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luffysbestie101 · 6 days ago

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You get gravely injured instead of the LADS boys

with [chubby reader]

[chubby reader, don't like it, don't read it]

Summary: You jumped in front of them during a fight and got severely injured instead.

warnings: extreme injuries, angst, blood, crying, comfort, fluff, gn! reader, reader and the boys fight together against wanderers/ criminals and are already in a relationship, probably ooc because we haven't seen the boys when they're extremely worried yet, if you work in the medical field beware, extremely inaccurate

⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Xavier:

Xavier's wrapped his muscular arm around you and he helped you as you limped forward. Every step felt like another slash to your thigh and you whimpered out. You jumped in front of Xavier without any hesitation; he was distracted. He didn’t see the sharp weapon coming. You on the other hand did. You saw it coming, and jumped in front of him like a fool. Dizziness surrounded your vision, and you exhaled shakily as dark spots danced around your vision. You collapsed to the ground and felt Xavier's arms around you. He pressed his pretty hand firmly against your plush and bloody thigh and you cried out in pain as you tried to shove him off. Xavier's hand tightened and tears began rolling down your face. You knew that he was just stopping the bleeding, but in your woozy mind it was the biggest betrayal. Xavier yelled something into his phone , which you couldn’t understand. He gripped your face tightly and gently smacked against your cheeks, but you didn’t respond. You just smiled and you took in his features.

His usual soft expression was sour. He breathed heavily, causing his chest to heave quickly. Xaviers sky blue eyes were dark and wet, his nosrils flaring with every shaky inhale. His mouth was pulled into a frown and formed words you couldn't hear before your eyes rolled backwards and you slumped back.

When you woke up again, you laid in a white hospital bed. The pungent odor of disinfectant invaded your nostrils and a soft beep sounded through the room. Your looked around in confusion and followed the tubes going in and out of your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw messy blonde hair slumped on your hand. Xavier. His face was buried in your palm.

You called out his name and Xavier immediately jumped out of his seat. His hands were trembling and his mouth was slight agape. His clothes were messy and dark purple crescents grazed his undereye. Xavier opened his mouth but the words were stuck in his throat. Not even a single squeak could be heard.

"Xavier?", you croaked out carefully and watched his expression. He looked down to the floor when silent sobs raked through his body. Your eyes widened and your heart squeezed painfully. Xavier’s lip trembled and tears rolled down his face. He furrowed his eyebrows and his trembling lips were pulled into a deep frown.

“Why did you do it?“, he asked you quietly.

You looked at him and before you could respond Xavier walked towards you in quick and heavy strides. He firmly grasped your shoulders and very gently shook you.

“I asked you something. Why would you do that?“, Xavier spat out. “Never do that again. I could never live with myself if you.. Oh god, please. Please, please, please. Don’t ever do that again. Not for me, not for anybody else. Okay? Please.“ Xavier’s angry voice turned into one of pure despair and his hands left your shoulders. He grabbed your hands with trembling hands. His long and slender fingers wrapped around your soft ones as he buried his face in your hands. You let him cry his heart out.

Your leg will recover form this injury. However, the image of you laying in a pool of your own blood will never leave Xavier’s mind. You jumping in front of him because of his own incompetence. Its unacceptable. The memories haunted his deepest nightmares and he‘d never forgive himself for it.

• during remission, Xavier treated you like a doll. He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t but he couldn’t help it. You’re so precious to him and he almost lost you. He was very gentle and loving with you (not that he wasn’t loving before) and he helped you wash yourself. It was a bit difficult for you to take care of yourself because of your leg, but Xavier will be there every step of the way. Sometimes, he laid awake at night and couldn’t stop replaying the scene of you getting hurt. The absolute despair and fear he felt at the thought of losing you. He’d stroke your cheek and cuddle your round body into his. Sometimes he’d even shed a fear tears.

Zayne:

You didn't even know how it happened. One minute you and Zayne were fighting side by side against the wanderers and in the next, the wall next to Zayne collapsed. Your heart dropped to your stomach and everything around you seemed to slow down. The debris fell too quickly for you to call out to Zayne and warn him, so you ran without any hesitation. Everything that happened after was just a mere blur. You pushed him out of the way and felt as if a million sledgehammers landed on top of you before you were out like a light. The last thing you heard was Zayne yelling out your name.

You woke up with a violent throb in your head. It felt like somebody was splitting your head into two pieces and the blinding light didn't help at all. You looked down and found yourself in a clean bed. Your eyes popped up and saw Zayne's broad back. His white button- up was crumpled and his sleeves were rolled up unevenly, which exposed his scarred forearms. Zayne's dark hair was tussled and he was checking the scans of your body. You moved and a sharp pain shot through your head and through the right side of your body. You winced sharply and exhaled shakingly.

Zayne's body froze; his scarred hand hovered over the scan and his shoulders tensed. Yet, he remained still and didn't turn around. You both just sat in silence for a few seconds until you called out to him.

"Zayne?", your voice was very raspy.

He exhaled softly and turned around to face you. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot and he had deep eyebags under his eyes. A few parts of his body were covered in bandages and plasters. Zayne took a few shaky steps toward you, but then stopped dead in his tracks and cleared his throat.

"You-", his voice cracked and his lip trembled. He looked down to the ground and closed his eyes. Zayne clenched his jaw and exhaled deeply. He looked up again and his expression was emotionless.

"You are severely concussed and have suffered some fractures. Your remission will take a few months, but you will heal. The fight ended well. The wanderers were taken care of, and nobody else was hurt." Zayne explained monotonely, his gaze focused on your medical records.

"Alright", you responded raspily and you winced at the pain in your head.

"I've given you painkillers just before you woke up, they should kick in soon." He responded in the same soft and monotone tone and you sighed. "Zayne, are you okay?"

"Don't ever do that again."

You blinked up at him in confusion and he finally looked up from the records. Ice crystals formed around his neck and he stared intently at you. You're beginning to miss the time where he wouldn't look at you.

"What? You mean save you? Of course I would do it-"

"Baby, please." He begged. A few unintended sobs bubbled out of his chest and his shoulders shook as he continued to cry silently. He buried his face in his hands as his shoulders kept heaving.

You stared in shock. You've never seen him cry, especially this hard. Even when he was sad, he usually kept his icy facade up.

"If it ever comes down to it, please, please, just let me die. Don't ever make me live through that fear again. Please. I can't take it. When I had to remove all the debris from you, not knowing whether you're alive. No, just don't." Zayne replied, his voice was almost completely gone and the tears had dried on his face.

You slowly sat up and ignored the throb in your head. Zayne watched you and helped you up. You opened up your arms for him and Zayne immediately buried himself in your plush chest as your thick arms engulfed him. He cried silently into your chest and you ran your fingers through his dark hair.

"I'm sorry, shh. I'm really sorry."

• during remission: he'll of course be your doctor (let's not talk about the ethics of that) and take care of your healing process. He'll supervise your every move almost obsessively. Zayne will be extremely strict regarding the process and won't give into your cute little faces. Not this time. He'll wash and massage your pretty round body for you almost daily. Once you start feeling better, he'll punish you during sex. It'll be deep and intimate. You scared the absolute shit out of him and he needs you to never do that again.

Rafayel:

You laid on the ground with a deep burning sensation across your chest. What just happened? You were fighting with Rafayel and then..

The painful sensation in your chest doubled and you whimpered out in agony. Your head turned to the side and you saw Rafayel fighting with vehement vigor. His moves were aggresssive and powerful as ripped the wanderers apart. After he finished them off, he ran in your direction.

"No,no,no. No, youre okay. Fuck! You're okay.“ He pressed his hand against your ample torso and agony ripped through you. You screamed out in pain and immediately tried squirming away, but you were unable to do so. Tears ran down Rafayel's face, but he pressed down further and ignored your screams. He held his phone to his ear and called somebody for help, but you couldn't be bothered to listen further. You focused on Rafayel's hand, though; Rafayel's hand, which pressed down on your chest earlier was extremely bloody and you stared at it in shock.

Rafayel followed you gaze and shook his head. "You're totally fine. The paramedics are coming, okay? They'll be here soon. Just stay awake, stay awake for me. Cutie, please."

You nodded and widened your eyes. Rafayel nodded and pressed his lips to your forehead. "Perfect. Just like that. Just stay awake with me and then when the paramdedic come, we'll just go home. Fuck." His voice broke at the end and you nodded. You widened your eyes yet again and ignored the pain in your chest. "You shouldn't have done it. It would've just hit my side. I would've been fine." Rafayel gritted out.

"It’s my job as your Miss bodyguard, isn’t it?", you asked weakly. The pain in your chest was thankfully dissappearing, but so was your of the awareness of everything around you. Rafayel's eyes snapped to you and his jaw dropped. His face was pale as he stammered out. "No. No, I didn't want-".

Sirens blared in the background and Rafayel was ripped out of his thoughts and exhaled shakingly. "Thank God. We're okay, alright? Just hold on for a bit longer, we'll be okay soon. Please."

Your eyes started to close. "No! No, its okay! They're almost here. Please, stay awake." He cried out as you lost your consciousness.

You woke in the hospital room and saw Rafayel by your side. Around your chest were bandages. You winced out and Rafayel's eyes snapped to you. He smiled softly and stroked your cheek. "Hi, cutie. How are you doing? The doctor said it'll leave a nasty scar, but remission will be a breeze."

You smiled at him. "I'm okay, and you?"

Rafayel looked straight ahead for a few seconds before looking back at you with a weak smile. He held up a thumb and you chuckled drily. "If I knew I could get you to shut up, I would've ended up in the hospital sooner." Rafayel exhaled through his nose but remained quiet otherwise. His shoulders dropped and he looked down to the ground. He looked utterly defeated and you could not take it.

"Rafayel-", he interrupted you quietly.

"You're fired." Rafayel leaned over and set his chin down on the back of his hands.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but he stayed quiet throughout. You rubbed his back and he closed his eyes. "I didn't tell you to be my bodyguard, so that you could go ahead and sacrifice yourself for me. I hired you so that you would be around me, not so that you can die a morons death." He mumbled, his voice soft.

You wanted to reply sarcastically or say something that'll make him laugh, but you just couldn't.

"Rafayel, I'd do it aga-", Rafayel interrupted you while shaking his head. His face was adorned by a soft and genuine smile. "I know you would, but this will never happen again. I won't allow it. I won't even allow the opportunity to arise. Don't worry. I'll make sure it won't happen again."

• during remission, he'll slowly start behaving like his normal self again. He'll be fun and will make you laugh, but he was so very deeply affected by the situation. He'll be more aggressive towards potential threats and doesn't allow you to defend yourself. It'll take some time for him to let you do any dangerous activities (if ever), but you both slowly heal. He buys you beautiful flowy gowns and clothes that don't rub against your scar, and he will paint your new body in ever single position you could think of. He quite literally worships you; feeding you while you're propped somewhere comfortable, rubbing oil on your scar and other parts of your rounded body.

Sylus:

You woke up and saw Sylus‘ furious face above you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder felt like it was on fire. Sylus‘ clenched his jaw and yelled something to somebody on the other side of the room. You couldn’t hear it, though. You couldn’t hear anything due to the ringing in your ears. You remember what happened now. Sylus talked to some of his “business partners“ and they turned out to be rats. They pulled the gun on him faster than Sylus could pull out his own. He was caught off guard- once. He was careless one time. And you jumped in front of him when they pulled the trigger.

The metallic taste of blood hit you and you felt something pour out of your mouth. You looked up at Sylus in confusion, his chest heaved quickly and he furrowed his eyebrows. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly agape. He looked.. scared. Sylus has never looked scared before.

You lost consciousness and woke up in Sylus‘ room. You were bandaged properly and wore clean oversized clothes. You had an IV- injection and looked around the room.

Sylus sat on his black couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He quietly drank it and looked out of his window. You smiled fondly and called out his name, your voice husky.

His head turned to yours and he smiled softly. It didn’t reach his eyes. He stood up and slowly walked over to you. His evol slowly engulfed you. It felt firm on your un-injured parts and gentle on your chest and shoulder area. He looked down on you with an unreadable expression.

“What happened?“, you asked him and tried to wiggle your feet. Everything seemed normal.

Sylus hummed softly, his husky voice low. “You took a bullet for me and I killed the attackers. I was careless. That won‘t happen again. A doctor patched you up and that’s it.“

You raised an eyebrow at his abrasive tone and he raised an eyebrow at you. His face was expressionless and he leaned down to your ear. He kissed the shell of your ear and gripped your cheeks between his large hands. His grip was firm and he gently turned your face towards him.

“Don’t ever play the hero again. Recklessness is stupid. And you’re not stupid. You’re clever. Don’t do it again- I‘m serious. Not for anyone else, and especially not for somebody like me.“

“Sylus, I love you. You would do the same for me and-“

“Yes. Yes I would, in fact. So let me repeat this again.“ Sylus leaned back toward your ear and whispered in it. “If you do that again, I’ll kill a person. Your noble sacrifice will have been for nothing. And if you happen to die during one of your heroic missions, you can’t even begin to imagine the damage I would do to the world. And you can trust me on that.“

You gulped and looked at him. Your heart raced and the monitor beeped. Sylus immediately relaxed his face and sighed. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed your temple. His lips stayed there for a long time and you blinked up at him.

He stroked your cheek and kissed you softly.

“Asshole“, you mumbled and Sylus chuckled against your cheek. The vibrations made you smile and Sylus put his hand on your plush stomach.

“You really, really scared me.“ Sylus mumbled softly.

“Sorry“, you replied and Sylus helped you sit up.

• during remission: Sylus will service you in any way he can. He‘ll cook for you, bathe you. He’ll buy you any instrument that you may need for physical therapy and will do all of your exercises with you. Will not get upset at all if you snap at him when you’re in pain. He‘ll massage your scars and will offer sexual remedies. Though, he will never be this careless again. The memories of you laying in your own pool of blood will haunt him til he dies.

Caleb:

You were pretty confused. Yesterday, you and Caleb fought side by side against criminals. They were vicious and dangerous, but Caleb and you were managing well. Well, until you jumped in front of Caleb and got flung against the wall in his stead. Your back took the brunt of it and you were out like a light immediately. When you woke up yesterday evening, they told you that the damage was minor. Your back was extremely badly bruised, but it could’ve turned out so much worse, so you were very happy. The reason why you were confused was why Caleb wouldn’t show up. It was after- visiting hours yesterday after your surgery, so that wasn’t all to surprising, but he didn’t visit you today either.

You were being released today and walked out of the hospital. You sighed and saw a a tall man in a familiar uniform waiting in front of the hospital. Caleb stood in front of you in his colonel uniform. His face was emotionless and he looked at you from the top of your head to your shoes.

“Caleb, Hi.“ You greeted in confusion.

“Are you okay?“, he asked monotonely and you raised your eyebrows and nodded. He sniffed and nodded. Caleb bent down and took your bag and started walking.

“Okay..“, you replied in confusion and trailed after him.

You reached the car and he put the seatbelt on you and drove the two of you home. He still hadn’t said anything and stared at the road. When the two of you reached his house, he helped you up the stairs. His hand wrapped firmly around your wrist and he slowly led you over to the bed.

“Okay, do you wanna tell me what’s going on with you or should we just pretend that everything is normal?“

You sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Caleb stood in front of you and clenched his jaw. He looked down at the ground with tight fists and his lips wobbled. Your eyes softened and Caleb fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face and he pressed his face into the plush of your thighs. He sobbed his heart out as his shoulders shook. You gently stroked over his scalp and let him cry.

“Don‘t you ever fucking do that again. It doesn’t matter if it happens to me, but it can’t happen to you- it just can’t. Fuck. There’s no me without you. Just kill me if you had to choose between the two of cause I’d follow you anyways. Please just don’t-“, you interrupted his rambling and cupped his cheeks. He cried and leaned into your touch like a puppy and you stroked away the tears under his eyes.

“I‘m okay, it’s just a bruise. A big one, but just a bruise nonetheless.

Caleb sniffed and wiped his tears. He looked up at you and took of your shirt. Caleb slowly rose and walked over to face your back. He let out a scoff and you looked at him. His eyes were laser focused on your injury and he didn’t say anything for a few minutes until he pulled out his phone. He took a picture of your back and then gently nudged you until you laid on your stomach.

“I have something to do, but I’ll be back right after. Do you need food? Painkillers? Do you need to pee?“, he asked and you sighed.

“You‘re leaving again? You already weren’t there yesterday.“ The words tumbled out before you could stop them and his breath hitched.

“The only reason why I wasn’t there is because of the same reason now. I swear to you on everything that I’ll be back after this. I’m so sorry that you were alone today.“

You nodded in agreement and he leaned over and tenderly kissed the rolls of your back. “Get some sleep. I’ll take care of the rest when I get back.“

Caleb reached his work building and walked quickly through his office and saw the criminals from yesterday. They got away after he heard the crack of your body against the wall. Caleb shook himself out of that nightmarish scenario and looked at the beaten and bloody criminals in front of him. It took the entire day, but he finally found them. Their lair wasn’t as well hidden as they’d hoped. He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled out his phone. He opened up the gallery to reveal the picture he took of your injury and he showed it to them.

“Remember that? Cause I do.“

Caleb stared at the picture until he memorised every single detail of it and and put it back in his pocket.

“I remember every single thing about it.“ Caleb tilted his head to the side and used his evol to apply pressure on their backs. The criminals started screaming and Caleb smiled. He needed to hurry up, you already felt neglected by him.

When Caleb made his way home after he finished up his business, he found you in the same position he had left you in. Your injury was still exposed and he stared at it. This was his fault. His shame and his burden to bare.

“Caleb?“

“Yes, pipsqueak?“

“I think I was wrong. I do need your help to pee.“

He chuckled softly and helped you sit up. He gently grabbed your hands and led you to the bathroom.

-during remission: pretty much nothing changes. He‘ll still do most of the chores around the house (because he wants to do them) and will feed you, cook for you, bathe you, and do the laundry. He‘ll never tell you about what he did to those men and you never ask him. Some nights the memories of your bruised body keep him awake, though. On these nights he‘ll want to bury himself in your ample chest and never leave.

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luffysbestie101 · 7 days ago

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luffysbestie101 · 8 days ago

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Balsam

Summary: Your cramps are killing you, surely someone in your party can provide you with some balsam to relief your pain? Luckily for you, Halsin knows several ways to make you feel better.

Halsin x reader, period sex, mostly cramps not a lot of blood, reader is horny for all party members (not projecting at all), soft dom Halsin (I think), Hair-Pulling, YOU have a full bush congrats, Penis in Vagina, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, lil bit of praise kink.

First time writing for Halsin, I hope I did him some justice. Very, very self-indulgent fic about being horny on your period. No beta.

2,8K wordcount

Ao3

@roguishcat @ignistigator (let me know if you want to be on/off my taglist)

A dull ache throbs through your lower abdomen, each wave stronger than the one before. You lay tightly curled up on your bedroll, hoping that the position would alleviate the pain somewhat, but to no avail. Gods, you'd prefer the sharp sting of a goblin's scimitar to this. This pain is sickening, starting underneath your navel and radiating out to the rest of your core, exhausting your body and mind, and returning every fucking month.

You bury your face into your pillow and groan pathetically. More balsam would probably dull the pain, so you blindly grasp at the pouch that you keep next to the bed. Fumbling with the stubborn strings, you bite your lip to stop from screaming in frustration. Despicable fucking piece of shit pouch.

You rip the pouch open and growl.

Empty.

Tears start to burn behind your eyes. You should just accept that the coming days are going to suck. Pain, mood swings, brain fog, poor sleep, the works.

You summon the will to sit up slowly and manage to stand up without cursing. Deep breaths, no murder, no crying. One of your companions probably has some of the herbs you need. Despite the throbbing ache, you drag yourself out of your tent and into the clearing.

Gale is preparing potion ingredients as a cauldron bubbled excitedly above the fire. He strips the black oleander of its leaves and drops them into a bowl to extract their essence. Your gaze lingers on his nimble fingers, how they move with precision, how he rolls the yellow creeper petals between his index and his thumb to bruise them slightly before dropping them into the cauldron.

You can't help but picture those clever hands sliding across your chest and treating your nipples with the same precise attention.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. Throughout all the misery, you are still horny. The humanoid body is truly impressive.

Right, you can focus and talk to your companions without any inappropriate thoughts about them, no matter how desperately you want to be bent over a desk and fucked until you forget your name.

You ask around if anyone has any spare pain-killing herbs lying around, and you do so without thinking about getting choked by a mage hand, or being tied up and spanked by a bossy Githyanki. And you certainly look into Shadowheart's eyes and not at her cleavage when you talk to her. It would be terribly scandalous to imagine getting spit-roasted roughly by Wyll and Astarion, or sitting on Karlach’s face until you see stars.

“Soldier?”

“Hmm? Sorry I was uhh… distracted.” You pray that Karlach doesn't notice your blatant staring at her biceps

“So I've noticed.” She flexes her muscles with a cheeky wink. “I was saying that Halsin might be able to take care of you.”

Halsin taking care of you, thrusting his cock into you as you dig your nails into his back and scream his name.

“With the balsam, I mean. He was gathering herbs earlier.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, mommy K- mama. I said mama.” Your cheeks burn bright red and you turn away before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Shaking your head in a failed attempt to get your shit together, you walk to Halsin's tent at the very edge of camp. Ever since you left the Shadow-Cursed lands, he likes to pitch up his tent further away from the campfire to get a better view of the stars. You might have appreciated his choice of scenery, if the cramp that jolted through you didn't almost bring you to your knees.

Halsin's tent is simple, just enough to provide some privacy and some protection from the elements. Promising bunches of dried herbs hang around the space. The tall elf himself is whittling a small piece of wood, his ears twitch slightly at your arrival, yet his eyes remain focused on his work for a couple more seconds before he addresses you.

“Oak father preserve you.” A soft smile spreads across his face, an excitable warmth spreads through you in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You cut right to the chase, no point in embarrassing yourself in front of Halsin as well. “Do you have some balsam to spare?”

His warm smile fades into a look of concern as he stands up and holds your chin with the knuckle of his index and his thumb. “What is the matter, are you in need of healing?” Halsin's brow furrows in concentration as he examines your features for any signs of injury, twisting your head slightly as he does so.

Your heart skips a beat at his proximity, towering over you. “I assure you there's no need to worry, the leaves of balsam help with the pain of my monthly cycle.”

The lack of life threatening injury relaxes him significantly. “Ah, I see, menstruation can be painful indeed. I believe that I have gathered some herbs that might help, please sit.” He gestures to his bedroll, lined with fluffy furs, and you sit down obediently.

“Actually, I meant my lycanthropy, no big deal.” You joke, earning a hearty chuckle from Halsin.

“Perhaps we should unleash our beast together sometime.” Several candles illuminate the space with a soft orange glow, and the dancing flames highlight the muscles of Halsin's back as he works on his concoction.

“Perhaps we should.” The sudden need to be close to him makes you ache.

You stare at him shamelessly in an attempt to distract yourself from the twisting tension in your abdomen, unsure if it’s your uterus or your desire making you queasy. Either way, the unease is now also accompanied by a crushing ache in your back. You pick at the edges of your nails and try to stop the impatient shaking of your leg, desperate for any kind of relief.

“The mixture needs some time to develop, however, I can still help you while we wait.” He gestures to his pillow, nonverbally instructing you to lie down.

“Whatever you prescribe, oh wise healer.” You manage to tease throughout the discomfort.

Halsin shakes his head and kneels beside you. “Pain can cause tension in the body, which may worsen the pain in turn. I shall try to help release some of the tension, if you'll allow me?”

You nod. It's all you can manage while he's this close, his knees brushing against your side. Close enough to touch if you had the courage to do so.

Halsin traces a simple sigil in the air and his hands start to glow with a faint yellow light, a spell you have seen him use before to light a campfire, now used to warm up his hands to a comfortable temperature. He hovers over your lower stomach, and the heat that radiates off of him tenderly reaches out to your goosebumped skin. A gasp escapes you when Halsin slides his hand onto your bare stomach. The gentle warmth melts away the sharp pain, making you shudder.

“Now take a deep breath for me.”

The breath you take is as shaky on the way in as it is on the way out.

“Very good.” His voice is low, barely above a rumble.

The paise awakens a different kind of heat inside, blazing though your core. You squeeze your thighs together, and if Halsin notices, he chooses not to react.

The druid rubs slow circles on your lower stomach, applying enough pressure to release some of the soreness without causing more pain. With every round, his pinky catches the waistband of your trousers, achingly close to where you want him to be.

Halsin clears his throat and looks at you. “Good? Or do you need me to move around?”

“Lower, please.”

His hand instantly slides halfway down the front of your pants, his pinky brushing through your thick pubic hair. You subconsciously lift your hips, pushing Halsin's hand even deeper down your wet underwear and making him mumble a short prayer.

Briefly possessed by arousal induced boldness, you ask him: “Do you want me to remove some layers?” You clear your throat hoping to sound just a little less eager. “I think it would allow you to, ehm, move around more freely.” No other reason at all.

“Please, do whatever makes you comfortable.”

The absence of him leaves you cold and the stabbing pain returns faster than you would have liked. You distract yourself by putting on a little show for your handsome healer.

You sit up and slowly undo the knot to loosen the lacing on your shirt, exposing more supple skin with every pull. Halsin follows your movements intently, and you notice how hard he grips his thigh when you gather the hem of your tunic and pull it over your head, exposing your hardened nipples to his gaze. He swallows.

You kick off your pants before flipping to your stomach. Placing your face on your hands and moving around to get comfortable in Halsin's nest of furs, wiggling your ass much more than strictly necessary. Once settled, you look over your shoulder.

“Will you do my back too?”

A glimmer of gold flashes across Halsin's eyes.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Halsin settles back at your side. His magically warmed hands find the small of your back and diligently start to massage. His fingers glide over the tense muscles of your lower back, and you can't help but moan softly at his expert touch. This encourages him to straddle your hips to allow him to drag his thumbs along your spine and up your neck. The throbbing headache you've had fades away slowly and your body feels comfortably heavy as it sinks deeper into the fur.

You could have fallen asleep if it weren't for the burning arousal pooling between your legs. Wetter with every touch, with every time Halsin's groin rubbed against you.

You push your ass up against him, eliciting a low groan from him as you grind against his now hardening cock. You grin into your hands, delighted by his desire for you, and roll against him again. His weight shifts and he places his hands next to your head, you feel his breath on your neck and his cock twitch against your back.

Halsin gathers your hair into his fist and uses it to pull your head to the side. Heavy, hot, and now incredibly hard. You are pinned down, caged between his arms and probably dripping though your undergarments. His lips lightly graze the shell of your ear.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is deeper than usual, close to a growl.

You whine and rub against his erection repeatedly until the grip on your hair tightens.

“Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He groans and mutters a prayer you don't quite recognize. You recognize the sound of ripping fabric as he hooks his fingers along your underwear and tears them off of you swiftly. The sound of Halsin removing his clothes piques your curiosity and you try to turn around, but a large hand pushes down between your shoulder blades and you are forced to keep your face buried in Halsin's pillow. The push is followed by the instruction to lift your hips, and you prop your already wobbly knees underneath yourself.

Face down, ass up, and dripping with arousal. Halsin squeezes your ass before spreading your knees and positioning himself between them. His warm hands caress your back, up your neck and into your hair again. You twist your head to look at him, and he plants his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss while his impressive length rubs against your ass.

The slow grinding of his hips drives you crazy, you writhe against him and moan into his mouth. Halsin breaks the kiss and takes a moment to appreciate your beauty before tracing your bottom lip with his index. Your tongue darts out to lick him and the medicinal taste of balsam lingers on his fingers. The quick lick soon turns into swirling around his finger before taking him deeper into your mouth.

“Hmmm. So very good for me.” He whispers as he pushes another finger into your mouth.

Your eyes roll back and you moan around his fingers. Fuck, you need more.

A string of saliva dangles between your lips and Halsin's fingers when he pulls them out of your eager mouth.

He licks your exposed neck, stopping to suck behind your ear, earning him more desperate moans.

“Halsin.”

He slides his wet fingers through your drenched folds and you push back against them in desperate search for more pressure but he takes his time to explore you thoroughly. Finally, you feel him gently breach your entrance, and you impatiently push your hips backwards, pushing his finger deep inside you with ease, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

You move, letting him slide out of you almost entirely before pushing back again, fucking yourself on his finger. The moans you let out are muted by your hands and the pillow that your face is buried in. Halsin pushes a second finger inside of you and you clench around him. A free finger rubs circles around your clit.

“Yes, keep going.” You whine.

He keeps a steady pace along with your backward thrusts, angled to perfectly hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you feel a blissful warmth start to spread through your body. Your legs tremble and stutter more and more with each thrust until the building tension finds its peak and you find your release.

Halsin keeps fingering you through your orgasm until you are a twitching mess, breathing heavily into his pillow, digging your nails into the fabric underneath you.

His gentle kisses feel like lightning against the sensitive skin of your back, and you sigh contentedly.

“Good?” Halsin mumbles against your ear.

You turn to find his lips and kiss him lazily. “Very.” The kiss evolves into a more desperate one, re-igniting your throbbing arousal. You take his lower lip between your teeth and say: “I want your cock inside me.”

He groans and kisses you deeply, breaking the kiss to move behind you and align the head of his weeping cock against your entrance. His large hands firmly grip your hips as he pushes into you agonizingly slowly. You grasp at the fur covered bedroll, the stretch of his impressive length stretching you deliciously, and tilt your hips to urge him to go deeper, ignoring the slight resistance of your body.

Halsin's hand slides across your spine, closely followed by his lips.

“Relax, my heart.” He whispers.

You focus on his weight on top of you, one hand on your hip, the other now in your hair. His lips against your neck, mumbling sweet nothings, praising how well you take him. You take a deep breath, and he bottoms out with a moan. He keeps still for a while, buried deep inside you, taking his time to enjoy the moment.

You squeeze your walls around him impatiently. Thankfully, Halsin gets the hint and starts moving into you with slow, deep thrusts. Your rolling hips urge him to pick up the pace, and soon the sound of his sweaty hips slapping against your ass fills the tent, joined by a symphony of moans and grunts.

His hand abandons your hair to reach around you, finding your clit again with ease. A tingling warmth quickly spreads through your body, amplified by every thrust of Halsin's twitching cock.

“F-fuck, don't stop.” You moan almost incomprehensibly.

The response you get is just as incoherent, though you think you hear him growl your name as he drops his forehead on your shoulder, never interrupting his steady pace.

Tension builds in your lower stomach, your legs twitch, hands grasp, and your pussy tightens around Halsin, until, with a final stuttering thrust, he sends you over the edge.

You are shaking with pleasure as Halsin roughly fucks you through your orgasm, and you feel his hot release inside you not long after, holding onto you tightly.

Both breathing heavily, Halsin pulls out while kissing your sweaty neck. He stands up and you roll to your back to see him gather your balsam and a wet cloth to clean the mixture of blood and semen between your thighs.

“How is your pain now?” Back to his healer voice, soothing and soft, instead of the raspy, low tremor that had sent tingles down your spine.

“Much better now, thank you.” You smile, feeling the most relaxed since, well, maybe ever. “You really are an exceptional healer.”

Halsin sits down next to you with a warm smile, planting a kiss on your shoulder, then your lips.

“Please feel free to call upon my services any time.”

#i need him

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luffysbestie101 · 10 days ago

Text

How they flirt with you {BG3 Male Companions}

Trying my hand at writing down my headcanons for the companions starting with the males! Next batch will focus on the females.

Astarion

Flirting is second nature to Astarion, but it's also a tool sharpened by centuries of necessity. Whether he's luring prey or disarming suspicion, his every word and gesture is curated for effect.

He doesn't ask if you're interested, he assumes you are.

His confidence is intoxicating, deliberate, overwhelming. He doesn't give you space to not want him.

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? Don’t bother denying it — I’d recognize that kind of hunger anywhere.”

But behind that ease is calculation. Every flirtatious word is a chess move. He wants to know what makes you squirm, fluster, melt. You are both a puzzle and plaything.

He rarely flirts directly. Instead, he laces his every comment with insinuation, elegance, and a touch of threat just enough to leave you off balance.

Elegant insults wrapped in compliments:

“You’re clever. Not clever enough to hide your tells, but clever. It’s adorable, really.”

Carnal metaphors twisted with menace:

“There’s something exquisite about restraint, isn’t there? The way anticipation lingers on the tongue. Almost… painful. But then — release is so much sweeter.”

Astarion touches to control the room. To control you. He’ll invade your personal space like a whisper at the nape of your neck — there, then gone, leaving heat and confusion behind.

He doesn’t hold hands. He trails fingers across knuckles.

He doesn’t kiss, he hovers close, lets you ache for it, and then smirks when you do.

“Careful. Lean in any closer, and I’ll have to assume you’re offering something.”

Flirting is his mask. He uses it to avoid intimacy, even while pretending to offer it.

When he flirts with strangers, it's a dance of masks. He’s dazzling, merciless, intoxicating.

When he flirts with someone he actually likes, it becomes more dangerous for him. The flirtation falters, just slightly — too honest, too slow to deflect.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not… I’m not some tragic thing you can fix. I’m far more interesting than that.”

And yet, the plea hides beneath the jest.

If someone earns his trust (which is rare), his flirtation starts to change. It's less about dominance and more about connection but he’ll never admit it outright.

He might say:

“I suppose I’ve grown used to your company. Annoyingly so. There, are you happy? That’s practically a declaration of love from me.”

But he’ll mean:

Don’t leave.

Gale

Gale doesn’t flirt so much as he courts – with words. Lots of them. He offers compliments as if he’s reciting from a sonnet he wrote in your honor, then revises it mid-sentence because technically, there’s a better metaphor.

He’s the kind to start a sentence with "Forgive the boldness, but…" and then say something bold anyway.

“Forgive the boldness, but when you smile like that, it puts the sunrise to shame. Not in hue, mind you, but in how it warms the world around it.”

He’s not afraid of sincerity. In fact, it’s his default setting.

He gives affection like he's offering a gift – open-palmed, hopeful, slightly nervous.

Gale’s compliments are poetic, precise, and occasionally too much. He speaks like he’s writing you into an epic poem, and sometimes he’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds but he leans into it anyway.

You’re not just beautiful – you’re “resplendent,” “arresting,” “a living stanza.”

“There’s a rhythm to you, you know. A cadence I can’t quite match, but I find myself wanting to try.”

He loves analogies. Everything is a metaphor. You’re the flame to his magic, the gravity to his orbit, the comma in his sentence.

Unlike Astarion, who touches to test, Gale touches to reassure. His hand lingers a second longer than necessary, as if memorizing the moment.

He brushes hair from your face not to seduce but because it’s in the way, and you deserve to be seen clearly.

“There. Much better. Your face deserves an unobstructed view of the stars.”

His gestures are protective without being possessive – hovering, not holding, unless you lean in first.

To Gale, being understood is the deepest intimacy. He flirts through discussion, especially if you match his curiosity.

He’s most drawn to someone who can challenge him, surprise him.

A battle of wits? That’s foreplay.

“I had a theory about you, but every time I think I’ve unraveled the mystery, you delight in proving me wrong. Please — don’t stop.”

Magic is seduction. If you show interest in the arcane, you’ve already claimed part of his heart.

What makes Gale’s flirtation touching is how often it trips over genuine feeling. The deeper he falls, the less polished it becomes.

He second-guesses, hesitates, smiles softly in the middle of his own sentence.

“I’ve lived through the ecstasy of magic and the terror of loss… and yet, you – you – somehow feel more dangerous than either.”

And when he truly lets go:

“It’s foolish, perhaps, how much I wish to be someone worthy of the way you look at me.”

Halsin

Halsin doesn’t flirt to impress or manipulate – he flirts because he means it. Everything he says comes from a place of deep sincerity, laced with the calm assurance of someone who knows exactly who he is.

His gaze holds yours like a quiet forest – no pressure, just presence.

“You move through the world with such purpose. It’s… beautiful to witness.”

He speaks plainly, but with a natural poetry – his words aren’t practiced, they’re felt.

“When I look at you, I see strength. But it’s your kindness that draws me in.”

Halsin doesn’t pile on flattery – he notices things. Deep, subtle things. And when he speaks of them, it feels like sunlight warming you from within.

He’s observant, not performative. You might not even realize he’s flirting at first – it just sounds like honest admiration.

“You speak gently, even when the world demands fury. That’s a rare kind of courage.”

He isn’t embarrassed by affection. He says what he feels, and he doesn’t play coy.

“You make the world feel less heavy. I hope I do the same for you.”

Halsin’s touch is deliberate, comforting, and patient. He touches with permission, not presumption. But when he does touch — it’s undeniably intimate, as if saying, I’m here. I will not break you.

He places a hand over yours when you're tense. Holds your gaze, anchoring you.

“Breathe. You don’t need to carry this alone.”

And when desire simmers beneath the surface, it’s elemental – not rushed, not performative, but felt in his closeness, his stillness.

“If I touch you, it will be with all that I am. Say the word.”

Halsin doesn’t need grand declarations. He flirts by showing up – carrying your burdens, tending your wounds, sharing the quiet.

He listens with his whole self. Even your silences are welcome with him.

“You don’t need to fill the space with words. I’m content just being near you.”

He’s drawn to strength, but moved by vulnerability.

And if you let him in, he will never belittle it.

“You let me see you. That is no small gift. And I cherish it.”

Though gentle, Halsin is not shy about attraction. When he wants you, it is unmistakable and entirely honoring.

He’s open about it, but never pushy.

“You stir something in me I haven’t felt in years. Not just desire but hope.”

And if you respond to his touch or words, he’ll smile – slow, unguarded.

“Then let me show you what it means to be cherished.”

Wyll

Wyll leads with charm but it’s never hollow. He knows how to wink and tip his head just right, but every line carries an undercurrent of sincerity.

He wants to make you smile. That’s the whole goal of his flirting: to brighten, to uplift, to show you you’re worth every stolen glance.

“If I had a coin for every time you crossed my thoughts today, I’d have enough to buy you something nice. Though… I’d much rather earn your smile than your silence.”

There’s always a touch of theatricality. He is the Blade of Frontiers, after all. But he never uses the title to elevate himself above you—only to make you laugh.

“Would you believe the famed Blade of Frontiers was brought to his knees by a glance? Because I’m about ready to kneel.”

Unlike Astarion’s razor-sharp innuendo or Gale’s encyclopedic poetry, Wyll gives tender compliments. And if you compliment him back? He flusters, adorably so.

He notices the little things, and they move him.

“You tend to others before yourself. That’s not something I see often and it humbles me.”

If you flirt back, he might laugh – low and genuine – but you’ll catch the faintest blush.

“Careful now… keep that up and I might forget I’m supposed to be the charming one.”

Wyll touches sparingly but when he does, it’s full of reverence. A hand to steady you, fingers brushing yours when passing something, a palm pressed over your heart after battle.

He’ll ask before crossing a boundary.

“May I?” (Offered hand. An honest question.) “Only if you’d like me to stay close.”

Even his teasing has warmth:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking I’m special.”

Wyll doesn’t just flirt with words – he flirts through action. Standing by your side. Letting you see the cracks in the armor.

He wants to be someone you trust. And that starts by offering you his truth.

“I made mistakes. I carry them with me but I’d carry yours too, if you let me.”

He brings you into his world, slowly and willingly. If he tells you a story from his past, it means he sees you as part of his future.

When Wyll desires you, it burns low and steady – never rushed, never careless. It’s controlled, because he wants to earn the right to want you.

He doesn’t take. He offers.

“I won’t ask for anything you’re not ready to give. But know this – if you choose me, I will never leave your side.”

And if you do choose him?

That smile – the real one, soft and reverent – comes to life.

“Then let me be the man who proves you were right to.”

Rolan

Rolan is not here to charm you. In fact, he would very much like to be left alone, thank you. But there’s a twitch in his mouth when you say something clever, a pause before he looks away. He’s fighting it and that’s exactly how you know it’s real.

Flirting often sounds like irritation at first. He’s too observant. Too annoyed. He notices you far more than he admits.

“You're always putting yourself in danger. Someone’s going to have to clean up your mess. …Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say it’d be me.”

He flirts like a man sharpening a blade – precise, deflective, and with his guard raised.

“You keep looking at me like I’ve said something sweet. I assure you – I haven’t.”

(He has.)

Rolan doesn’t give you praise straight. He’ll call you reckless when he means brave. Annoying when he means magnetic. And when you catch on? He’s flustered – genuinely.

He’s the king of “I didn’t mean it like that” after saying something surprisingly intimate.

“You’re… capable. For someone with such an irritating tendency to leap before they look.”

If you catch him staring, he’ll roll his eyes. But he won’t deny it.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t… I wasn’t admiring. I was assessing.”

(He was admiring.)

Rolan is awkward about physical affection unless it’s practical. Helping you up, catching your arm in battle, brushing past you on purpose. When he does reach out first, it’s a big deal even if he pretends it isn’t.

Touches are brief, careful, and loaded with tension.

“Hold still. You’ve got something on your – here. There. It’s gone.”

He touches like he's expecting to be rejected. When you don’t pull away, it floors him.

“...Huh. You didn’t flinch. That’s new.”

Rolan connects through arguments, side glances, shared snark. He bonds with people who can keep up, challenge him, call him out and not back down.

He flirts through tension. You’ll know you’ve gotten close when he actually stops snapping at you.

“You’re not as infuriating as usual today. …Don’t let it go to your head.”

And if you tease him back? His ears go pink. Every time.

The rare moments when Rolan lets down his guard are intensely vulnerable. He won’t wax poetic but when he says something kind, it matters. He won’t say it unless it’s true.

It slips out before he can stop it:

“You make things… bearable. More than bearable, actually.”

And when he finally stops fighting it:

“I’ve spent so long pushing people away, I forgot what it feels like to want someone to stay. …I want you to stay.”

Though my next batch will focus on the females, I’m open to any scenarios you will like me to explore, so feel free to drop in a request!

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luffysbestie101 · 10 days ago

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How they flirt with you {BG3 Female Companions}

Took me longer than it should but here it is! Here’s my last post featuring the male companions.

Lae'zel

Lae’zel doesn’t drop hints or play games. If she wants you, she’ll make it known but only if she deems you worthy. Flirting, to her, is a display of strength — hers and yours.

She’ll comment on your fighting prowess long before your beauty. That’s how you win her interest.

“You fight with purpose. Precision. I did not expect such competence from someone so soft-spoken.”

Her compliments sound like challenges

“You held your ground. Most would have fled. I approve.”

(Yes, that's flirting.)

When Lae’zel desires someone, it is clear. But it comes with the expectation that you’ll meet her there — physically, mentally, spiritually. She is not shy, but she is proud.

She doesn’t ask. She asserts.

“You’ve caught my attention. Prove that you deserve it.”

There’s no pretense. If you interest her, she’ll say so. But if you hesitate? She will walk.

“If you cannot meet my hunger with your own, then we have nothing to discuss.”

Physicality is Lae’zel’s language. She doesn’t ease into touch — she seizes it. A hand on your shoulder to make a point. A tug of your arm in battle. If she’s gentle, that’s when you should be concerned.

She tests limits physically, always watching how you react.

“You flinched. Do better.”

When she touches you with intent, it’s possessive and absolute.

“You are mine. Or do you mean to challenge me for your freedom?”

Lae’zel bonds through battle. She respects those who hold their own, who push back, who dare to disagree.

Her flirting is sparring with words or swords.

“You speak like a warrior. But can you strike like one?”

If you challenge her, and survive, she sees you. Really sees you.

“You defy me. That should anger me… and yet, I find it arousing.”

On rare occasions, when trust is solid and the walls are down (if only slightly), Lae’zel reveals her desire for connection. Not through sentiment, but through loyalty.

She won’t say “I care.” She’ll say:

“I would fight beside you until the end. That is not something I offer lightly.”

And when she lets herself be vulnerable (in her own way):

“There is strength in you… and I am drawn to it. Not because you are weak, but because you make me feel… anchored. I do not understand it. But I will not deny it.”

Minthara

Minthara doesn’t flirt for fun. She doesn’t waste words or trifle with trivial attraction. If she flirts with you, it’s because she sees potential either as a lover, an ally, or something in between.

Her eyes don’t just linger — they devour. She watches like a predator sizing up prey, but with a glint of approval.

“You walk into chaos like it belongs to you. I find that… compelling.”

She uses words like blades – meant to wound or awaken. Sometimes both.

“Be careful with how you look at me. I may take it as an invitation.”

Minthara doesn’t compliment in the traditional sense. Her praise is cloaked in dominance, devotion, or the promise of destruction.

She doesn’t say you’re beautiful/handsome - she says you’re dangerous, worthy, unforgettable.

“There is something feral in you. I see it behind your calm facade. Don’t bother hiding it — I prefer the rawness.”

And when she’s soft (rarely), it’s with eerie calm:

“You unsettle me. That should concern me… yet I crave it.”

When Minthara touches you, it is not a question – it is a claim. She’ll brush a thumb against your jaw, rest her hand over your heart, press her body close in battle, not for affection, but possession.

Her physical flirtation is magnetic, full of tension and power.

“If I touch you, it will not be gentle. But it will be unforgettable.”

She touches like she owns the moment and she watches if you flinch or lean in.

“Ah… brave. Or foolish. I haven’t decided yet.”

Minthara is drawn to strength, but what fascinates her is control. The person who stands their ground, who won’t yield easily — that’s who she finds most intoxicating.

She flirts through calculated tension. Hovering at the edge of danger and desire.

“You defy me so easily. I should punish you… but I’d rather find out how long you’ll last under me.”

She challenges without raising her voice. Her stillness is a dare.

“Do not mistake my silence for disinterest. I am studying you. Every breath, every glance.”

When Minthara lets her guard down (and she will, if she chooses you), it’s not with softness but with devotion. She doesn’t fall in love – she offers allegiance. She doesn’t beg. She binds.

Her version of affection is loyalty you can feel in your bones.

“You are the one I would bleed for. That is not something I say lightly.”

And when she does let something slip — real, vulnerable — it’s like watching dusk break open.

“You make me feel… tethered. Not weak. But real. And that is far more dangerous.”

Karlach

Karlach doesn’t tiptoe around her feelings. When she’s into someone, she dives in headfirst, grinning the whole way. Her flirting is loud, honest, and ridiculously endearing.

She says exactly what she thinks — no filter, no hesitation.

“Damn, look at you! You kick ass and you look hot doing it. How is that even fair?!”

She fangirls over you like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen and she means it.

“You’re amazing. Like, hero-in-a-saga level amazing. Just so we’re clear.”

Karlach compliments like she’s been waiting to tell you all the cool stuff she’s noticed. It’s not just how you fight. It’s the way you laugh, how your hair catches the sun, or how your eyes crinkle when you smile.

She gets flustered mid-compliment but keeps going anyway.

“I mean — you’ve got this whole thing going on, y’know? Brave, badass, and — gods, I’m rambling. Sorry. You’re just… wow.”

Her admiration is sincere, not strategic. It’s part awe, part crush, part pure joy.

“If I wasn’t already burning up inside, I’d say you’re making me sweat.”

Karlach is very physical. If she likes you, she’ll punch your arm affectionately, tackle-hug you after a fight, ruffle your hair. But it’s never invasive — her touch says you’re safe, you’re wanted, you’re seen.

She’ll wrap you in the kind of hug that lifts you off the ground and laughs the whole time.

“C’mere, gorgeous! You survived another fight — now you get the patented Karlach Squeeze™!”

She’s the kind to initiate hand-holding casually and then absolutely beam about it.

“This okay? Great. 'Cause I’m not letting go.”

For Karlach, connection is felt. She bonds through shared battle, raucous celebration, and quiet support. Her flirting isn’t always sexual — it’s about joy. About choosing someone and showing up for them, loudly.

She wants to build something with you, even if she’s scared she can’t.

“I know I’m a bit of a walking furnace, but damn if you don’t make me want to try. You make me feel like I could actually have… more.”

She flirts through hype, praise, and lifting you up. Literally, sometimes.

“You did amazing back there! Like, chills! If I had a tail, it’d be wagging right now.”

Beneath her fire is a fragile hope — a yearning for love, safety, home. And if she really falls for you? The flirting becomes something softer, deeper. Still bold, but now threaded with something that looks a lot like longing.

She stumbles, gets quiet for a beat, then blurts it out anyway.

“I think I’m falling for you. Like… stupid hard. And it’s terrifying, but also kinda awesome?”

And when she finally lets go of the fear:

“I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, but if I could spend it with anyone… it’d be you. Every damn second.”

Shadowheart

Shadowheart doesn’t flirt openly — she flirts defensively. If she teases you, it’s to hide how much she’s watching. If she mocks you, it’s to keep you from looking too closely. Her flirtation is the slow erosion of walls, not the throwing open of doors.

Her sarcasm is a test. If you pass, she starts to soften.

“You’re awfully eager, aren’t you? That’s either endearing or foolish. I haven’t decided which.”

She doesn’t gush. She remarks. Coolly. Casually.

“You did well back there. Surprising. In a good way… I suppose.”

(She’s deeply impressed.)

Shadowheart rarely compliments directly. Instead, she offers observations — noticing things others miss, then pretending she didn’t mean anything by it.

Her praise sounds like critique but her eyes say otherwise.

“You never stop, do you? Always charging ahead. It’s reckless… but oddly admirable.”

If you compliment her first, she brushes it off but then thinks about it for hours.

“Flattery doesn’t suit you. …But thank you. I think.”

Shadowheart does not reach for you easily. Her body is armor, just like her mind. But when she initiates touch — a hand on yours, a brush of fingers when healing you — it’s deliberate and deeply vulnerable.

Touch is trust. And it terrifies her.

“Don’t get used to this. I’m only doing it because you looked like you needed it.”

If you lean in close, she might freeze but she won’t pull away. Not right away.

“Careful. I might start expecting you to stay.”

She’s drawn to those who see through her, who don’t fall for the act. Flirting, for her, is letting someone inch closer without snapping at them. And if you ever call her out on it? She’ll deflect — beautifully.

She’s intrigued by someone who challenges her beliefs, but does it with gentleness.

“You always ask the hard questions. Makes me wonder what you're really after.”

And when she lets her guard drop? You see the quiet craving for connection beneath it all.

“It’s easier not to care. But then you came along and ruined that, didn’t you?”

When Shadowheart truly cares, her flirting shifts from deflection to devotion. Still quiet. Still guarded. But now it matters. And when she says something kind, it feels like a confession.

She won’t say she’s falling for you. She’ll say:

“You matter to me more than I ever expected. …Don’t make me regret it.”

And if she lets you in completely:

“You make me feel like I could choose my own path. Like I already have.”

Jaheira

Jaheira flirts with the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to — she does it because she wants to. Her tone is cool, her eyes sharp, and her smirk always just a little knowing. If she teases you, it's because you’ve earned her attention.

She’ll spar with you verbally before she ever flirts outright.

“You’ve got a decent head on your shoulders. I just wonder how often you use it.”

She flirts through banter, not breathlessness. If you keep up, she’s intrigued.

“Is that your idea of flirting? Hm. Not terrible. A bit obvious, though.”

Jaheira doesn’t offer empty praise. Her compliments are grounded, earned, and always have a practical edge. If she says you’ve impressed her — it matters.

She’ll couch her affection in observations, often made mid-action.

“You handled that fight well. Remind me not to underestimate you again.”

And if she gets personal? It’s brief, rare, and powerful.

“There’s more to you than I thought. I like being proven wrong.”

She’s not overly tactile but when Jaheira touches you, it’s always deliberate. A hand on your back to steady you. Brushing hair from your face. Holding your gaze instead of your hand. Her gestures say more than her words ever will.

She doesn’t ask for closeness. She grants it — quietly.

“Hold still. You’ve got blood on your cheek. …No, I’m not fussing. I just prefer cleanliness.”

If you reach out first, she’ll pause, then let you. That moment of acceptance? That is the flirtation.

What excites Jaheira is competence, independence, and a strong moral spine. She flirts with people who challenge her, not flatter her. If she sees you as her equal, the heat starts to build.

She’s not easily impressed but once you break through, her interest is clear.

“You keep surprising me. I’m still deciding if that’s a good thing.”

She’ll show you affection through shared strategy, quiet partnership, and trusted silence.

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me. You already have.”

When Jaheira truly cares, she stops hiding behind wit. Her tone softens but her strength never dims. She doesn’t make promises she can’t keep but when she offers you her loyalty, her trust, or her love, it’s with unshakable certainty.

She’s not one for declarations. But she’ll say this:

“You make me feel like the world isn’t quite so broken. That’s not a feeling I take lightly.”

And when she finally lets herself be vulnerable — just for a moment:

“You make me feel like the world isn’t quite so broken. That’s not a feeling I take lightly.”

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luffysbestie101 · 13 days ago

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Baldur's Gays

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luffysbestie101 · 13 days ago

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The continuation of tailor Astarion ✨️

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luffysbestie101 · 15 days ago

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I Fear I’m Too Far Gone Down The BG3 Pipeline

Oh Gale… He tries so hard to make you like him. From when you first pull him out of the rock to long after you two have spent your lives together.

He was basically groomed by Mystra, his father (I’m guessing since he is never mentioned) was absent, Elminster (who banged Mystra as well) was his closest thing to a father figure. He needs validation. He needs a guiding hand. He needs to be told that he’s enough.

This man has the biggest praise kink. The way he’d stutter when you tell him how good he feels, how sweet he is to take care of you, how big he is. He tries so hard to make sure you cum before he does. Multiple times if possible.

He’s peppering kisses anywhere he can reach. He holds you like you are glass, even if you tower over him. His hands are groping and massaging anything he can. He is a thigh man through and through. His favorite pillows. And when you crush his head? Heaven on earth. He could die a happy man.

The only time he gets aggressive is when you tease him a bit too much (or he’s jealous and, lets be honest, he’s very insecure) so he has to leave a mark on you. Biting and clawing and nipping because deep down he’s desperate to keep you for himself. He has lost so much that he can’t afford to lose you.

I’m so normal about this man :D (This was going to be an ask for someone but I liked it too much so here it is)

@hootshooch added this v

When Gale talks about how he first summoned Tara as a young-ish child he says he begged his parents (*plural*) for a cat, and iirc later he refers to his mom as a single parent-which means that his father either died when he was young, walked out when he was old enough to remember him, or his parents divorced on bad terms for whatever reason and he doesn't have a relationship with him as an adult.

Which is even worse than if he was just never there imo

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luffysbestie101 · 19 days ago

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Tav: *laying on their stomach with a book in their hands*

Owlbear: *laying stomach down on tabs back*

Scratch: *laying on his back on tavs outstretched legs with his head on the smal of your back*

Wyll: *chuckles* “you comfortable there?”

Tav: “I didn’t choose motherhood, motherhood chose me.”

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luffysbestie101 · 21 days ago

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No thoughts...Just Gale jerking off in his tent while covering his mouth and desperately trying not to whimper tavs name...

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luffysbestie101 · 22 days ago

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how your lover would grieve you (bg3 headcanons)

watch out for angst!! and dramatics...

Wyll

Wyll would carry on with his duties—his body present, but his spirit often elsewhere. His heart would drift to you, again and again. Those around him would notice the change: no more smiles that reached his eyes, no more easy laughter or graceful charm. He’d move through life like a man lost in a dream.

For a time, he’d endure quietly. But gradually, he’d begin to live again—not because the grief lessened quickly, but because he knew you would have wanted that for him. He still had good to do, people to protect. And while you remained in his heart, the pain would soften.

Eventually, he might find love again. Wyll has so much tenderness to give, and he would treat any new partner with gentle reverence. But it wouldn’t be easy at first. The halls around him would feel quieter—heavier. Even the household staff might whisper behind closed doors that he was never quite the same after you passed. For a long time, his charm would seem more like a mask than a truth. Still, slowly, he would begin to let someone in.

Yet, unknowingly, he would see them through the echo of you. And if he were ever blessed with a child, he’d speak of you with a distant, wistful smile—a thousand-yard stare—and tell them stories of your courage and brilliance.

Gale

Grief would hollow Gale from the inside out. At first, it would be chaos. He would retreat into his "tower", his haven turning into a prison. He'd lie in bed for days, unshaven and unkempt—looking as though he had aged a decade in mere days. His books untouched. The most damning sign of his despair? He couldn’t even read. He’d turn pages, but the words would blur, his mind drifting endlessly back to you.

If not for his friends—and for Tara with her relentlessness at the top of it—he might have faded entirely. They would force him into the sunlight, into purpose. Teaching, advising, creating… none of it would feel the same. But still, it would keep him from crumbling. So he came back to teaching, but sadly lost his spark when it came to it.

He would likely never remarry, never truly seek another. Instead, he'd write—a book of poems in your memory, quietly tucked onto his shelves, never published. At night, he might speak to the silence as if you were beside him. Sometimes he’d conjure your likeness—not as a ghost, but as a remembrance. A comfort.

Halsin

Surprisingly, Halsin’s once vibrant appetites would vanish. For a time, there would be no lovers, no flirtation—only quiet reflection and the relentless trainings till his muscles trembled and he was out of breath. He would throw himself into his work, perhaps to cope, perhaps to forget. He would blame himself for not coming to you sooner. For not cherishing you more when time still allowed.

In time, he would come to accept your death. He would understand it as a part of the natural order—something he has preached so often. But this knowledge has a bitter taste. When you live as long as he does, saying goodbye starts to feel like the price of love. And it feels so lonely.

Eventually, he would return to his open way of life—but it would never be the same. You would linger in his thoughts, in his stories, and he’d find himself telling lovers about you. Not to compare, but because forgetting you is simply not possible. You were one of a kind, and he knew he would never find someone alike. And the realisation left his hear feeling even more heavy.

Even years later, he would still see you in the rustle of leaves, in the bloom of a flower, in the golden light of dusk. And each time, his heart would ache—but he would smile too. Because in the beauty of the world, he finds you yet again.

Astarion

To say your death devastated Astarion would be an understatement so cruel, it would feel like mockery. He would retreat from the world entirely, isolating himself with a bitterness that only grief could sharpen. He always knew world is shit, but you gave him hope and then and then he lost you just like that.

He wouldn't become like Cazador—never that. But his charm would fade into something colder, and his presence would carry a quiet warning: stay away. There would be rage, too. Shattered objects. Screams into the void. One moment, he would curse you for leaving; the next, he would sob your name and whisper that he loved you more than anything in the world.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

hello, you can find more of my works about bg3 ♡here♡

also, would you like me to write one of this characters in-depth?

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luffysbestie101 · 22 days ago

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♡ Halsin Being Love Smitten by an Oblivious Tav ♡

Oh, this is a good one. Halsin — strong, confident, experienced — brought to his knees by one thing he never saw coming: your sheer, unrelenting obliviousness. It’s hard to make him baffled, but you did. You actually made him baffled. Incredible.

He’s lived for over three centuries. Seen countless wonders, taken many lovers, and faced horrors that would break lesser souls. Nothing has caught him off guard for the longest time it would seem. And yet you have. Because somehow, despite his very clear interest, his smoothest moves, and his voice dropping into that deep purr — you simply don’t get it. Not one bit.

And by Oak Father, it really do baffles him.

You see, he feels it every time you walk by — a rush of warmth in his chest, the unshakable need to be near you. He listens to your every word, even your stillest ramblings, with rapt attention, laughing easily and freely in a way he hasn’t in years. It feels good to be close to you. It feels right. And he’s wise enough to know exactly what that means. He is, without doubt, utterly and completely love smitten with you… and Halsin is many things, but shy is not one of them. So naturally — he courts you.

At first, subtly, slowly… intending to take full pleasure from getting to know you better in that kind of way. A lingering touch here, a playful tease there, a deep-chested chuckle whenever you say something endearing. Surely you’ll catch on.

You do not.

You smile at him. You laugh, you listen, you seem happy to be around him. But not once — not once! — you show any sign of realising that he likes you more than a friend. (oh, so much more)

Is he being too subtle? Surely not. Halsin is experienced. He’s seen things. He’s been with partners who could read his desires from a single glance, and here he is — flexing like a fool whenever you so much as glance in his direction, hoping you’ll notice.

And Oak Father help him, he’s trying so hard. It’s like he isn’t himself anymore. He feels like a young pup wandering into unknown territory.

So… he finds excuses to touch you. Offers a steadying hand when crossing a stream (as if you’re not perfectly capable), lets his large hands linger on your waist a fraction too long when lifting you over an obstacle. Getting all worked up from the mere brush of your knees.

One day Halsin brings you fruit he’s foraged with a casual,

"If you desire more, I am always at your service.”

"You really do take good care of everyone," you say, eyes shining with pure, unshaken obliviousness. The words he wants to say—I would much rather focus my care on you specifically—catch in his throat, swallowed down by a sigh. Somehow, faced with your innocence, he just can’t bring himself to say it.

Has he lost his touch? Is he truly so out of practice? He has never worked this hard to make his feelings known. And worse—he’s starting to feel things he hasn’t in years. Frustration, longing, an almost feral urge to just grab you by the shoulders and tell you outright.

By the gods, he is horny and in distress. And he’s been horny many times, but in distress like this? No. However… Halsin is not a man who simply gives up. Not to doubt, not to hesitation—and certainly not when it comes to you. Not when he’s waited lifetimes to feel this way again. Not when he’s finally met someone who stirs the very roots of his being.

So, no more subtlety, no more lingering touches. No more charming lines that you so sweetly misunderstand. One evening, with all the weight of a man on the brink, he levels you with a look, strong arms crossed over his chest, and says in a tone that leaves no room for interpretation:

“Tav. We need to talk. And this time, I’ll make sure you understand exactly what I mean.”

Because by the Oak Father, if you don’t realise how desperately he wants you after this conversation—he might just lose his mind.

So he takes you away—away from the crackling campfire, from the idle chatter of your companions, from the weight of the world pressing down on both of you. He leads you to a quiet, secluded glade where the trees arch overhead like ancient sentinels. The stars shimmer above, casting silver light over everything, but Halsin?

Halsin is radiant.

He stands before you, broad and strong, his golden skin illuminated by moonlight. There’s something different in the way he looks at you now—an intensity, a quiet, unshaken resolve. And then, in a voice deep as the earth itself, he speaks:

"I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine…”

Your breath stutters. Your eyes widen, because suddenly, everything clicks into place.

The lingering touches. The flirtation you had brushed off as simple kindness. The way his gaze always seemed to find you, the way his presence felt like a steady force in your current life, constant and unwavering. It was never just friendliness. It was never just admiration.

It was this.

It was him wanting you.

The weight of his words sinks into you, slow and heavy like honey pouring thick from a jar. He isn’t teasing. He isn’t jesting—Halsin is far too earnest for that. His kindness, his unwavering dedication, have only blurred the truth for you. But now, there is no mistaking it. There’s no lightheartedness in his tone—only intention. Only want.

The words roll off his tongue like a promise, rich with meaning, with want. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—an unmistakable need. His hand lifts, slow, deliberate, as if he’s savouring every second before he touches you. And when he does—when his large, calloused palm finally cups your cheek—your breath catches.

His warmth is immediate, grounding, real. He’s so close now—too close, not close enough. His golden eyes search yours, darkened with something primal, something deep and unspoken. He’s looking for something—truth. An answer. A silent permission for this moment to become something more.

And gods, the air between you is alive with it.

Will you give it to him?

That choice—that power—is yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

again, thanks for this lovely request

you can find more of my works about halsin ♡here♡ hihi

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