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[dreamingcricket]

Hi Cricket! I soaked up your Tav/Halsin snippet, about them being injured and shrugging off Halsin's advances, it's absolutely sweet! I kindly request another Tav/Halsin if you don't mind... My Tav is a naive little sunshine and as a tiefling bard loves to dance, sing along and play on her fiddle, I imagine her having skirts that flow around her feet whenever she danced and plays around camp or inn's for some coin. Halsin being in love with Tav and like totally unable to hide it and it's obvious to everyone but Tav themselves. I would love for him to join her dancing, maybe something slower, more intimate with meaningful touches. He loves seeing her so at ease in rare moments like this, even when he's a clumsy dancer. 🤭

I'm so happy people are enjoying these!

Halsin was unused to revelry. 

He couldn't speak for every druid, of course, their kind ranged far and wide in both calling and temperament, but the Emerald Grove was prone only to subdued rites. He certainly couldn't fault the refugees for wanting to release some tension, however, and he wanted to show his appreciation to the small band that had saved him and his grove alike. Her, especially. 

And of course she was at the center of it all.

She reminded him of a celestial center, the hub of a wheel around which everything else turned. She glowed in the firelight, all orange and gold and purple, skirts flying as she fiddled. Music seemed to follow her everywhere. She danced like water, one pattern to the next without pause. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

“You’re staring.” Shadowheart was difficult to read, as she appeared behind him, goblet in hand. He couldn't tell if her observation was meant to be an admonishment or not.

“I know.” He was usually reserved, if not stoic, and his developing feelings bubbling to quickly to the surface was alarming, but it would do no good to deny it.

"We all know. You're not subtle, Halsin." 

His attention was drawn back to Tav as she laughed. The sound was like the sun on his face.

Shadowheart followed his gaze. “Nobody blames you, Halsin. But she should know.”

“I don’t want to rush her.”

“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree. But we’re running out of time, and…” She shakes her head, clearing the morbid thought. “Just… everyone knows.

She finishes her number with a bow, and yields the stage to Alfira, who begins to pluck a lively tune. Her eyes lock onto Halsin’s and she bounds over, holding out her hands.

“Come, dance with me?”

He could feel the eyes of the camp upon him. Knowing. Halsin coughed. “I’m not much of a dancer. I may trample your feet.”

“That doesn't matter!” She giggled, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Everyone’s too drunk to notice anyway.”

Suddenly, she was pulling on his hand, tugging him to the wide patch of dirt that served as a dancing circle in the middle of camp. His heart hammered against his ribs, and it wasnt from embarrassment. 

He could vaguely recollect the steps, some hazy memories of his youth floated back to him as they began to whirl. A tavern dance, not refined in the slightest, but light and fast, more momentum than intent. While there was something to be said for his particular brand of ursine grace, it didn't lend well to dancing, and he let her lead. Her hands were so small in his, and she flitted around him, almost birdlike. 

“You’ll have to slow down, Tav, I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

She giggled, twirling under his arm. “I think you’re a fine dancer.” 

“The wine has apparently gone to your head, as well.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe it's just good company.”

The music slowed, and their pace changed. They circled each other, hand in hand. She held his gaze, not defiantly, but with tender trust. He hoped beyond hope he wasn't reading too far into her gaze. 

There was an ease to her here he hadn't seen before. The weight she carried throughout the battle at the goblin camp (and how fierce she had been, she had torn through their ranks like a diving hawk) had seemingly lifted. She wasn't a warrior, her hands were gentle as they gripped his, and so small. He loved her already, but even more so like this, when she was unburdened.

He wondered if this was what she was usually like, sans tadpole. There’s a terrible pang in his chest at the thought: that her days were numbered, that she might be doomed. It's quickly followed by a wash of righteous fury. It wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it. 

She stepped in close. Their palms pressed together, chests nearly touching, and he nearly stopped breathing. She was so close, if he only leaned down, their lips would touch. He was halfway to her, his rational brain screaming to stop and his instincts screaming to kiss her until she couldn't breathe.

And then she pulled away, dropping into a curtsy. The song was over. 

There was already a  buzzing flock of people vying for her attention. Halsin released her hand and bowed out of the center of camp, excusing himself as she leaped onto a rock to begin a new number. 

It had been a long, long time since anyone had made him feel this way. 

He rolled into the grass, reveling in the coolness against his heated skin, and prepared to trance. 

Halsin smelled her before he saw her. Lilac and honeysuckle and musk, and the scent of the open road. She moved to lay beside him in the grass, and whispered, "Can I join you? Everyone is quite drunk, Karlach is sleeping in my tent for some reason, and I’m getting really tired."

"Of course."

He didn't expect her to nestle into his side, his heart began to hammer in his chest, his skin became hot. 

She gazed upwards, and pointed into the sky, at a smattering of stars. "That's the huntsman." Her hand drops back down. "At least I think it is. We didn't have much time for stargazing at home, and the city lights are so bright. But here? I feel I can see every single one."

Halsin pointed upward himself, “The… spine of the dragon? I realize… I don’t know exactly how to say it in common, that’s as close as I can get.”

She hummed. “I can see it. With the wings, there.” She gestured lazily, and he became aware of how close she was for the second time that night. He was less intimidated by his own feelings here, without the watchful eyes of the party, and only the music of night time insects, the grass rising around them like a shelter. She turned her face toward him, blinking slowly, and clearly holding back a yawn. “I think… I’ll just sleep here.”

“That’s fine by me.”

The rhythm of her breathing slows and evens out, and he brushes a stray lock of hair away from her cheek, running his thumb over the apple of her cheek. 

Tomorrow, she would take up her burdens again. She would brave her future with the noble ferocity he had come to admire, he was sure, but he would miss this carefree night. 

Whatever it took, he’d ensure she had many more to come.

[dreamingcricket]

may i request some poly head canons with wyll and gale dating a male dwarf tav ? i am Very Sad i cannot kiss both of them - maybe they are dating each other too, wyll/gale is a very cute ship =]

Wyll was easy to like, and almost easier to love. He was noble, gentle, as ready with a bolstering quip as he was his blade. More than once, you catch yourself gazing longingly after him on the battlefield. If you weren't so busy trying to stay alive, you'd have noticed him looking back. 

An Eldritch blast explodes behind your head, and you whirl just in time to see the goblin crumble, it's weapon missing you by inches. 

Wyll flashes you a grin. "Don't get slow on me now!"

You ignore the flutter in your chest and charge back into the fray. You couldn't afford to be distracted by your feelings. Not here. Not now. 

It's a long shot anyway.

After the grove is saved and the camp engulfed by eager and intoxicated partygoers, you find Wyll standing on the shore of the river. 

You fail to convince him to return to the party, and instead take a seat at his side. "It's a little loud for my taste anyway. Reminds me a little too much of home." 

Wyll throws his head back in laughter. "Some truly mighty feasts then?" 

"The drink alone would kill you."

"You'll have to take me underground sometime. When all this is over, if we survive."

"I will."

You trade stories by the campfire over the coming nights, delighting each other at first with epic tales of heroism, but later, when everyone has gone to bed, stories about home. Wyll began to confide in you, and you moved, night by night, from across the campfire, to to near one another, to painfully close, your hands only inches apart. 

"This is... not how I expected my life to go."

"The pact or the tadpole?"

"Both."

"Are you disappointed?"

"In some ways, yes. But it brought me to you."

His hand moves, only a little bit, but it finally, finally covers yours. 

"I would have liked to do this all the proper way. Wining and dining, and courting and whatnot."

"As if anything about this situation is proper."

He considers for a moment. "You're right. But you deserve the world. I can at least give you this."

He leans down to kiss you, and both of you tumble backwards.

If the others notice your tent is unoccupied and Wyll's is a little full, they don't say anything.

Well, one of them noticed.

Gale was... more complicated. He was pompous, arrogant, and brilliant enough to almost justify his hubris. The two of you clashed often. Sometimes over important things, which routes to take and who to trust, but just as often over petty nonsense, the shape of clouds and how much spice should be used in the soup. The wizard was stubborn, but had clearly not spent much time around dwarves, who have honed stubbornness into an art form. 

Gale backs down. Again and again. 

To his surprise, Gale finds himself happy to do so. He finds himself troublingly enamoured of the particular expression you make when you win an argument, your eyes glinting.

At some point, it changed from arguments to a game, a private jest between the two of you. Not that you'd let anyone know, not even Wyll. And he certainly didn't annoy you any less.

"If you'd put on some decent armour, you wouldn't be injured as often!"

"I can't wear armour, I can't cast in armour!"

"If your stubbornness gets you killed, it's on your head!" 

"And if your constant whinging about the state of my defenses causes the orb to combust, it's on all of our heads!" 

"Fine!" You storm away.

"Fine!" Gale calls after you, red in the face. 

And Wyll just smiles. 

"He drives me mad!"

"Mhmm." Wyll runs his fingers through your beard, comb in hand and a lot of oil nearby, as you rant, hours later, in the privacy of his tent.

"Have you met a more stuck-up, boar-headed man anywhere?"

"Mhmm."

"He won't shut up!"

"Is this about the arguing, or something else?"

"I- What do you mean by that?" You narrow your eyes. 

"You wouldn't be this worked up if he only drove you mad. You would have simply punched him, and left him in a ditch." 

"I concede that. But what are you implying?"

He leans down to kiss your forehead. "Just know, whatever your feelings for anyone otherwise, I love you." 

You hold his jaw, turning his face towards yours. “Are you… do you like Gale?”

“I've had my moments, he has his charms. Are you… uncomfortable with that? If it hurts what we have-”

“The concept of multiple partners, no, but… Gale!?” You sputter. And try desperately not ot think of Wyll kissing Gale no not thinking of that not at all–

Wyll playfully tugs your beard. “Alright, lover-boy, whatever you say.”

“I’m not…”

You realize you have no real defense. Wyll saw right through you, and while that usually made him even more of a delightful lover, in this instance you merely huffed and roll into your blankets. 

You toss and turn all night. 

In the morning, you storm up to Gale as he cooks. "It smells delicious."

"Well if it's not- what?"

"It smells delicious. You're a good cook."

Shadowheart's mouth falls open, and Astarion chokes. 

Gale considers for a long moment. "...Thank you."

"And if you can't wear armour, you should stand behind me." 

And then you leave. 

It turns out, when Gale stands behind you, he feels much safer. Not to mention, he can admire the view. 

The newly brokered peace between you is tenuous, but in the silence where you're no longer shouting, something else blooms. Gale begins to ask about your life underground, and you ask about his magical studies, carefully avoiding the subject of Mystra. It's not that you have any particular interest in the arcane arts, but the way his face illuminates and his gaze becomes distant but intense, it endears you. 

You kneel by the river with him, washing pots and pans after dinner. He takes a sharp breath in. And then he says it.

"I love you."

"... I'm sorry?"

"Shit. That... wasn't how I meant to say that." He scrambles to his feet and looks as though he's about to flee into the brush. 

"I'm not-"

"I don't..." Gale sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I can't ruin what you have with Wyll. I won't do that to him, or to you. If you don't feel the way I do, I'll never speak of it again. But you should know that I admire you beyond words." He takes a steadying breath. "I admire you, and adore you, and even as you infuriate me, I can't help but love you. Desperately. But I understand that you're not free."

You ball the front of his robes in your fist and pull him down to your level. "Kiss me, idiot."

"What about Wyll?"

"Oh, don't stop on my account."

Wyll is leaned against a nearby tree, goblet in hand. "I can't think of a better sight than the two of you." 

You wrap your arms around Gale's shoulders and pull him in for a kiss. You hear Wyll's footsteps, and he's suddenly on his knees behind you. 

Gale pulls back, gasping, his mouth falling open and shut. “I…both? Both is good? I can… both?”

It doesn't surprise you that Mystra was too jealous to require anything but monogamy from her chosen, but there’s still a flicker of some protective emotion as you watch Gale grapple with his feelings. “You don’t need to commit to anything now. Or ever.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I have more than one burning fuse on the end of my life. I’m not giving this up. Not for anything.”

The speed with which he hauled both you and Wyll to his tent is startling. You didn't think the wizard was athletic in any capacity, but he seemed determined to prove you wrong. 

The next morning, as you passed Astarion, he glanced up at you. “So. Are the three of you investing in a bigger tent? You’ll be a circus before long.”

You throw a sausage at him, but make a mental note to search for roomier lodging. 

[dreamingcricket]

politely requesting either halsin or astarion with a tav/reader who like..shrugs off their advances bc they don’t think someone like either of them would take interest in them. like very oblivious to the fact that people actually like them. (totally not self indulgent lmao) ((i love mutual pining to lovers i-))

CW: Mild sexual content, reader is injured

Astarion has started to question whether this is your way of gently rebuffing him, or you're actually this dense.

He's not a subtle flirt. He uses all his most seasoned tricks, exhausts every overture he can think of. He can't remember wanting anyone this much. And yet, every one of his suggestive quips is laughed off.

He's there in the morning, sliding in beside you as you drink your tea. "Good morning, beautiful. You're looking absolutely radiant today." He runs a finger down your arm. When you blush and smile back, something warms in the pit of his stomach.

He's there as you put on your armour. "Allow me, dove." And as he tightens the straps on your mantle, he lets his fingers brush the underside of your jaw. "There. Just right." He purrs into your ear.

And of course, when he feeds. He takes his time, pulling you close, cradling your head, running his fingers through your hair. He nuzzles into your neck before he bites, pressing his lips against your rabbiting pulse for just a moment longer than he should.

Even in battle, when he's swiftly at your back, flashing you brilliant smiles as he races to your defense, you jovially thank him, like you do all your companions. Like he's your friend. Just your friend.

All efforts so far, completely ignored.

So now he watches you from across camp, the firelight dancing across your features as you laugh (he tries to ignore the tender stirring in his chest at the sound).

He throws back his glass of wine, and grimaces at the pitying glances of his compatriots. Of course it was obvious to anyone except you.

You stood, bid Wyll and Karlach goodnight, but instead of disappearing into your tent, you vanished into the brush.

Astarion sat for a long moment. He should let you go. You clearly weren't interested, and he should just... move on. Like he always had.

Who are you kidding, you fool?

He didn't care that he startled Gale with his speed and he pursued you into the woods.

You were seated on a rock, your face turned up toward a shaft of moonlight, eyes closed. He stopped to admire you.

"Sorry I took off. I just wanted to enjoy the quiet."

"I'll go, if you want me to."

You start, and turn towards his voice. "Astarion, didn't expect you."

"Were you expecting someone?"

"No... just-

He's suddenly surging forward without thought, and the two of you are rolling across the grass.

"Astarion, what the fu-"

He silences you with a burning kiss, brimming with anger and desperation. You roll him onto his back, furiously returning his advance. "What-" you pant between kisses. "-took you so long, idiot."

He's furiously tugging at your linen shirt, baring your back and shoulders. You'd be angry if you weren't still reeling.

"You never flirted back!" He pins you down, only to find his hips locked between your legs.

"I flirt constantly, Astarion! You drink my blood every night! I've been waiting for you to take the next step for weeks!" Now it's you tearing at his shirt, your hands groping for purchase on his shoulders. "I thought you didn't think of me like that." Now it's your lips against his neck, and he chokes on a moan.

"That's not flirting!" He's never been this heated during sex. He's a collected lover, and for all the inherent violence of his existence, he realizes - he wants to be gentle. At least this time.

He takes your hands in his and stills your thrashing. You lock eyes, both of you out of breath, chests heaving. He places a single, gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. "Shall we begin again, love?"

"I'd like that."

"My name's Astarion. You are a truly stunning creature," he leans down, and whispers to you, "... and I'd very much like to make love to you tonight."

Halsin thinks you are quite possibly the most extraordinary person he's ever met.

 

He can't erase the image of you the first time he saw you from his mind, eyes ablaze, arcane power crackling at your fingertips. 

He's had so many partners, but all of his love affairs were brief, transient. Deep, but nothing had ever moved him like this. Typically, Halsin is straightforward with his feelings. His passing dalliances with fellow druids and traveling rangers had never daunted him. But with you, making his feelings known was... complicated.

You'd been through a significant trauma, and while you put on a quite the brave face, ever the intrepid leader, he's been around long enough to see your fragility. You'd seen so many horrors in such a short amount of time. Emotions were running high, he wouldn't risk coming on too strong.

So instead... he brought you gifts. It was a very natural way to court someone, at least. Baskets of berries, a fresh catch from the river, perhaps they're gifts to his own taste, but he hopes you'll enjoy them.

He offered to braid your hair, to help ease the tension in your shoulders with a massage in the evenings (his hands are absolutely enormous, which certainly helps). 

And, unbeknownst to the rest of the camp, and to his mild shame, he couldn't help but rub his scent near your tent. He wouldn't invade your boundaries and touch your things, but he couldn't help his instincts. Lae'zel noticed at last, but only scoffed and offhandedly remarked, "The way you dance around your affections is pathetic. Tell them, or stop simpering."

Things eventually came to a head when you were injured, badly. The arrow tore through your side, and you hit the ground before you could register you'd been shot, the world became pain and a blur of color and noise. 

Halsin was by your side in a heartbeat, shielding you with his frame as spells and arrows flew overhead.

"Don't move little one, you're losing blood." He sounded calm, but there was a tremor in his voice. You'd never seen him afraid before.

"Halsin..."

"Shh, shh. Hold still." His magic flows through you, and the muscles in your side knit back together as he pulls the arrow free.

"Halsin." Your hand lifted to weakly brush his cheek. Your vision was swimming. 

The thunderous roar of battle magic echoed nearby. Gale rushed towards you. "Are they alright?"

"They will be." Halsin spoke it like an oath. "But they're weak." 

"We'll finish this, get them to safety!"

Halsin cradled your body to his chest and barreled off the battlefield. You drifted in and out of consciousness, but were always aware of his arms around you. They felt like safety. Like home.

The druid ducks behind a half destroyed wall, and begins to reassess your wound. "Gods, you frightened me." He lays you down carefully, head in his lap, and begins to clean the wound. 

You smile up at him. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

"I like this."

He's puzzled. "Being horribly injured?"

"Being held by you." 

At that moment, your body finally gave out, and your vision went black. 

When you woke, bandaged and sore, in your tent, Halsin was sitting by your bedroll with his back to you. Recalling in horror the confession you'd made, you try to pretend you were still asleep. 

"I know you're awake, little one." 

You sigh. "I'm... about what I said, I'm sorry. I know you don't feel that way, and-" 

"Stop." He turned and placed a finger against your lips. "No more words." 

You braced for his rejection. At least the druid was kind, empathetic. Or perhaps his pity would make it worse. 

His lips coming down on yours were not what you expected. He was gentle, and smelled of moss and pretrichor, dark soil and sweat. You kissed him back, laughing into his mouth. 

He pulls away, then presses his forehead to yours. "I'm here. As long as you'll have me." 

"Oh, I intend to." Your attempt to sit up is hampered by a shock of pain from your wound. "Ow. Shit."

Halsin guides you back down to your pillows. "All in good time, little one."

[dreamingcricket]

Greetings! I'm Cricket, 23, hobby writer and enjoyer of various debaucheries. And also chocolate. She/Her.

Requests are open!

Currently writing for:

Baldur's Gate 3 (All characters)

General Requests (villain x hero, non-fandom scenarios, etc.)

(This list will expand, the blog is new. Please feel free to request characters and fandoms outside of my purview!)

Rules and Regulations: I'm open to writing almost anything (one big exception: I will not write underage characters engaging in sex. Big nope.)

Spice is welcome!

Because spice is welcome, this blog is 18+.

On the off chance a request makes me uncomfortable, I'll leave it unanswered.

Any and all writing will be tagged and I'll provide content warnings.