Slowly—torturously, in Hircine’s eyes—Astarion begins to untie the sash, the most smug grin twisting his lips in a way that only Astarion is capable of. He’s careful to keep the robe closed as the sash is fully undone now, the smirk deepening still, the bastard. His fingers tease at the neckline, spreading it ever so slightly that Hircine can tell that whatever else he’s wearing plunges deep, showing off his cleavage. “Are you ready?” He asks in a husky voice.  Just by scent, Hircine can tell how turned on he’s getting from this whole show, and since it’s her body, she knows exactly how wet her cunt is. She sighs, waving her hand over his form. “Get it over with, please.” His teeth dig into his lower lip as the robe is pulled away revealing… Can it even be called ‘clothing’ with how little it covers?  Hircine has no idea what this exact piece of clothing is called, outside of it being some type of lingerie. A black strip of fabric goes over the shoulders and comes together mid chest to slip right between both breasts—which are both out in the open with nothing to hide—before splitting off into three thin pieces that go under the bust and down the stomach. There’s a very small, very sheer lacey triangle of fabric that covers just above the belly button and over the crotch… mostly. It’s clear almost immediately to Hircine that they are crotchless. There’s more straps and strips and strings over the hips and legs. Nothing is left to the imagination, that's for sure. The strappiness of it all is the biggest offender. That’s why Hircine has never worn it. She hates straps, all they do is end up in tangles and her in crying irritation, ready to tear them to shreds.  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Astarion asks, all heavy-lidded and filled with lust. “I know why you wouldn’t like this, but wear it for me, just once. That’s all I ask.”

Pairing: Deacon/MacCready, Minor/Background Preston/M!Sole Survivor Chapter Summary: Deacon sees this through to the end. Anthony has some words for the Institute. Fic Summary: Deacon’s just like any other spy trying to have it all: juggling multiple identities, on thin ice with his boss, spreading himself too thin, and trying to help save the world. Perfect time to be figuring how to be in a relationship, too. As the Institute’s shadow grows ever longer, Deacon tries to balance his life, his work, and his love, and figure out how to keep it all together. Chapter Warnings: Vague mentions of blood, bruises, and ongoing pain from injury, and a flashback to (extremely) minor character death without description. Noteworthy Tags: Established Relationship, Relationship Issues, Trust Issues, PTSD, Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending

“It’s gotta be here somewhere,” Liam says, abandoning the last door to start looking over the shelves on the wall.

“What are you looking for?” 

“A note, or—or a holotape, or something—they’ve got to have the code for this somewhere.”  

“You think they’re just going to leave that lying around?” 

Liam flips through the pages attached to a clipboard in the corner. “There’s usually a guidebook or something.” 

Deacon raises his eyebrow, trying and failing to ignore the sharp pain it sends across his temple. “Wait, you’re telling me the Institute—the most advanced technological community in the Commonwealth—keeps their passwords just laying around the office?”

Liam is already motioning toward the lobby, apparently giving up on this room. “I mean, maybe not just laying out in the open, I don’t work down here, but every department gets a standard list.” He steps out, pausing for a moment at the array of frozen coursers, before squaring his shoulders and marching toward the other room. “You’ve gotta have a failsafe.”

“Well sure, but—” Deacon starts as he follows. He doesn’t find a way to end the sentence. They’ve never had a reason to think it was dangerous. Even if synths with ideas got ahold of them, what were they going to do with them? It took weeks to plan this jailbreak, and that was with outside help. Most synths in recent years only escaped with Liam's help, and the rest of the Institute has no clue.

They've never had a reason to be afraid.

A few moments passed before Astarion released her, but the apology he kept to himself. He was not accustomed to them or the feelings that he just wanted to go away.

Dark, heavy drapes and closed doors kept out almost all daylight in the east wing. The sun’s positioning had allowed Patrick to uncover the windows in this room for Astarion, but it did nothing to ease the chill. He did not recall it being so noticeable, but then again, he only made an appearance in this part of the palace when necessary.

The spawn knew the rules and what was expected. They knew Astarion did not employ torture or use fear tactics to keep them in line. Failure was simply met with the sun. There was no room for error. It was the first thing he explained to new spawn.

Contrary to what Astarion had assumed, the mercenaries did not fail. He had touched their minds when he entered the room, a series of images rising to the surface, and immediately understood why Patrick had taken the steps he had.

Astarion sat in the high-backed, ornate chair at the head of the table and settled the compulsion more heavily over the room. He could feel their minds unfurl for him to examine. At his side, Patrick shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the swell of power that could kill him with a passing thought.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Astarion said, then sunk into the leader’s mind.

“I’ll say first that if this is one of Orin’s little tricks, she knows well that this Watcher can eviscerate someone even faster than her assassins can.” He set his quill down on the table. “But I don’t think you’re a trick,” he mused. “It’s you.” Ta’av clenched her fists, still trying not to move much with the Watcher so close. “I’m not Orin. I’m not one of her little assassins. I don’t really know who you think I am. But that’s why I’m here. You are going to tell me.” “Oh, I am?” He smiled with what looked like genuine warmth. “Yes,” she hissed back. His smile momentarily deepened at her anger.

If Astarion needed further assurance he made the right decisions that day, the duration of Asher’s first outing proved to be an anomaly. Subsequent trips alone only lasted a few hours. They were not daily occurrences either.  At present, she was there. Not just in the palace but in his formal office with him, sitting in the window off to his right. It was the second time this week that Asher had joined him like this while he worked. She never asked. She had just come in and stayed as if habitually seeking his company. She had her journal today as opposed to a book. The sunlight cast her lithe frame in a warm glow as her thoughts took on weight and form with each stroke of charcoal across the page. Astarion watched her for a moment while the Bailiff of the Wide droned on about whatever trivial thing he decided to drone on about and thought this was a ritual he could easily become accustomed to. Then, there was a rustle, a step too, and Astarion’s attention was forcibly redirected toward his unwanted guest. The compulsions would have prevented him from getting close enough to touch Astarion, but the concept itself was offensive enough. Rodhlann was lovely, of course— Astarion never would have fucked him otherwise. He had appreciated the man’s appearance in the past. Still, he had never captured Astarion’s interest beyond that, even in the slightest. At best, Rodhlann had been a physical outlet, and Astarion felt annoyed and… anxious, perhaps, to be finished with him and this interruption to his otherwise agreeable afternoon. “Rodhlann, I did not invite you closer. In fact, I did not invite you to the palace at all.”

If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins.

Pairing: Deacon/MacCready, Minor/Background Preston/M!Sole Survivor Chapter Summary: Deacon and Glory descend into the belly of the beast. Fic Summary: Deacon’s just like any other spy trying to have it all: juggling multiple identities, on thin ice with his boss, spreading himself too thin, and trying to help save the world. Perfect time to be figuring how to be in a relationship, too. As the Institute’s shadow grows ever longer, Deacon tries to balance his life, his work, and his love, and figure out how to keep it all together. Chapter Warnings: Intense violence (see beginning note for specifics, NO DEATH I SWEAR), vague nausea Noteworthy Tags: Established Relationship, Relationship Issues, Trust Issues, PTSD, Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending