There’s sowing a bit of chaos and outright idiocy. You, my dear, are straddling the line a bit too close.”

“Why, Astarion, I didn’t know you cared.” The words are simpering in the way she knows Astarion will just hate, daring a glance up at the vampire beside her just in time to see his eyes roll.

“I don’t,” Astarion says cooly. “but I’ve been forced to go along with all of your awful little ideas so far and I would hate to see all my efforts wasted when I could have been enjoying myself in a tavern somewhere else instead.”

“Oh, please,” Rin huffs as she rolls her eyes, taking another drink. “You know perfectly well that you’re welcome to walk away whenever you feel like it.”

She shifts her weight as she attempts to ignore the imperious look Astarion sends her, wincing slightly as her ankle protests the movement.

Astarion gives a questioning look to the leg in question, his gaze assessing her for any weakness that he can exploit, much to her eternal chagrin. “Problem with your ankle, darling?”

She should have known that he would have noticed, eventually. He had been watching her all night, after all; a scowl etched onto his pretty features as he followed her every move with narrowed eyes as she talked to everyone else but him, no doubt preparing his every complaint for her. 

“Mm, yes,” Rin hums in confirmation, the word sneaking out without her consent thanks to the truth serum. She glares down at her dusty boots and the well-treaded rug covering the floor, its pattern long faded. “Jaheira’s vines were a bit tight for my liking. Not my preferred way to be restrained, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Oh?” Astarion’s voice drops an octave as he leans in further towards her, almost conspiratorial as his eyes gleam at the opportunity he hears in her words. “Do tell, what is your preferred way to be restrained, then?”

If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly as her heart skips a beat.

“With ribbons, obviously. Or maybe silk.” Her cheeks flush. Damn the klauthgrass.

She’s never been tied up, at least not like that; though the image is one that’s hard to brush away. She can see it far too easily in her imagination: Astarion between her legs, a lovely length of ribbon tied around her wrists, an actual bed— 

Rin brushes the thought away with a cough, taking a long drink from her wine in hopes of distraction.

“Oh, so is that the way you like it? Who knew that our little leader wants the nicest bottles of wine to drink from and the prettiest of ribbons to be wrapped all around her.” He’s teasing her and Rin wishes she could be angry with him but the image he paints is one that’s far too tempting for her to simply ignore.

“I do.” The truth pulls free from her once more, and she bites her lip in an effort to avoid saying anything else incriminating as a smirk slides across plush lips that she would like nothing more than to press her own against.

“And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?” Astarion leans in further, his lips practically brushing against the shell of her ear. She still can’t help the blush that has stolen its way across her face though she’s more than willing to blame it on the alcohol or the truth serum rather than his effect on her.

Rin stands perfectly still, resisting the urge to turn towards him as she sips from her wine, eyes looking at anything but him. She knows he expects her to reply with some sort of temptation that he can file away to tease her with later, at a moment when it’s most inopportune. 

But instead, another sort of answer comes to her mind first. One that she can barely stand to admit to herself, let alone speak aloud to him or anyone else.

She won’t allow the words to come out, working as hard as she can against the truth serum as it works its way deep into her mind, speaking to her with whispered words to let it out, let the truth set you free, tell him, tell him. 

“I like lots of things, Astarion. I love a good book, some well-aged cheese, winning a game of cards…I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

It’s a blessing, at first, that Astarion doesn’t answer her, the silence between them dragging as she mentally releases a sigh of relief that he abandoned that particular line of questioning and accepted the string of truths she managed to utter instead of the one that is bursting to be let free.

But when another beat of silence goes by unfilled with his honeyed words and she finally turns to look his way, her head snapping to the side, she finds his gaze on someone else.

Rin’s brow furrows as she follows Astarion’s line of sight only for her frown to deepen when she sees exactly who it is that has captured his attention. 

There, on the far side of the room sitting at one of the lanceboard tables that line the wall lurks an unfortunately familiar face. One that she had rather hoped to not have to see again after their last meeting outside of the Blighted Village.

Rin breaths out a noise of disbelief as all of the ease and relief she had been feeling earlier disappear into the ether. “Does he have no one else to bother?” 

Astarion deigns to leave her question unanswered, simply shooting her a look with a brow perfectly raised that stirs suspicion deep in her stomach, whatever idea it is brewing in that brain of his one Rin has distinct feeling she will not approve of.

Grim determination settles along his features as he pushes off the wall and strides forward, stepping confidently across the worn floorboard and threadbare rugs without waiting to see if she will follow.

Rin hastily sets her goblet down on the bar several steps away, the wine sloshing over the side of the silver cup in ruby red drops and onto the stained wood below. One of the tieflings from the Grove, Rolan if she remembered correctly, briefly looks up from where he is buried in his own drink to send her a glare as he broods pitifully in his seat.

She barely manages to catch up, arriving just in time to hear Raphael’s low drawl, swallowing down the grimace that threatens to break free and instead settling for a placid smile that gives nothing away to the cambion now in front of her.

“Well, well, well. And what is it we have here?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The smell of brimstone is still thick in the air after Raphael’s little disappearing act, cinders drifting down to dust the worn herringbone floors where he had been standing. 

Fucking Raphael and his fucking deals.

“He really has some nerve, doesn’t he?” Rin’s arms are crossed in front of her chest as she hmphs, turning to Astarion to hear what she assumes will be his agreement.

But instead, her vampiric friend is mysteriously absent from his place next to her; and with a turn of her head she sees Astarion stalking out of the large doors of the inn, pace clipped as he weaves through a sea of Harpers.

“Astarion!” Rin spins around, calling after his retreating figure once before following after him.

An unwelcome frustration bubbles in her chest alongside the beginnings of distress and she quickens her pace, his lithe form no doubt clinging to whatever shadows he can find outside. She’ll be lucky if she’s able to spot him at all with all the darkness that exists here, even with the incandescent glow of Selûne’s blessing reflecting off of everything it touches.

“Astarion, wait!” Rin’s voice caries across the yard as her feet patter across the patchy grass, dodging the armored bodies of the Harpers as she goes. Wherever Astarion is, he either doesn’t hear her or refuses to hear her as she moves closer and closer towards the outer edge of the protective circle of magic. 

Her steps slow as she enters their campsite and the liveliness of the inn seems worlds away here in the silence. There are no animals here—no birds chirping or bees buzzing, only an otherworldly quiet that has her ears buzzing.

With a turn of her head, she finally sees Astarion exactly where she thought he’d be, standing tense at the edge of the riverbank as he faces the bleak landscape across the black water.

“Was it necessary to walk so fast?” They’re all alone as she nears him, her footsteps painfully loud in the otherwise quiet of the night.

He whirls around to her, agitation rippling off of him in waves as he glares at her. “Do you not know how to take a hint, or are you really that dim?”

Rin rolls her eyes, breathing out a sigh of agitation. “I’m the dim one? What are you even thinking to consider making a deal with Raphael?” 

“What am I thinking? I am thinking that there is more to whatever the thing is that Cazador carved into back. I am thinking that I have to figure out what it is. I am thinking that Raphael is my best chance to get the information that I need.”

His voice echoes off the bare branches of the trees as he yells, bitterness coloring his tone as he glares at her, the precise shade of his eyes—an angry incarnadine, she thinks—cementing itself into her memory.

“I understand, Astarion. I do. But I don’t think you should make a deal with him. Not with Raphael.” Rin wrinkles her nose in distaste at the mere thought of the cambion being able to hold anything over any of their heads, but especially over Astarion’s.

“You do not understand a thing.” He seethes at her. “I have one chance, and one chance only, to get this information. You will not stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you,” She stands strong in the face of his anger, fingers curling as she balls them into fists, nails biting crescents in the flesh of her palms. “But do you really think Raphael can be trusted? What if he makes you sign your life away for it?"

“And do tell, dearest Rin, why do you care so much about what I do with my life?” He spits out the words as though they burn, eyes glinting with the knowledge that he can ask her whatever he wants and she’s powerless to do anything but answer.

With a start, she realizes it’s the first time he’s ever said her name aloud, at least to her own ears. The revelation settles over her with a hazy sort of wonder that has no place in their fight as she replays the sound of her name formed by lips in her mind, turning it over again and again.

And it’s suddenly so perfect—so Astarion—that the first time he ever utters her name out loud isn’t when he tries to charm her with cheap pick up lines or in the midst of pleasure as he takes her to bed, but instead practically shouted at her in anger during an argument. 

Frustration eddies out of her like the tide rolling back out to sea and an aching, unfamiliar tenderness for the man standing in front of her fills in the space that it leaves as her expression softens.

“Because I don’t want to see something bad happen to you, you idiot. Is that really so difficult to understand? Do you need me to spell it out for you word by word?” Rin’s hands reach out to grab at his shoulders, as though she could shake some sense into him.

It’s a truth she doesn’t mind speaking, not when Astarion just stands there staring at her in vague disbelief as the cogs in his brain work to solve the puzzle of her words and the ire that had burned so readily in his gaze extinguishes, somehow giving way to everything and nothing all at once—confusion, distrust, vulnerability. 

“I’ll make you a deal, instead. I may not be a devil but—”

“You’re devil enough, I assure you,” Astarion cuts in with a lukewarm murmur.

“As I was saying,” Rin glares up at him halfheartedly as her grip loosens on his shoulders. “let me make you a deal. I swear, upon my grave, that we can and will find another way. Without using Raphael’s help.”

Astarion looks at her curiously, arms held straight by his sides as he stands perfectly still underneath the warmth from her palms. “At the rate we’re going, your grave is likely to be on an unmarked hillside somewhere between here and Rivington, darling. Pick something better to promise me with,”

Her fingers move to absently run over the line of his shoulders as she shifts her attention to his collar and the ostentatious ruffles that decorate the front of his shirt, slightly rumpled and not at all put together the way Astarion likes to pretend himself to be.

“Is swearing on my grave not devilish enough?” Her fingers run lightly over the ruffles of his shirt, the linen softened by time as she fluffs them back to rights. “How about my soul then?”

“It’s a step in the right direction, at least.” He’s infinitely haughty as he huffs, glancing away to look instead at one of the nearby trees that surround their campsite.

“You’re impossible.” Rin lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, then. I swear to you, on my soul,” she waves a hand through the air to add embellishment to her words. “that we will find a way without Raphael’s help. We can figure it out, I have faith.”

Rin knows her words have no actual binding, no infernal magic present to swirl around them and make her words true. She knows that it’s not even a real promise she can make, and certainly not a good enough one to ever tempt him. 

But it’s all she has to offer him, and she can only hope it will be enough.

Astarion’s eyes snap back to hers, narrowing as he raises an elegant brow. “Faith in what? I hardly think the Gods are listening. Or care, for that matter.”

“Well,” Rin’s fingers stop, biting her lip in consideration at his question as she waits for an answer, the true answer, to come to her unbidden with the help of the truth serum that still lingers. “faith in us, I suppose.”

It’s maybe the worst thing she’s ever said, the words coming out far too soft and—ugh, gods—sweet. But the most terrible thing about it is that she doesn’t hate the way that the truth feels slipping free from her lips nearly as much as she knows she should.

She needs to stop talking before she digs herself into an even deeper hole. Perhaps she should start taking off her clothes in hopes to distract him.

Her hands return to action in the wake of her honesty, smoothing them over his collar once, twice, before averting her eyes from his to glance at where her fingers begin to twine around the ties at his throat.

“That’s a terrible plan, you know.” 

Rin pulls at one of the strings perhaps a tad harder than necessary as she looks up once more with a glare at the ready. Any retort she has dies on her lips as she meets his eyes; wholly unprepared for the sheer intensity simmering there in the depths of his gaze.

Her hold softens on the laces, fingers going slack as she swallows. She’s unsure exactly of what name to put to look she sees—not lust, or anger; but something else—as those familiar dark crimson eyes flit down to her lips and she suddenly finds it much harder to breathe.

“Well, it’s better than anything you could ever come up with, that’s for sure.” She speaks in barely a whisper, Astarion watching every single word fall from her lips before his eyes trail their way up and over her features as if memorizing every detail before finding her own gaze.

A new kind of anticipation, one that she’s never felt before, curls in her stomach as Astarion releases a vexing sigh. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you could mean. My plans are always excellent.” 

The words are pompous, irritating; and a part of her wishes desperately that she could hate him for all his arrogance and put-on charm, but instead something in her chest swells as she huffs out a short laugh.

With an impossible slowness, Astarion dips his head towards her, lashes half lowered over darkened eyes that still stare at her own, no doubt a fever-bright green as her freckled cheeks flush under the fullness of his attention. 

A breath catches in Rin’s throat as she angles her face up to meet him, the tips of their noses brushing as his lips close in on her own. She’s eager for the feeling of his kiss, has been wishing for it all evening—a fact she’s only willing to admit with the help of the truth serum.

And as her lashes flutter shut against her cheeks and her palms press flat against the planes of his chest, heart jumping against her breast as his lips are nothing but a hairsbreadth away; a familiar voice booms out from some distance behind them.

“Oi, Rin, Fangs!” The moment shatters as Karlach’s voice fills the camp, carrying far as it breaks through the silence surrounding them.

Rin’s eyes blink open wide just as Astarion takes two hasty steps backwards, surprise flashing over his features before he covers it masterfully, an impenetrable wall back in place within mere seconds.

Her hand raises to her still untouched lips, mourning the loss of his closeness as she stands bewildered by their almost kiss.

Astarion straightens his shirt, brushing out an imaginary wrinkle as he looses a breath, refusing to meet her eyes. “I will keep your…offer in mind, darling, but no promises.”

“It’s your choice in the end Astarion, but…I don’t like it.” Rin fights to keep the minute disappointment she feels from crossing over her features. She knew it was nothing more than a fools’ errand to try and sway him, but she doesn’t regret it. 

Not yet, at least.

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not your decision to make, isn’t it?”

A frown settles between her brows as Astarion finishes his assessment of himself and finally looks at her again, any figment of emotion that had been there mere moments ago effectively washed away as he dons the mask of a charlatan once more.

“Right. Well, goodnight. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.” Astarion sends her one of his trademark smirks as he rolls his shoulders back, standing up straight as he looks down his nose at her. “Unless, of course, you want to be thinking of me. In that case, feel free to worry over me to your heart’s content.” 

With one last, maddening little wave he retreats to his tent without sparing her a single glance, leaving Rin to stand there alone in the middle of camp, a hand still poised over her lips and discontent coiling in her chest.

Karlach finally emerges from between two tents, a frothy pint in hand that she uses to gesture towards Rin, ale threatening to spill over the edge as she inclines her horned head in greeting. “Hey, Solider! Want to come join for a game of cards or some shit like that?”

With nothing else to do, Rin turns towards Karlach with a smile and a nod before she heads back towards the wavering light of the inn in the distance with the intent to drink herself into absolute oblivion.

It’s easy to follow Karlach and fall back into the familiar routine of indulgence—to drink more wine and lie to herself that the blush that stains her cheeks the rest of the evening is from the klauthgrass, or the alcohol, or the laughter she shares with her friends and not at all because of the fact that Astarion had almost kissed her. 

It didn’t matter that they had shared far more than kisses already, bypassing the standard order of things and jumping straight into sleeping with one other. 

That was what they had both wanted, wasn’t it? 

And it was what Astarion’s silly little game has always been about, had it not? She still hadn’t been able to figure out the rules, but she was sure it had to do with her as his conquest—his prize—though for what reason she’s yet to glean. 

It was one thing to be friends who slept together. 

But it was another thing entirely to be friends who simply kiss, and the thought consumes her for the rest of night no matter how many more glasses she downs in hopes to chase it away.

It’s late when Rin finally lays down in her bedroll that night, the klauthgrass blissfully absent from her body yet her mind still swirling with the revelation that she is perhaps far more fucked than she would like to admit. 

She’s signed, sealed, and delivered her fate just as surely as she’s sealed another letter to him with a cheap wax seal, written when the last of that terrible, evil truth serum still poisoned her mind along with a few cups of wine too many. 

That stupid letter, one that is never to be delivered; the contents of which contain the answer to that damned question he asked her earlier.

And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?

And so she did the next best thing she could think of to rid herself of words that still begged to be spoken aloud; grabbing a piece of parchment and her quill and ink before sitting down to write the answer, hoping that she could seal the feelings into the ink on the page and leave them there to dry, freeing herself of them forever.

If she had any mind at all, she would march out of her tent and throw the letter into the roaring fire at the center of camp so that the words it contains could burn to cinders, never to be read.

Because Astarion could never, ever know that what she really liked—more than his body, his clever words, his awful sense of humor, or how lovely he looks when he focuses on his sewing next to her by the fire at night—was him.

snippet sunday 🖋️

thanks to @khywren and @xxnashiraxx for tagging me earlier this week for wip wednesday but since I'm a little late it's now snippet sunday 😅.

I had hoped to get chapter 8 of to eden posted over the weekend but I have been in NYC the past week and drastically overestimated the amount of energy I would have at night for writing after walking all around the city during the day. but I am back home and now back to writing, I think I'll be good to post by this coming weekend~

ANYWAY since it's taking me so long, please enjoy some smut 🤭😏

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh. “Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the soft flesh of her inner thigh. The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the icy pain warring against the heat surging through her body as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her. Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the blanket beneath her. The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that fall from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing.  “There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly over and over again and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.” Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him.

tagginggggg @elinorbard @ladyduellist @inkymoonbunny @preciouslittlebhaalbae @khywren @xxnashiraxx and anyone else who wants to join in because I can't think (too much smut writing SORRY ABOUT IT)