#ketheric x reader

[vibingandsimping]

More random intimate positions/scenarios! Pt.2

Morally grey/villain characters this time!

Forewarnings: Dark content… including things like ownership, stalking, gore + obsession. Some pure fluff though :)

(I apologize for this being considerably longer compared to the others. I have been playing some more plus researching the lore. I feel more confident in my understanding of the characters and my writing.)

Gortash had his fingers wrapped around your chin as he beckoned you to look at him. You’re sat in his lap with your hands rested atop his shoulders. His expression is content with how closely pressed you are to his body. He could savor your warmth and read you so intimately. His brown eyes meet yours with a certain warmth laced in all the unwavering dominance. His lips quirk into a smirk as he watches your poorly built facade begin to crumble. His spare hand runs along the small of your back slowly… beckoningly. He'd be the hero of Baldurs Gate soon. He'd have all the power he dreamt of as a boy. Don't you wish to share that with him? His chest purrs when you keen into his touch. Good. He knew you could be a pretty thing for him. Such a formidable foe and he’d have you right by his side.

Minthara had her arms wrapped around your frame protectively. No matter how large or small you were in comparison. She was determined to hold you and plant some sort of reassurance into you. The way she regarded you was not that of any other. No, you were special to her and the woman realized it may not be so clear. She may be a cruel and a standard "drow", but beyond that there was an affection for you within her heart. She plants a kiss against the back of your shoulder-blades and it draws a shudder. Her muscles tighten around you as she presses her face into your shoulder, hot breath washing the junction of your neck and the flesh of your shoulder. You resist a second shudder. Unbeknownst to you, she’d follow you even if it was fruitless. Nothing was shaking her now that she was wrapped around you.

Orin's blade travels down your chest. It was gentle yet sharp... she wasn't particularly aiming to harm you but the thin streak of blood was enticing. The wound was so shallow it barely bubbled- just enough to alert her she broke the skin. Everything about the way she gazed at you was unhinged. You knew if she had pupils they'd be dilated. She draws her face downwards and laps at the tender flesh while you draw a shaky inhale. The whispers of praise and wishes for more barely reached your ears beyond the thrum of your heart. The slimy feel of her tongue worming it’s way up to your collarbones hitch your breath and you watch carefully. Each movement breeds more anticipation- she was soaking in your torment. She was wicked, truly, she devoted herself to you. You’d never understand her… but did you have to?

Ketheric’s hand laced with yours as you walked to his side. He was laid on his throne with open thighs as he acknowledged your presence. The man was aged and once a father. Well, technically still but Isobel regarded him with disowning. He long burned that bridge from his desperation and despair. You entered his life and turned things around. Everyone in Moonrise had never seen him so soft since he lost his daughter and wife. You took a seat on one of his thighs as he drew your hand to his face. His lips planted a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and then along your wrist. His beard tickled and caused you laugh, struggling against his hold as he stubbornly refused to let you go. When he finally did his lips were quirked upwards and there was a twinkling in his eye. He never thought he’d take a lover again… so he was glad when you broke down his walls. He’d once curse you for being persistent but now he’d praise you for it.

Raphael tugs on the invisible leash that was wrapped around your neck. You jerk forward on the bed as you kneeled with palms balancing you on the lush fabric. His wings were on grand display as his typically slicked hair tussled ever so slightly. Expression dark and expectant as you slowly crawled toward him. His brows furrowed as he tutted impatiently, a leg swinging out to hook around your thigh and jerk it underneath you. You collapsed as he drew you towards him with little patience. You now sprawled across his lower abdomen and crotch as his chest rumbles in amusement. Your skin burned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. The hold he had on you, literally and figuratively, elicited a deep part of your brain. One that wished so carnally to be claimed… to be owned. Raphael would see to that, he promised, with one hand stroking your hair. You were such a sweet thing… and if you weren’t so persistent he’d lock you up for himself.

Kar’niss thought of you as a blessing. Truly, a drider like him didn’t deserve such an angel. He was supposed to be punished for all eternity for his shortcomings. He failed once and will never see to being a normal drow again. That’s why it didn’t make sense for him to be rewarded- but who is he to look at a gift with ungratefulness? He always holds you so tenderly… his body shockingly cold. He’s restless today, you note, as his eight legs skitter and his hands curl at you. There’s a flittering look in his face. A hunger he tried to conceal. When you question, he answers truthfully, drider need to feed on blood to survive. Every four days or he’d succumb to weakness and eventually die an empty husk. You offer yourself and he checks you for any hesitancy before diving in. He pierces the flesh with his sharp nails before indulging in the crimson that flowed. Between suckles and licks, he praises you for your generosity. Endless ‘thank you’s’ flow as much as your blood. He’s sure he’d never fallen deeper in love… or was it infatuation?

Haarlep knew their affection for you was essentially forbidden. Raphael handed you as a toy to them. Nothing more and nothing less- they should regard you only for his entertainment. They somehow found themselves wanting to indulge in your mind rather than your flesh after some time. It was your softness that first stunned them and foiled their pure-desire. Raphael never touched themself with such… they could barely find the word. Gentleness? Regard? They’d lay with you after your shared bliss and inch their nails down the side of your hip as you detailed your life. With a hand propping their head; they seemed enchanted. Mesmerized by how simple yet complex of a creature you were to them. Haarlep was a succubus and spent their life serving that purpose. They almost felt jealous of the freedom you held in life. They couldn’t help but find themselves fantasizing a life where you two lived in better circumstances. It was all a fantasy, though, they knew it with a bittersweetness.

Durge had always watched you from afar. Stalking, following and admiring. You caught their gaze amongst the crowd as they deliberately chose their next victim. You would’ve been easy. You didn’t hold yourself with a particular air in the ranks of Baldur’s Gate. Another citizen lost to the crazed killings of a maniac. It wasn’t until you’d noticed you had a secret admirer did your hackles raise. You could feel a pair of eyes on you at the most inopportune times. Then, came the letters at your doorstep detailing how they defied their nature. You could’ve been another hung corpse but instead they wished to wrap their mind around your heart and their lips amongst your neck. A shiver ran through you… a mix of disgust and a strange intrigue? Surely it was the way the letters were so detailed and deranged. You would’ve ignored it all until the stalking emboldened. You saw their figure in the window at night and through the alleyways. It was only a matter of time before they struck and claimed you as theirs. You’d simply have to keep an eye over your shoulder and hold a dagger close. If you could even strike them, that was.

[milqueandsugar]

🌼☕` Masterlist `☕🌼

` Last Updated 07.14 `

| ASTARION |

| DAMMON |

X crocheting!Reader

| GALE |

Wearing his clothes

| GORTASH |

| HALSIN |

| KARLACH |

| KETHERIC THORM |

| LAE'ZEL |

| MINTHARA |

| ORIN |

| ROLAN |

| SHADOWHEART |

Wearing his clothes

| WYLL |

X crocheting!Reader

| ZEVLOR |

X crocheting!Reader

Wearing his clothes

[junowritings]

Hi! I heard your requests are open and I know you don’t know me very well but I thought I’d send an ask 💛 my first ever 🤭

I’m a 24 year old woman, 5’3, brown hair to my shoulders, brown eyes and glasses. I can be a little introverted at times but when I’m comfortable with someone I tend to come out of my shell. I’m an only child 😔 I love all things creative and I have a love for all things supernatural and nerdy (80s vibes)

For my ideal partner I’m not very specific really I’ve got a vague idea.

My first ideal partner would be someone who’s always willing to challenge me and humour my constant ramblings, taking in even the smallest detail and adding their own spin on what I have to say. An animal lover for sure who can do their own thing but would come home at the end of the day and just sit together and exist. Someone I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life with even if he isn’t over his crusty dusty musty ex who’s got something in common with drake (and it’s not rap)

My other ideal partner is a little vague so please forgive me.

Male, 6’1 Half-Elf paladin who has a tumultuous relationship with being alive. Grey hair, beard, fuelled by grief - possible dead family. Slight homicidal tendencies (I can fix him) previous dalliances in governance. Girth 15cm, length 16cm, Tip #c88d94

Thank you can’t wait to hear your thoughts your stuff is amazing!! 🥰🤭💛

The way I immediately knew who this is I SWEAR-

I had to go a lot off my own knowledge for this one (also I need to brush up on BG3 a bit bc I think I need a better grasp on the characters.) so hopefully this is a fun to read as it was to write lmao

You know what ask and ye shall receive you joked about him but y'know who I'm gonna match you with...

Let’s just start this off with the obvious. It’s a miracle in itself that you’re still alive after an initial interaction with Ketheric. Anyone who remains in the tower are either prisoners, loyal worshippers of the absolute, or whatever poor souls have somehow managed to survive the shadow lands just to get here. And then there’s you, who exists as what is essentially the weird third party in this whole scenario. 

It’s not as though you intended to be here (or maybe you had who knows), but here you are,   Perhaps those first hours of quiet was what kept you out of sight, keeping to yourself and merely watching as each of the cogs in this plan moved and shifted as though little more than puppets. But once Ketheric takes notice of you he watches. You stand out like a sore thumb afterwards, if only because of how noticeably alive you are compared to everyone around you. Yes there are many there who are alive in a sense (unlike him), but you’ve got a gung-ho way about you that feels like you’d be better suited to be literally anywhere else than here.

Ketheric is heavily involved, as the general of the absolute’s army it is an unspoken must. When he’s not at Moonrise’s peak he is working across every inch of the tower, ever present as the time to strike grows ever closer. Because of this there are plenty of times where you cross paths, with you always throwing an over dramatic abbreviation of his name in greeting as you dart off to hells knows where before he can decide if today is the day he’s had enough. 

You always somehow manage to toe the line of the wrong word at the wrong time, but if that line exists none of the out of pocket commentary have pushed past it yet. Were it anyone else, it’s unlikely that Ketheric would have humored them long enough to finish a joke before making an example of them for anyone foolish enough to get the same idea. And yet you seem to walk away unscathed all the time, whether it’s rattling off a niche fun fact about something so out of the blue, or being straight up sat on his desk or on the floor beside his throne picking apart his war strategies with an eyeroll worthy pun at the end of each one.

You’re a walking anomaly - no one at the tower knows how you showed up or when, and any attempts that his followers have made to ascertain your origins only returns little to nothing that gives a definitive answer. Not to mention the few times that followers wishing to prove themselves have make an example of you somehow seem to always end up the fool. 

In regards to your penchant for any and all things supernatural, it’s safe to say that an undead general, dwelling within the shadowlands where a single wrong misstep out of the tower’s perimeter could lead to your unfortunate end, counts as something that’s right up your alley. There’s not a single inch that he hasn’t caught you hemming or hawing at. With undead creatures roaming the halls, anyone within their right mind would feel but a shred of terror; and yet all he sees upon your face is awe, watching you trail after ghouls where others would deign to keep fair distance.

That fascination extends to Ketheric. He’s already aware that you know of his undead disposition - the tales themselves paint a pretty picture of the dead man walking before you every day - but the true invincibility is new to you. The first time you experienced it firsthand, Ketheric had taken an arrow or two to the jugular from fools wasting what little remained of their lives. Where others' faces were grim at the sight and others horrified, Kethric still remembers the distinctive “HOLY SHIT!” you so eloquently shouted as he’d plucked the arrows from his throat like splinters. After that it’s a miracle if he doesn’t hear you ask about it. Ketheric waves off any attempts of concern for these injuries - they’re but mottles on dead flesh that will knit back together with time. But if you express fascination? That’s…new, and he won’t outright refuse to indulge your curiosity. Feel free to rattle off questions about the limits of his invincibility - just don’t ask how he does it, for your own safety and sanity.

Your habit to lurk and wander doesn’t go unnoticed - not even locked doors can stop that curious nature from getting the better of you and more than once Ketheric has caught wind of his followers’ latest gossip of your whereabouts. He sees it for himself firsthand, even when you haven’t actively been caught red handed. He’s seen you slide through corridors with armfuls of books and blood still dripping from your clothes after an unfortunate slip in Balthazar’s room; has seen the occasional ball roll out from the doorway to his old chambers from your attempts to coax squire into a game of fetch. And he has seen how you worm your way out of trouble you’ve caused - whether it’s being chased from the kitchens for trying to pet the gnolls or somehow convincing the traders for freebies whenever new wares come in. All the while laughing as you do so, grinning as though these foolish little acts mean such a great deal to you.

When had Ketheric last heard the ring of such laughter in the tower’s halls? A century at least. It almost feels out of place here, within the old bones of a place that holds so many memories for such a vengeful man. It should be nipped in the bud; should not be tolerated from a man who’s every waking moment is consumed by his loyalty for the one thing able to bring the only things he had cared for back from death itself. And yet he never stops you, never once cuts that laughter and smile short. Instead he pauses, for but a moment, and listens to you as you disappear into the safety of the chaos on the lower floors for a place to hide away and savor your spoils. It’s only until you’re from sight that he continues on as though nothing occurred, but even after your laughter has died down it persists, nagging in the corner of his mind at fond memories.

For whatever reason you seem content to exist within this abysmal place, and should you prove yourself competent enough to not hinder the big three’s goal with the netherbrain, Ketheric decides that having you here around him till that time comes isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[bhaalschosenone]

Ketheric: What are those scratches on your arms and chest, Gortash?

Gortash: Oh, Durge tests their nails on me to see if they're sharp enough

Ketheric:

Gortash: I have some on my back too

Ketheric:

Gortash: Because we FUCK :3

[worfs-glorious-hair]

Gale and the impossible choice

Some Gale musings I wrote just after I went down to the mindflayer colony in the act 2 finale and Gale mentioned that we will soon find the heart of the Absolute and I began to wonder what goes through his mind there at this point in the story. I also realised that we as the galemancing community do not talk about this moment and it’s angsty potential there enough. So I went to change it.

Gale x Tav/Reader they/them, no physical descriptions, no class mention, angst, considering using the orb, hurt/ not yet-comfort, whump (?), act 2 finale, canon-typical themes and implied violence (?), Mystra mentions :(, religious themes (praying mostly)

So, what does Gale feel when he does not want to go through with using the orb for the heart of the Absolute but thinks that he does not have a choice? (AKA bomb score is down)

My love, my only love, know that I will love you until my very last breath. Know that you are the only one I love.

Remember me when I am gone.

Tav, you are sleeping next to me and I hope you are dreaming of me. Maybe you are dreaming of the life we will never have. The life I will never have. I hope you will have it. A life in the sun and the goodness of the world, with no shadows and no tadpoles.

Maybe you will remember the fool who loved you once. Maybe you’ll remember my kisses. I will remember yours, your lips on my skin, your tender words, your warmth, your touch, your love when the times comes…

Gale sighed as he crossed out what he had written on a page that he had teared off from an old, mouldy smelling book with water stains on the cover.

How should he ever find the right words to explain what he did not wanted to do and yet planned on doing?

A simple truth that complicated everything – he did not want to die! Not anymore.

It could have been so easy, would Mystra had commanded him to destroy the heart of the Absolute just a few months ago he would have done it without hesitation, without doubt.

Anything for Mystra’s forgiveness. Anything for her embrace.

Thank the gods that were still willing to listen that she hasn’t.

Because he would have done it and would have been irreversibly gone from this realm now. He would not have gotten abducted by a mindflayer nautiloid then, would not have gotten stuck in a stone in a portal between the realms and he would have never been rescued by the kindest soul he ever had the pleasure to know. To love.

The kindest soul who loved him in return, by miracle or cruel fate.

Tav…

Tav, who slept curled into his side, undisturbed by the lights he had conjured to write his letter. His forced goodbye.

Tav, with a finally relaxed face now as they rested.

Tav who faced the curse around them so bravely, Tav, who had cried into his chest on too many days when the darkness and the shadows had been too close to their soul. And he had held them close and had conjured colorful lights to distract. To light up the world. To bring joy back.

The same lights that danced over the two of them now.

The lights that kept the nightmares and the shadows away. But they did not work, not for him at least.

He did not want to die. Not as long as Tav would need his dancing lights. Not as long as Tav looked at him like Mystra never did. Grateful. Loving. Human. In awe.

Not as long as Tav whispered I love you into his ear before they went to sleep by his side.

Not as long as Gale wanted to live, with Tav, for Tav.

But what choice would he have, what option could be there that Mystra hadn’t found to destroy this threat? It was the only way. It had to be – would she be otherwise so cruel?

His life for the world.

A good bargain – for the world.

But not for him. He would loose. He would loose everything again.

And it was not fair.

Nothing was.

Why would he have to sacrifice his soul to deal with Mystra’s command. Why him? Why her discarded, tossed out lover. Her outcast.

Her ex-lover!

He owed her nothing anymore. Not a favour and especially not his blind compliance. No, if, when, he would do it, he would do it out of love, not for her but for Tav. He would do it for the world so that Tav and the others whose company and friendship and spells and blades he had found and grown to adore may live. That they could be free of the tadpoles. Free from its influence.

He would do it for those who were also infected but not protected, he would do it for the sake of the world.

I am in love with you, too!

There it was, Tav’s confession. Their words, their love always echoing in his mind when he thought about Mystra’s expectations. He heard Tav’s confession over and over again and he wanted to live. To heal.

He wanted to do anything but to blow himself up.

I refuse to believe that this is the end! There has to be another way, we will find another way. Like we always have! You don’t have to die! I won’t allow it!

Tav, whose voice had quivered and their eyes had been so earnest and true and Gale had wanted to loose himself in them. In their affection for him. In their faith. In their love.

If only he could have the faith that Tav had.

If only their faith could move indeed mountains, if only it would be enough.

He had wanted it to be enough.

But they had not found another way. They had just gotten closer and closer to Ketheric as the endless, lightless days had passed and Gale had begun to gather the words to say his goodbyes. Or better to write his goodbyes.

And now were there all gone. Nothing was good enough. Nothing was the truth.

The simple truth that made everything so difficult. And was yet so important!

I do not want to write to you. Because I want to talk to you. Talk and live and learn like lovers do. Like companions in life do.

I do not want to say goodbye with ink on paper and a fearful heart…

I want to say hello to you each morning and to explore the world with you.

I WANT TO LIVE!

Tomorrow they would face Ketheric, tomorrow it would all be over.

And he wanted to scream.

I do not want to die! I want to live – with you. Please, save me, my love, save me again from the stone!

And tomorrow came. And they assaulted Moonrise. And Ketheric fled into the abyss under the towers.

And they had no choice but to follow him down into the pit of darkness and rotten flesh.

But before Tav could make the jump pulled Gale them aside.

And he kissed them. Like he had never done before. Like it was the very last time. Because it was. Because he would have no tomorrow. No matter how much he wished he had.

And he held Tav’s face in his hands and savoured the feeling of their lips on his.

Their scent, their taste all around him, he wanted to remember it, to taste them on his tongue until the very end that awaited them in the rotting darkness.

The kiss was hard and desperate and still, Tav smiled at him when they had to let go of each other eventually.

“It is going to be alright”, they gently reassured him, “I will protect you, my love! I promise. We will kill Ketheric and we will find a cure, you’ll see! It all will be over soon!”

And Gale prayed for a miracle. Just one. Prayed to no one in particular. Understood suddenly Ketheric’s willingness to turn away from the gods that had abandoned him in his time of need to serve anyone who was willing to listen. Anyone willing to help. Anyone willing to grant just this one miracle.

And the miracle came, it came in the form of love. It came in the unwavering truth of lovers, in three simple words –

I choose you!

[donat-senpai]

This work lay in drafts for a very long time. Now I have translated everything. Woohoo! (Reminder: English is not my native language. There are mistakes here)

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! Pairing: Yandere! Ketheric Thorm x Reader, Yandere! Enver Gortash x Reader, Yandere! Orin the Red x Reader tw: platonic obsession, manipulation, restriction of freedom, mention of murders

I'm ready to throw an idea at you. Attention. You get into the bg3. BUT you aren't Tav and you aren't together with Tav. You find yourself among the Chosen Three. And they become platonic yandere!

Ketheric Thorm, Enver Gortash and Orin the Red will know that you know about their future. You know how to achieve certain events, as well as how to prevent it. Keeping you close is not only a necessary measure, but also an advantage. From now on, they must do everything to prevent Tav from finding out about you and taking you away.

You spend the least amount of time with Ketheric Thorm. As the leader of the army, he is always in the most dangerous places of the war. Besides, the Moonrise Towers are a dangerous place. There are a lot of killers there. You are usually in full view of Ketheric. Over time, you begin to get used to it. Ketheric listens, but often doesn't pay attention. You can tell him anything. At this time he goes about his business, sometimes nodding to you. But if you suddenly ask him a question, he will simply look at you menacingly, making you afraid. The old man is not angry. He just didn't remember anything you said and doesn't want to admit it. Your voice helps him not to worry. If you're still talking, it means you haven't been eaten. Therefore, he can continue his business. When you leave the Moonrise Towers, Ketheric looks with bitterness at the things you leave behind. It reminds him of the times when he was still a father. Perhaps he will put your drawing or note in one of his books.

Orin will become friend or foe depending on your decision. If you refuse to help them, She will find ways to make you talk. Her ideas about the world are very perverted, so friendship with Orin barely differs from enmity. She will take great pleasure in fooling around with you. She likes to scare you by telling you colorful ways of killing you. You will probably not be able to make friends because of her. It's hard to trust someone and tell your secrets when that someone could be Orin herself. She will need time to convince Gortash and Ketheric to allow you to visit the Bhaal’s Temple. They don't trust Orin. The more disgusted you are by the atmosphere of her temple, the more fun she will experience. In the depths of his bedroom, Orin will get a little soft. She will let you play with her hair. And she will talk about the teachings of Bhaal, but not with the intention of scaring, but with the desire to share something hidden for her. She will also want to teach you how to make a sacrifice to her god correctly. If you refuse, she will be upset, but will not insist. (Gortash made it clear to her that she should not break you.) Then she brings you back and avoids you for a week or two. It's new for her to feel this way. Not even her family received this honor. When she calms down and copes with unusual emotions, she will visit you again. And she will promise to kill you in the most beautiful way possible when necessary. It's not a threat. This is her expression of love.

It is with Lord Gortash that you spend the most time. His castle is safe, and the Steel Watchers walk around the city everywhere. You are well dressed and always look great to match him. High society is asking questions about who you are to him. Are you a lover, relative, decoration or pet? Only you and Gortash know that you are a means to achieve his goals. And only Lord Gortash knows that you are someone he has grown more attached to than he should have. He gives you almost anything you want, but expects you to cooperate in return. In addition, Gortash believes that just looking beautiful next to him is not enough. Therefore, all your free time (which is not much) will be occupied with training. If you escape from the castle (which is absolutely impossible), the guards will bring you back. Gortash is perhaps the only one among the owners of three stones who understands that your usefulness is not constant. Everything can go along the route you know with minor changes in his favor. Or it may happen that what is happening will become completely new even for you. Sometimes he jokes that he will throw you out when you become useless. But you still remember how Lord Gortash got angry at the impudent Count for asking to take you as his wife and Gortash ordered the insolent man to be executed.

----

Somewhere in the universe, the Emperor turns the table in a rage and demands Tav to quickly find and save (kidnap) you. (I don't know how he found out about you ._.)

----

Tav sighs tiredly and silently agrees. They're too tired of all. They just hope that their new future ally will be a little less problematic than everyone else in the camp.

[zwolfgames]

The Shadow Cursed Lands.

Aight, here we are again. Everyone's favourite act, act 2, starts now.

Warnings: Technically kidnapping, Karlach cries :(

Other parts: Prev Part , Next Part , The List

(3rd person POV)

"This place stinks!"

Karlach complains as your little band of misfits walk through the path leading into the Shadow Cursed lands.

"Well, yes, everything here is rotting." Gale adds matter-of-factly, even jots a finger up as if pointing it out. Astarion quickly takes said finger to push Gale's hand back down to communicate that he's being embarrassing.

"It is a curse laid upon this land long ago; it saps up all of the living energy of this land." Halsin sighs sadly.

"Of course it's a curse; it's in the name, Shadow cursed lands." Astarion scoffs.

"None of you understand the beauty of this place; my lady Shar has made it her own." Shadowheart sighs in contentment.

You all but wish to groan. Ever since you'd stepped foot on this cursed soil, Wyll has been clinging to one of your arms while Lea'zel has practically attached to your side, if not for the two centimetres she's left to just not touch.

You've almost fallen over both of their legs...

"Is Y/N still breathing?" Halsin calls out from the front; he's been slowly pushed up front to get you away from him. Your companions seem to have agreed that aside from the tadpole issue, the druid is common enemy number one. After that stunt he pulled at the Crèche and all...

"No, they're dead." Astarion scoffs.

You make a dramatic dead face, making Karlach chuckle slightly.

"What?" Halsin asks in concern, trying to look backwards.

"They're fine." Wyll answers.

Halsin huffs with a curt nod, continuing to lead the group.

"So what do you reckon lives here?" You ask, trying not to shudder at the shadows grazing your back.

"Cursed shadows and vitality-drained past civilians, I'd imagine," Gale answers with a nod.

"Shadowheart, your deity has chosen quite an atrocious place to call her own." Lae'zel mocks.

Shadowheart fumes in silence, knowing it's not worth it to fight the Gith on this at the moment, especially since shadows are coming closer due to the lack of moon lanterns your group has.

"Everyone, quiet down. We should be finding the goblins here soon; they should believe we're part of them." Gale speaks.

"Who made you boss?" Astarion raises a brow.

"I am not acting as the boss; I am merely-" Gale starts before getting shushed by Halsin as the large man approaches the goblins.

"Fellow true souls... We have received a mission here in the shadow-cursed lands... you are to be our... escorts?" Halsin tries. Astarion rolls his eyes at the bad acting, knowing he could have done better.

The goblins raise their gnarly brows too. Maybe the random note you had all found in the goblin camp wasn't very accurate anymore... oh well-

Wyll seems to get a really good idea and pulls out some ugly lyre he must have gotten somewhere – oh wait, the Spider lyre... right... something something on that note about a guide.

"We've brought the Lyre..." Wyll interrupts. Showing the instrument.

"You play?" You ask in a whisper. Wyll stiffens up slightly, realising he doesn't... actually... no one does...

"Give me that." Gale scoffs, using some sort of spell to get it going into a song.

The lyre plays a soft yet eerie tune. Filling the dark lands with sounds it hadn't heard for a while.

Slowly, a bug-like clattering noise came closer. Big exoskeletal legs, by the sound of it. Honestly, you should have expected so. Spider lyre... It's going to be a spider....

"Who have we here? Followers of my lady?"

This strange drider speaks. His white hair flowing slightly in the almost nonexistent wind.

"Followers of the Absolute. They have a thing to do in Moonrise Towers." One of the goblins nods.

"I see... I am Kar'niss, your guide. You'd do best to stay close and not stray from my ladies' guidance." Kar'niss, or the drider, warns. Clutching his strange lantern tightly.

That is before he starts clattering away. Expecting you all to follow.

Lea'zel had already taken your arm tightly, on guard around both the goblins and the drider.

"You have quite a young follower with you." Kar'niss speaks to the two goblins walking closest by him.

The goblins turn to eye you for a moment before nodding along.

Lae'zel tightened her hold on you, almost afraid that the drider would take you from them.

She wasn't that wrong, however, as Kar'niss swiftly scooped you up for observation. And this being was damn tall due to his arachnid appendages. Almost like a centaur, just creepier.

You pale quickly as he looks you over from head to toe.

"I haven't seen a young one in quite some time... My lady would surely like to see you." Kar'niss states eerily. His eight beady black eyes flickering over your scared visage.

"Give them back." Lae'zel demands hastily, her teeth almost bared in honest rage at you being taken out of the group's reach.

"You do not demand of the guide!" One of the goblins yells back at your Gith friend.

Lae'zel then promptly bashes the goblin in with her greatsword.

The group stops moving as everyone tries to guess who is aggressive towards whom.

The hesitant glances only take a moment before a fight breaks loose. About half of your companions immediately try to jump Kar'niss to get you out of his chitin-covered hands.

The drider scowls in disdain as he dodges a spell or two, scurrying away with you firmly planted in his arms. A disadvantage for him since it keeps him from using his sword.

You yell to be let go to no avail; he's taken a fascination and will take you to the absolute.

"Get back here!" You hear Wyll yell angrily as he sprints after the both of you. As a folk hero, he does run quite quickly. Perhaps Lae'zel could beat him if she wasn't preoccupied with slaying the leftover goblins out of rage.

You yelp in surprise when Kar'niss starts scaling the wall like a true spider. Making your body weight lean onto his chest due to the change in gravitational direction.

The stone brick tower you're being taken up on... is this Moonrise Towers – oh fuck!

Your companions had to give up their chase when Kar'niss got too far since they were now left without the protection of the moon lantern.

---

"And who might this be?"

A foreign voice speaks with great intensity as you're presented by the drider.

"I have found a little one in our ranks." Kar'iss explains. You'd been recently immobilised by spider threads. Sticky and restraining against your skin.

"And this is of note... why?" The old man before you asks. A dog made of solely bones lay by his side. The grey-bearded man wears quite the imposing armour, glinting in the sinister light of Moonrise Towers.

"I had presumed since you miss your daughter so... you'd appreciate a new young one." Kar'niss speaks.

You're flabbergasted. The old man is flabbergasted. You're somehow both just as perplexed at such a suggestion.

Your head suddenly pangs with a painful twist. A voice speaking to you telepathically.

'Child, do not trust Ketheric Thorm... Do you hear me?'

The voice booms in your head. It's quickly silenced as this supposed Ketheric sets a gauntlet-covered hand upon your head.

He seems to have noticed your mind's intruder.

"Do you serve the absolute, child?" Ketheric asks in a stern manner, the gem of his headpiece sparkling slightly.

"Uh.. yessir. With my life, body and soul." You declare in what leftover confidence you can muster up.

You realised you'd need to keep up the act of a mindwashed subject before you got killed out of suspicion.

"Come." Ketheric demands of you, his deep voice shivering down your spine as if audibly bass-induced.

Your mind debates on whether or not to do as he says... Do the followers of the absolute still have a shred of free will? You don't recall the answer, so obedience it is.

You now stand before this intimidating-looking man. The unfamiliar voice in your head silenced sheerly through his imposing aura.

The man grasps your jaw in his armoured hand. The cold metal practically sears into your skin. Causing a mild flinch. You hope it isn't that noticeable. Wouldn't want your act to drop.

Ketheric finishes his observations of you. Moving his hand in a fluid motion from your jaw to the side of your face, tucking a strand of your messed-up hair behind your ear in a slightly soft manner.

"Bring them to our paladin. She will keep her eyes on them and ensure proper training." Kethric decides in a grave tone. Letting Kar'niss take hold of your upper arm to drag you down into the tower, via the actual stairs this time.

Paladin...? What are they going to do? Teach you sword fighting? Aren't you a little too... magical for that?

A dull thud in the back of your head springs to life again. It's been getting worse ever since you got taken from the party...

Kar'niss drops you off at a familiar-looking drow woman, who is currently sharpening her greatsword on a grimy grindstone.

"You!" The woman gasps as if you personally disgraced the ground she walked upon. You recognise her now... The woman on the beach who had intended to kill you while you lay there vulnerable.

"Maybe..." You murmur awkwardly. Her hair still reminded you of your mother, though the comparison was making you increasingly uncomfortable considering she was part of this cult.

The drow goes over the details with Kar'niss briefly before almost hoisting you up by the arm.

"Barely any muscle to you. And Ketheric wants you trained? Pathetic welp." The woman snarls.

You recalled the drider had called her Minthara, so that was what you decided her name was.

She went on to grumble about being saddled up with burdens, one after another, as she dragged you towards a training area.

You were unceremoniously handed a sword. The cold grip of it feeling heavy against your skin. Being used to staffs and smaller daggers... this was a mile out of your comfort zone.

To your complete surprise, Minthara came running up towards you with a sword of her own. Slashing down at you without a shred of mercy behind her ruby eyes.

You let out a startled grunt as you block the attack just in time. Your arms immeadiatly bursting with warmth from the unfamiliar excersize, straining your muscles greatly.

"Lazy sorcerers. Can't even hold a sword." The drow snarls as she thuds the blunt side of her swords' handle into your abdomen. Making you buckle down and heave for breath. The attack rendering you breathless and in pain.

By the gods... where was the party when you needed them?

-------

"What do you mean, we can't go to Moonrise towers alone?" Gale snaps at the leader of the Harpers.

After your sudden abduction, they had ran around the Shadow-cursed lands in desperate search for you. Hoping dearly that wherever you were was safe.

Everyone was a bundle of nerves, ready to explode.

No one even dared to look at Halsin or he'd just go bezerk.

Jaheira was telling them of plans to infiltrate Moonrise towers, and that the party could under no circumstances go in alone and disrupt the Harpers' careful planning.

"If this child you speak of really got taken by a cultist, then they will be there. Alive or not." The female druid repeats once more. That little 'not' unsettled everyone greatly.

"When- When are you doing this attack?" Wyll pipes up, trying to stay calm and focused, as a folk hero should.

"In two days, we will strike from the bridge. You are all free to fight alongside us... or don't. Perhaps you plan to take advantage of the chaos of the battle to find this child?" Jaheira questions, obviously having better things to do than search for a child that isn't hers.

Lae'zel was bordering on furious, having to choose between wanting to be mad that the Harpers would assume they'd dishonour the art of war or being angry that they couldn't go get you sooner.

Off in the corner, Shadowheart was busy trying to get Karlach to stop crying. Whether the burning thiefling did so to try and score pity points or because of genuine emotion... nobody knew.

It's not like the tears could roll down her cheeks, as they evaporated rapidly.

"Fine, fine. We'll find Y/N during the attack." Gale almost spits. Honestly, he was scared out of his mind right now, imagining you dead on the floor of some cold dungeon cell.

Lae'zel attempted to snarl in protest, which Astarion hesitantly stopped, earning him a hateful glare from the Gith.

"I just hope they're safe..." Karlach sniffles, wiping a burning tissue over her red cheeks.

"Let's just aim for alive..." Shadowheart cringes. Not wanting to imagine the torture you're in.

------------

"I said high swing, not mediocre lopsided goblin swing!" Minthara screams at you, you're currently seeing spots, as you've been relentlessly sword training for the past two days.

The low amount of sleeping hours you're permitted, along with the meager diet and bad overall vibe of Moonrise towers, has been bringing you into great fatigue.

The drow woman did not seem to notice, though you've heard drow are often raised on harsh training like this...

Your knee almost gives out as she barks at the goblins on the side to stop yelling about being used to insult your technique.

"Again, Y/N. Now or no dinner." Minthara barks. You almost groan in exhaustion, you really needed dinner...

To your absolute delight, the alarm sounded, the tower was under attack, you presume. Maybe your party finally came for you... You almost gave up hope.

Before you can slink away into the crowds of fighting goblins to try and spot Halsin's height or Lae'zels' war cries, you're grabbed by your trainer.

Minthara quickly shuffles you away with her to what you presume is a safe room. Under the instruction of Ketheric, no doubt...

There went your chance of saving. The woman covered your mouth with a rag to shut you up in case you called out for help, standing guard at the door.

Goodbye hope....

Yayyy! A chapter (kinda).

Not as long as I wanted it, but I figured doing all of Act 2 in one chapter was a bit too much; there's still a whole bunch after Y/N's rescue. Don't say hi to Act 3 just yet.

Will make a post to bundle all the links regarding this series together because I'm getting lost myself. Also, holy space being I have 170 followers on here? Like, hi everyone? What the heck. Thank you <33

The exam period starts now, so I'll see what I can post. Sad ;(

From an overworked interior architect to you all, do not study architecture-related things; it's actually hell.

BTW is Grammarly bad as a grammar checker?

Until the next one :3

[lilith-and-baldursgate]

Ketheric: I'm not doing to well

Orin: What's wrong?

Ketheric: I have this headache and it won't go away

*Gortash enters the room*

Ketheric: There it is again

Orin: Don't worry I have one of those too

*Y/N following after Gortash*

[tamayakii]

wow no ones gonna write a fic where Tav was Ketherics little pet, who then is kinda kidnapped by gortash?? like put on the nautiloid on purpose to be infected and turn mindflayer cause tav was a distraction to ketheric and then the whole story happens and tav gets their memories back as they travel to moonrise towers and then when they realize in some sick and twisted way they love ketheric but since they lost their memories it allowed their true self to come out and they're still a loyal person, but now to their party and now they're stuck in a do i kill the man i love even though he loves me or do i betray my friends???? NO ONE?? IM GONNA HAVE TO DO IT MYSELF?

[princeofhags]

what if i wrote ketheric fic what then

[vibingandsimping]

got anything for Ketheric or the Oathbreaker Knight by chance? 🫣

First time writing on my PC... formatting might be strange. I apologize now. I also can see my top followers? Shoutout to you guys. Not proofread... have a blast.

Ahead contains some content like smut and such.

Ketheric is an older man. We all know this. He doesn't have the stamina of a typical, younger man. That doesn't mean he doesn't try to keep up with you in both domestic activities and the bedroom. A lot of his time is taken up by governing Moonrise and overseeing his growing army. As well as assisting Orin and Gortash's plans for domination. His spare time is spent with you as much as he can! Whether that's doing something like a hobby of yours or his. One good feature of his is that he's always showing interest in your own interests. He wants to learn about you when he can. He'll make sure you get the finest food and treatment around Moonrise that he can assure. As far as the bedroom goes, he is similar to Oathbreaker in a sense. He doesn't typically tolerate disobedience or brats. He is too old and tired for that shit. He will come down with a harsh hand if you disrespect him in any sort. Now, he is older so it takes him a little longer to acquire an erection. He admires your form just like any other but he is seasoned. Ketheric doesn't get hard just from seeing someone nude. He needs a more seductive dance (whether that's you actually actively seducing him or engaging in some lengthy foreplay). Once both you and him are proper and ready for the more intimate acts he knows what he is doing. He treats you like fine porcelain (but he's not afraid to scratch it a bit) and focuses on your pleasure for the majority. Honestly, it can be hard wrangling him from between your thighs at this point. You'll have cum to his mouth and fingers a minimum of twice before he's even entering you. Cock aching and his chest heaving with your spent over his lips and beard. His thrusts aren't particularly bruising but they seek all your sensitive spots with such ease it's mind-melting.

Oathbreaker is a different story. He is an immortal entity so I don't believe he physically ages. He does age mentally, though. The knight has been alive for too long to also take shit. He won't regard you if you're a normal person. Only way to garner attention is if you're an Oathbreaker but... we all make sacrifices, right? It wasn't intended to meet him when you first broke your oath. The shame washing over you as the world darkened and a figure filled your vision. Though, the longer he spoke and... sympathized(?) with you the more it seemed alright. He stuck around your camp so you stuck around him. Somehow, you two ended up creating a bond of sorts. He was full of wisdom, more-specifically about your paladin nature. His ominous aura, deep voice and distinct features were attractive. When he hears wind about your attraction to him? He has a blast with it, honestly. The next time you talk to him he makes relentless comments. About how you're attracted to a being of another realm. A man who has seen nearly anything and was the first to break his own oath. You're about a puddle before he shows any of his own interest. It's been awhile since he's had a toy... and a toy you are. He regards you as if you're a dirty being. You must repent to him for going against your oath- for finding him attractive. What would your god think? I am unsure if he has... parts. He will fuck you with his fingers and the hilt of his sword, though. He takes his time with it and eases you into everything. He is a consent king beyond it all. Constantly asking for reassurance in subtle ways. The sex is less about his pleasure rather than dominance. To see you fall apart and break under his touch is pleasure enough. Kudo's to you if you find a way to make him cum!

[sorceresssundries]

Downpour

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: After so long trapped in the shadow-cursed lands, Tav basks in the delight of feeling the rain on her skin. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Ok, so I wanted to have a go a a romantic, Austen-esque, fluffy, soggy, sexy love-scene. I am a Pride and Prejudice girlie, and this was definitely inspired by the artwork i've seen floating around of Gale as Mr.Darcy. I STILL BLUSH WHEN I POST SMUT.

In the forest, away from camp, the rain fell heavy, warm, and welcome. After enduring the stagnant shadows of the curse for so long, Tav reveled in the sensation of the heavy droplets drenching her. She longed to feel the rain soak all the way to her bones, washing away the blood and shadow clinging to her skin. She craved cleanliness, yearning to return to the warm embrace of nature before being pulled back onto the road to Baldur’s Gate, where fresh burdens would undoubtedly litter the streets of her city. 

Baldur’s Gate... The Upper City... Her home. Where her expectant fiancé no-doubt awaited her return, eager for her to forsake her studies of magic and join him as agreed in their betrothal. It was a future that demanded sacrifice—her independence, her magic, her heart—all in exchange for providing for her family. This was the destiny that loomed if they completed their quest, and time was slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

So, she lingered in the rain a while longer, relishing the freedom of being a fearless adventurer, a woman unbound, her soul still wild and untamed. She would postpone the inevitable, if only for a few rain-soaked hours.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Gale. His anger still lingered like a storm cloud after their battle against Ketheric. She had urged him to resist the call of his Goddess, to spare himself from becoming the sacrificial weapon to slay the absolute. In doing so, he had shed his mantle of martyrdom, stepping away from the edge of his perceived heroism. And in the aftermath, when the adrenaline faded and victory cries hushed, she sensed his resentment.

At the height of his struggle, she had hoped he wouldn't need convincing. She had hoped his own worth would shine brightly enough to dispel the dark intent of Mystra's decree, and that he would have enough faith in their companions, in her, to find another path. She had believed their bond ran deep enough for him to steadfastly choose to remain by her side, but she had been mistaken. He required persuasion, and it had nearly shattered her.

She understood he owed her nothing, that no formal declarations had been made. There were moments heavy with unspoken desire, where the air crackled with anticipation. She had savoured each lingering glance and flirtatious exchange. Yet now, she wondered if it had all been a fanciful illusion. How could he desire her when his heart yearned for a Goddess? When the sigil of his devotion was literally branded over his heart? She resigned herself to accepting that he would stay by her side a while longer, and would bask in his warmth for as long as she could.

“Tav!” A distant voice called through the trees, barely audible over the rain storm's fury.

She turned to see him striding purposefully towards her, embers of anger flickering in his deep eyes. Both of them were drenched, the rain pouring down so relentlessly that it only took moments to become completely soaked. His white camp shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, accentuating the contours of his muscles. The emblem of the orb was unmistakable through the fabric, as was the dark hair which spattered his chest, trailing down into the snug, rain-soaked leather trousers tucked into his boots. Heavy droplets cascaded down his nose and fell from his long lashes like tears, and he had pushed his hair back away from his face, so now only a couple of tendrils stuck to his forehead and his cheek. The shimmer of the water cast him in ethereal beauty, and his silver earring gleamed like a lone star in the night sky. He might as well have been naked, and Tav felt a rush of heat at the sight of him. He was divine, and he was furious.

“What are you doing?” His voice was coloured with fresh anger. “You will catch your death!”

“Death has tried to catch me once today, wizard,” she said in defiance, turning her face upwards to the burst sky and running her hands through her hair. “I would like to see him try again.”

“You are stubborn and infuriating to your core! You would not allow me to sacrifice myself, and yet here you stand in the middle of a storm, taunting death as though he is a pawn in your game of heroics.”

She had never seen him this inflamed; the cool bindings of his tightly-wrapped feelings had come loose to reveal a man smouldering with desperate intent. The fact he still saw himself as a sacrifice shot fury through Tav’s veins equal to that of the Wizard before her.

“Do not blame me for what happened today! Your derision is wasted on me. I regret nothing. You were not weak; you were courageous. Vilify me if you will; resent me and cast me aside. It is a price I will pay to know your light still shines in the world. But I take no credit for your act of bravery. That was all you.”

She felt tears spill their way out of her eyes, and she belligerently let them fall alongside the welcome rain, now angry that she was letting herself fall apart in front of him. She could see him subside; he had calmed from raging ocean to a still pond. He said nothing, just waited.

“Baldur’s Gate lies ahead, and so does the end of our journey. Soon I will be home. I will marry a man I do not love, to support a family who does not care for my happiness, and I will take my courage from you, from what you did today. Please grant me the blessing of knowing it was because you wanted to stay here, with me. Just let me have that, even for a moment, even if it isn't real.”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back, as though it was the first move in a practiced dance. She knew he meant to comfort her; she was unsure how, but it did not matter. She could not bear it.

“No, please,” she pleaded, needing to be alone. Completely soaked by the rain, despite the warmth in the air, her skin was speckled with gooseflesh, her clothing clinging to her in soaked desperation. She felt ashamed and exposed in front of him. He was everything she wanted but could never have. Jealousy, anger, and longing burned within her. If he touched her, she feared she would flame to ash in his arms. “Please, leave.”

He gazed at her face, her damp skin flushed, her dark eyes deeper than he had ever seen them, the usual mischievous sparkle replaced with swirling fear and helplessness. He longed to comfort her, to hold her.

“You should not marry him,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. The silence that followed was heavy with tension. She held his gaze, her tears halting along with her breath.

“I am acutely aware of the shackles that will bind you upon your return. The thought of it has seared my soul. I have seen people marry for all the wrong reasons—wealth, security, anything but love. Some found it suited them, others were torn apart. That fate is for the faint-hearted, and you are not one of them.”

This time when he stepped forward, she did not move.

“They are early spring, and you are blazing summer. They are dappled moonlight, and you are blinding sun. They are house cats and cart horses, and you are a wild thing. You should not marry him,” he continued, his sadness palpable in his eyes and voice. “You will wither.” The space between them felt heavy and charged, the air warm and heady in the humid rain shower. “You talked me down from my precipice; let me help you down from yours.”

She could bear it no longer. Meeting his eyes, she began to move with purpose. That was all he needed. Rushing forward, he pushed her back against the nearest tree. She mewled in surprise before his lips captured hers, soft yet determined.

“Gale..” His name fell like dropped silk from her parted lips. As soon as he heard it exhaled in breathlessness, all soft intent was washed away with the rain. His hands were everywhere, grasping at her soaked clothing, tangling themselves in her dripping hair, pulling her hips against him. The kiss was wet - rain heavy and so so desperate. His tongue danced with hers, in ways he had fantasised about alone in his tent. He had brought himself to ecstasy thinking about the touch of her tongue against his, about all the lust induced pleasure she could summon with it. He was desperately hard, unashamedly and wantonly pressed against her. He wanted her to feel the effect she had on him, how much he desired her in all her vexing, complicated, exquisite glory. 

He had been angry, yes. He had been ashamed and guilt-ridden - but for reasons he did not expect. He did not feel as though he had let down Mystra, but that he had let down Tav. He had the opportunity to rid her of her burden, to strike down the threat which loomed over her head. She would be safe from the absolute, he could have given that to her, and she had talked him out of it. He felt like a coward, a meek ember undeserving of the vivid bonfire of a woman who had blazed her way into his heart. 

He realised now, entangled with her in the wild rain, that he loved her. The simplicity of it was overwhelming. She was exceptional, and he loved her. 

She had thought his feelings for her were wistful imaginings, but the truth was - he burned for her, he always had. Over the course of their journey, he had caught each glance with gentle hope and clutched them to him in times of darkness. He had saved every kind word and pressed them together into the pages of a book, to be taken out and skimmed through when he needed comfort. Her name was carved into his heart, and each beat belonged to her. 

They broke apart, both panting and breathless from the force of their embrace and she laughed. The most beautiful, clear chime of a laugh which stirred his blood and flooded his veins with joy. He smiled at the sight of her, and with a wave of his hand created an invisible shelter above them to shield them from the rain. 

“You couldn’t have done that before?” her pupils were so lust-blown the rich brown of her eyes were thin bands around black pools of desire, and her voice sparkled and danced through him. 

He peppered light kisses along her jaw and down her neck, “And spoil your fun? I wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tangled in his hair in response, and she moaned as he licked away the rainwater which had gathered in the hollow of her throat. 

“Lay down for me.” The grass beneath them was dry from his magic, and a soft purple blanket had been conjured out of nowhere. 

She did as he was told, and the ease of her submission did something to him. She was wild, unpredictable and stubborn, and the way in which she melted and bowed at his touch, at his command, stirred him in a way he had not felt before. He was a man undone.

He spent time slowly undressing her, lifting the hem of her soaking wet shirt and kissing the plane of her stomach, working his mouth along the sensitive ridges of her ribcage, pushing her arms upwards so he could pull the sopping wet clothing over her head. As he lifted her arms he licked the curve of her breast, her collarbone, even her armpit. He wanted all of her, and she arched her back so beautifully under his touch that he could not bear to remove his mouth for even an instant.

“Gale, please.” He had never heard her voice so low before, so wanton and dripping with unfiltered lust. 

“It is unlike you to be so well-mannered.” He teased between tonguing her damp skin “Where is the wild creature who has enraptured me so?” 

Her response came in a moan so primal it could have been mistaken for a growl. She was an altar he couldn’t decide whether to worship at, or desecrate. He decided there would be time for both. 

He peeled the rest of her clothes from her like the rind from a sweet fruit. Putting his mouth to every inch of flesh he uncovered. The rain mixed with the salt-sweet taste of her skin was fresh and heady, and he thought that no ambrosia could taste sweeter. 

He proved himself wrong when he eventually pressed his tongue where she wanted it most, where her desire gathered like a fresh-filled rockpool. She was heavenly. Every moan he pulled from her was a claimed bounty, a treasure he would hoard till the end of his days. He dipped his tongue inside her, savouring her, coating his tongue with her and then swiping upwards to run over the small bundle of nerves which could undo her completely. Her hips bucked in response. 

“Exquisite.” He said in between heated kisses. 

“I want all of you inside me, please.” Her cry was more breath than words. Her fingers raked through his hair and the shocks of her touch ran all the way down his spine. “You shall have me, my love. Body and soul, heart and mind. All of me, eternally.”

“Enough poetry.” She whined “Gale..” 

“I want you to come against my tongue first, sweet girl. I want to taste your undoing.” He re-focused his attention back between her legs, completely devoted in his worship, intent on receiving the holy blessing of her exalted cries as she lost herself beneath him. It did not take long. His tongue was firm, his dexterous fingers stroked into her and curled to find the hidden place of her rapture. His face was lust-soaked, head spun with desire, he was drunk on her pleasure and he ground himself into the earth beneath him as she unravelled with a reckless cry. He did not stop, he coaxed her through it, tongue softening and fingers slowing their pace as her wave broke and the relentless tide retreated. Even when she was spent, he continued to kiss her intimately, revelling in the soft pulse of her muscles. 

She drew him close, kissing him slowly and wantonly, savouring the taste of her own salt on his tongue. Pulling back, she gazed into his eyes, tracing the rough shadow of his beard with the pads of her fingers, fulfilling every longing touch she had yearned for. Returning the favour, she undressed him, their laughter mingling as they wrestled with his soaked leather trousers, finally leaving him as bare as she. With him above her, their bodies pressed together, anticipation sweetening the air between them.

“You are a marvel.” She whispered, tracing the vein-like mark that swirled under his eye, “I will spend each second proving to you that you made the right choice today. That the world is a brighter place for having you in it.”

“I am completely in love with you.” was his simple response, and the smile it earned him rivalled the night sky with its radiance. 

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” was her teasing reply.  He offered her a single soft, chaste kiss, before running his hands once again up her arms. This time to pin her hands above her head. She gasped at the sudden change in pace, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. He kept her small hands grasped in one of his, and slowly stroked the other down her body. Tracing a path to where she was still wet from desire and the focus of his tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered beautifully as his finger lightly brushed over her, and her sharp intake of breath told him she was still desperately needy. “I’m going to need to hear you say it properly, Tav.” Briefly, his strokes became firmer, purposeful, stacking a pleasurable build back from the ruins of her last orgasm. And then, he withdrew his touch from her completely, leaving her bucking and helpless. 

He kissed her throat and moaned against her skin, as he shifted his position to meet her heat. The tip of him pressed against her, and he had to dredge up every drop of restraint to stop himself pushing into her in one, hard stroke. 

“Be a good girl, and say it.” Between the two of them, it was unclear who was more desperate, who was winning their little game. It didn’t matter in the end, the result was always going to be the same. 

“I love you.” She met his eyes and poured every ounce of love-drenched sincerity she could into her words. She meant it. She would always mean it. And with her confession, Gale finally pushed himself into her, not breaking contact with the sparkle of her eyes as he moved himself inside her. 

"Let me touch you, let me show you, please," she begged, her voice aching with desire. At her plea, he released her hands, and immediately her fingers roamed his body. Her pleasure soared as she finally explored him in ways she had only dreamed of, tracing faded scars and kissing each sun-browned freckle.

His pace remained deliberate, slow at first, savouring every moment as he pulled almost completely out of her before burying himself deep inside, revelling in her tight warmth. The pouring rain and distant rumble of thunder drowned out most of their passion's noise, but Tav seemed to take it as a challenge.

She matched his intensity, moving with abandon, grinding her hips against each dedicated thrust, enticing him to unravel, daring him to let go. And he did. His kisses turned into soft bites, caresses into bruising grips on her waist, her hips, the soft flesh of her backside.

Lovemaking turned to fucking, to pure desperation and relief. He rutted into her, primal and hot - the ability to speak a distant memory as all he could do was moan into her mouth as he approached his crescendo. He flipped her over, and placed one of his arms under her leg to move it upwards, and he fucked her into the ground. They were still soaked, and they didn’t know if it was from the rain, their sweat or their pleasure, neither of them cared. 

He had angled her hips so he could move more deeply into her, and still wrap his arm around her to stroke her where she needed. It was exquisite. It did not last long. Tav threw her head back against his shoulder, and gasped out a choked cry as she clenched around him - wild and lost. The sensation of her was too perfect, and Gale followed her breathlessly and completely. All rhythm lost in the chaos of her unravelling orgasm. 

As they descended from their high together, he gently turned her to face him, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, the pads of each fingertip. 

“I love you” her voice was soft hope, he gaze a bright future. They would keep each other safe, and face each challenge with hearts and hands entwined.

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” He replied breathlessly, and her laugh mingled with the sound of rain and thunder to create the most beautiful music he had ever heard. 

[vrystalius]

Can I request headcanons for Gortash, Raphael, Haarlep, Rolan, and Zevlor reacting to his gn s/o who always do your best to take care of him like making sure he rests properly please?

Taking care of them.

What would they act like when you tale care of them?

Pairing: Gortash, Raphael (+Haarlep), Rolan, Zevlor x gn!reader

Words: tralala

Genre: Fluff

Note: Check out my personalised letters event over here <3 Also I kept Haarlep’s a little short and kinda made it into a bonus.

Gortash // Chosen of Bane.

He has to keep up appearances to the public and to become the proper hero of the gate that saved the all the people within the walls from Ketheric’s army, but behind all the closed doors and especially in the evenings, you can tell that Gortash is anything but doing resting properly.

There is always something that needs his attention, something pulling him away from good night’s sleep or a decent meal that consists of actual nutritions and things like vitamins. Gortash is known to skip out on those. So, you took on the responsibility to make sure the chosen of Bane doesn’t pass away prematurely.

While he is busy going through papers and caving up in his office to hide away from the public, you continuously checked on your lover and placed a bowl of food down in front of his nose. The meals consisted of meats, vegetables, sometimes a cup of black coffee, sometimes a glass of well-aged wine from the cellar to go along with the meat.

Gortash sometimes complains about how you didn’t bring him any dessert, but then again, you are right there with him. There is no better dessert than your sweetness.

Getting him into bed and to shut his eyes and rest is surprisingly easy. He barely protests and sometimes doesn’t even change out of his clothes before positioning himself into your arms, letting your hands gently caress him to sleep. Your fingers slowly brush through his messy hair while his face was squished up against your chest, his warm breath slowly getting slower and slower until you heard Gortash’s snores interrupt the silent room.

He sleeps very lightly. Everything and anything can pull him out of his slumber, but you try to make an effort to keep his sleep as peaceful as possible.

The door to your private bedroom will be sealed with a ward to keep everyone out. Gortash’s head will be nestled against your neck or buried into your cleavage, your arms draped around his body to keep his body against yours. The sounds of you sleeping are like pleasant white noise to him which helps him sleep through the night. You are the more pleasant form of a cup of lavender tea or a hot cup of milk with honey.

But you being the perfect way for him to fall asleep is actually not a very good thing, especially when you are separated from him. Gortash wouldn’t be able sleep even if someone hit his head with a pan over and over without you by his side or within his radius. It’s actually embarrassing how restless he becomes without you.

Raphael // The handsome devil (cambion).

He finds it amusing how much you fuss over him sometimes. Raphael is a devil with a whole house dedicated to him— don’t you think he has some poor soul to serve to him?

He especially adores it when you try and drag him to bed for some rest. As a devil, or cambion, Raphael doesn’t need to sleep or even eat, but he spend some of his very precious time in bed in order to keep you happy. But perhaps it is not just to entertain you and your wishes, maybe Raphael has his own selfish reason to let you curl up in his arms, his leathery wings wrapping around you like a cocoon, his tail wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer.

Your devil never believed you when you told him that he purrs when he naps, but you know what you heard and felt. Your whole body vibrates slightly when he does, when his face is buried in your neck and his chest pressed against yours. It does resemble that of a cat but it sounded much more threatening in a way. Stroking the back of his head or his neck amplifies the purrs Raphael keeps denying. You need to sometime use Haarlep as a witness or something.

Raphael doesn’t really get physical and goes to fight some souls that broke his contract himself, but in the rare cases he does, he never gets injured. But you still insist on him taking a long bath in his boudoir to heal if needed, but he quite a good haggler, so you always end up soaking in the healings waters alongside him, being catered by some of the servants working there.

Pampering Raphael is a hard thing to do, it’s just that he is already being spoiled plenty. He has a whole house in Avernus for himself, his own incubus, hundreds, perhaps already thousands of contracted souls and now you, his little mouse.

The only way you can further spoil him is by distracting him from important work and redirect his focus onto you and how you so easily slid onto his lap without any protest from the devil, his hands immediately finding your waist and thighs to pull you closer against him, his quill now tossed to the side and staining the wood below with ink. His smirking lips would find yours while your arms drape over his shoulders— You’ve successfully distracted from his exhausting work and it’s not worth to continue writing, Raphael thinks.

+bonus: Haarlep // The incubus.

Haarlep enjoys to laze around and having you to pamper him even more, reminding him to take naps and having a snack by the lavish dinner table is quite literally perfect. Sometimes, if he especially gets pouty or whiny, you’ll bring him a plate directly to bed to eat.

Although whenever you outright ask him if he has been sleeping, eating and taking care of himself properly, he’ll smirk and tease you for caring so much about him before pretending he hasn’t, just so you can fuss and dote on him. Haarlep eats all of your attention right up!

But he does feel incredibly flattered whenever you pay attention to him in any way that isn’t meant to be sexual or lead to sex. He of course enjoys the pleasure of mortal and immortal flesh, but sometimes it gets boring and exhausting. It’s nice to cuddle for a bit instead of going at it like bunnies.

He savours every minute he can have you by himself and away from the master of the house. Just like Raphael, he purrs very loudly. The vibrations gently passing through your whole body. His tail is always wagging slightly and you can watch the speed picking up every tome you scratch his scalp or chin.

Let’s just say that Haarlep really, really loves being taken care of. It’s nice to be the pillow princes sometimes.

Rolan // The wizard’s apprentice.

(Small spoilers for his apprenticeship in Lorroakan’s tower)

He both hated and really loves the way you at least try to take care of him. Rolan is a stubborn Tiefling so convincing him to do something so little as put the book and take a nap could turn into a battle where you are on the floor, hugging and gripping onto his leg so he cannot move, only letting go once he pinky promises to come to bed soon.

If not for you, the wizard probably would’ve either died from dehydration or collapse from lack of food and sleep. How he managed to survive before being with you is a miracle.

Whenever you know he’s off to go study in the library, reading a new book of spells or practicing cantrips, you have to physically shove a plate of food and a glas of water into his hands to remind him to eat. Then, he sometimes places it down on a desk and makes a mental note to eat it in a moment, right after he puts the book away. Rolan ends up getting distracted by a journal tucked away in the elaborate shelves that now needs his attention and his meal goes uneaten, cold and forgotten.

But you have been noticing how Rolan has been slowly becoming more and more gloomy, how bruises have been forming on his face and arms. He excused it as him getting injured during spellcasting or being stupid and hitting himself on furniture, but you definitely knew better. You could tell that he was ashamed of whatever or whoever has been hurting him.

It was probably that insane wizard Loarrakan punishing your lover like this, although his couldn’t be considered a punishment anymore. It was abuse.

Rolan refuses to let you talk or even meet the wizard and there’s nothing much you can do. You’ll quietly disinfect the new bruise on his cheekbone and tend to his wounds while he sits there, his head lowered in shame. He needs affection from you now more than ever to let him know that you love him.

The wizard, again, does not very willingly lets himself being taken care of and is a firm believer that he is supposed to be providing for you, not the other way around. But sometimes Rolan melts in your palms like butter, basically crawling into your arms and nudging you with his head to ask for some cuddles and to be held without needing to speak.

He’ll casually cast some visual spells around to entertain you while your hands get busy with his hair and your legs tangle with his. A small smile would slowly spread more and more over his face with every second passing where his eyes watching yours sparkle at the illusion of a starry night he casted onto your bedroom ceiling.

(Act 1)

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Zevlor deserves the world and you know it, but he doesn’t. At least not yet.

You always gently remind him to take a breather, eat a little something, take a walk to calm his mind or finally retire for the night and go to bed. He appreciates your little reminders and how manage to always make sure he was doing okay, despite all of the stress and troubles plaguing his mind.

Despite your caring nature and your fussing over him, Zevlor actually feels more like a burden to you now. You always make sure he eats a decent meal, even if that’s after every other refugee had a meal for themselves, assure him that he is doing great as their leader despite all the hardships and manage to brighten his mood with your mere presence. He loves you dearly and is thankful for all you do, but seriously, you don’t have to. He’ll be fine by himself.

You shouldn’t be doing this for him, it’s suppose to be the opposite. Or at least Zevlor should be doing more for you and taking care of you, not him.

So, he’ll begin to mirror your actions; whenever you try to bring him some food from the camp, Zevlor has a plate saved for you as well ans now you can have lunch together. You shoo him out of his makeshift meeting chamber and force him to take a little walk outside the grove, he’d extend his arm and have you walk alongside him. You think about heading out and go hunt for some boars, his blade is at the ready for you to use. You try to coerce him to take a nap or sleep for the night, you’ll be having to spoon him from behind to cuddle him.

You can never just take care of him, Zevlor always has to take care of you in return or at first. Only that way he doesn’t feel guilty for you spending your energy and time on solely taking care of him, something he is supposed to be doing on his own but fails so often. He feels a little embarrassed about that, and you can always see how his face blushes and lights up in surprise whenever you re-appear to check in on him.

Oh, what has he done to deserve someone as heavenly as you?

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Zevlors part fell a little short, sorry for that— I hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it 🫶 Tysm for the request!!

Check out the event I’m hosting on my blog <3 I’ll choose 4 participating users randomly to receive a personalised letter from their favourite character <3

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <33

Take care of yourselves <3 Remember that you are loved!

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Guilty Pleasures

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader Rating: Mature/Explicit (NSFW) Warnings: Male masturbation, sexual fantasies, angst with no real resolution, mutual pining, Halsin not being able to relax and take a break for once in his life. Absolutely NSFW. Maybe kinda sort Sub Halsin? Summary: With the shadow curse and the threat of Ketheric Thorm looming over him, Halsin manages to find a bit of solitude in his tent and indulge in his inner most fantasies. Word Count: 9.7K A/N: I’ve always loved Halsin’s line of “that was something I had dreamed about for some time” after spending his first night with him. So, naturally, you can’t tell me this man absolutely didn’t fantasize about the player while alone in his tent at night.  I also want to apologize in advance because I know parts of this feel rushed, but admittedly I've been working this piece for a few months here and there and I'm ready to see it off. I am still pleased with how this turned out, but admittedly isn't my best work out there. I've also developed a cold at the time of proofreading, so I apologize for any errors but I *think* I've gotten them all. Read on AO3 here!

The sharpened steel of a heavy sword clanged to the cobblestones below, the sound resonating through the area, deafening everything to an eerie silence. Halsin stood stone still, his breath coming in heaves as he downed the final foe on the battle field. The shadow-infested husk of a Harper collapsed to the ground at his feet, smoking tendrils dissipating into the air as the essence of what was once a person faded into the darkened sky. Halsin's eyes darted across the landscape, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him as he stared into the never-ending darkness ahead. Bodies, both old and new, littered the streets ahead, having succumbed to the curse that held the land in an ironclad vice for a century.

The feeling of guilt wasn’t new, considering he’d dealt with the pain from the moment the curse was born, but there was something more sinister about seeing the curse firsthand again after so many years away. It seemed hungrier, more vicious even, than he had previously remembered and for the time being, the curse was not ready to be lifted. Thaniel had been plucked from the depths of the Shadowfell and after a fair amount of convincing, Oliver had reunited with his other half. Both were resting safely back at camp, progressing well with healing and mending after being apart for so long, but the threat was certainly far from over. 

Halsin stared into the distance, looking past the bodies in the streets and the twisted, knotted roots of corrupted nature that broke through the stones and into buildings, and set his attention on Moonrise Towers. Ketheric Thorm still drew breath and if what Thaniel had said was true, as long as he remained on this mortal plane, the shadow curse would as well. There was some hope that had started blooming within the mind of the druid, knowing that Thaniel was safe and so much progress had been made towards lifting the curse, but admittedly there was still enough darkness in the world that kept him from becoming too hopeful. Ketheric was a formidable foe and defeating him would be no simple task.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles almost turning white from the pressure. Knowing that a seemingly invulnerable man lived once again and had power while so many had died in the past century because of his corruption filled Halsin with a burning rage; one that settled in his bones and set his skin ablaze. Ketheric must be stopped, at any costs, and Halsin knew he couldn’t truly rest until Ketheric lay dead at his feet and she sun shined down upon the land once more. Halsin’s gaze lingered on the towers in the distance, looming over the land like a beacon ablaze with pixie-fueled light all while shadows licked at his perimeters. 

“Halsin?” A gentle voice pierced through the darkness clouding his thoughts, pulling the veil from his eyes so he could see clearly for the time being. A soft, warm touch to his arm soon followed, cutting through the icy cold that had begun to settle on his skin from the air of the shadow curse. The voice had caught him by surprising, causing the druid to jolt slightly at the touch before regaining composure. He finally tore his eyes from the evil of Moonrise, shifting his eyes downward until your concerned look met his gaze.

“Are you all right?” You asked quietly, your hand still gripping his arm. You scanned over his large frame quickly, scanning for any obvious signs of injury or something life threatening and, much to your joy, found nothing immediately wrong. He fidgeted slightly under your touch, his skin tingling at the contact.

“I am,” he said after clearing this throat, “thank you, my friend.” You nodded slightly, your thumb stroking along the crest of his bicep. Halsin was visibly exhausted, dark circles settling beneath his normally bright eyes, which had dulled the past few days. His mind was elsewhere, distracting him from the battles at hand. Despite having your hand upon him, he felt miles away and untouchable.

Since entering the cursed lands, Halsin had been running double time. He wasted no time in leaving camp to sit by Art Cullagh in Last Light and immediately dove headfirst through a portal to the Shadowfell to find Thaniel. You took note of how he refused to sleep the night after Thaniel had been saved, instead electing to remain up for hours to keep a watchful eye on the boy. He only agreed to leave his side once you had suggested he come with you to find Thaniel’s missing half. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you saw Halsin rest and, considering he was seemingly more on edge the closer you came to confronting Ketheric, you were worried for you companion.

“Come on,” you said after a moment, “let’s head back to camp. I think we could all do with a rest.” You motioned to your companions, who were more than ready to retire for the evening.

Halsin’s gaze shifted towards Moonrise once again, look on his face making it clear he wanted to press forward. You were convinced that he’d march straight into the inner sanctum of the tower right then and there if you let him. Your grip on his arm tightened, your fingers slipping underneath one of the bands that was pulled taught around his bicep before giving it a gentle tug to recapture his attention. You stood on the tips of your toes, your lips hovering closely to his ear as he leaned slightly to accommodate for the difference in height.

“I’m afraid that if we keep going in this state,” you whispered softly, “one of us might actually be carrying Astarion back to camp and I, for one, do not intend to be that pack mule.” Halsin’s lips spread into a smile as he glanced towards the vampire in question, who had seated himself on a fallen piece of stone until the party was ready to move forward once more.

“I fear you may be right.” He replied after a moments thought. Halsin returned his sword to its holster resting on his back, sliding it in place with a soft click. You pulled your fingers from his bracers, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and began the journey back to camp. 

As he typically did, Halsin followed in the rear, ensuring that everyone stayed together and did not stray too deeply into the shadows. Despite having the blessing of both the moon goddess and a pixie, he wanted to take no changes in losing those closest to him to the curse; not again. You fell behind slightly, allowing Astarion and Karlach to spearhead the journey home as you took the time to speak with the druid.

“Is something on your mind?” You asked as you walked together, doing your best to match his long strides.

“Ketheric is no ordinary enemy,” he said bluntly, deciding to skip small talk and get to the heart of what was bothering him, “he will not be easily defeated.”

“Nothing with us is ever easy,” you said simply, “but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I promised you that we’d break the curse. And if defeating Ketheric Thorm is how we do so, then that’s just what we’ll do.” You offered Halsin a gentle smile, which was returned with partial enthusiasm. You knew he was worried, and rightfully so, but you were also confident that at Ketheric would be defeated soon enough. But nothing could be done until everyone, including Halsin, were able to rest. 

You and your companions walked the rest of the way to camp in silence and in relative safety, the battles from the day beginning to settle in your bones as your steps eventually slowed the closer you came to camp. By the time you crested the hill that lead to your camp, the sound of children’s laughter filled the air, cutting through the horrific sounds of the shadow curse like a sharpened knife. A smile came to Halsins lips as he watched both Thaniel and Oliver darting around camp, chasing after an excited Scratch with an equally enthusiastic owl bear cub at their heels. Despite their time apart and in the deepest parts of the shadow curse, both boys seemed to be faring well. Seeing them regaining strength brought a sense of happiness to the camp, something that had been sorely missed since entering the shadows.

Halsin stood at the entrance to the camp, simply watching as the boys and animals played in tandem. It was a small sign, but a sign nonetheless that nature had started to heal and had begun lifting the veil of the shadows. You walked to this side quietly, stopping beside him to watch the boys play and laugh with the camp animals as the rest of your companions stopped by their respective tents to unwind for the evening. You glanced up to Halsin, your neck craning to get his face in full view. You slipped your hand around the edge of his, giving him a soft squeeze. After a moment, Halsin pulled his eyes from the scene before him, finally looking down to meet your gaze once more. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, yet the sheer determination to stay awake.

“Why don’t you get some rest? And I mean actual rest, not just a trance.” You asked softly, not wanting to come across as demanding, but firm enough to know you were more than merely suggesting. 

Halsin gave a half hearted smile, exhaustion evident on his face as he placed his hand above yours, sandwiching your touch between his battle weary hands. His thumb stroked your knuckle softly, his gaze settling along your slender digits that had wrapped themselves around his hand and gave another reassuring squeeze. His heart fluttered in his chest at your contact, radiating the same calming warmth that had started when you first brushed against his arm. He’d be lying if he said a long nights rest wasn’t calling for him, but he had a duty to uphold before he could indulge his own comfort.

“I must keep watch over Thaniel and Oliver.” He said as he released your hand and pulled his own from your grasp. You scoffed at his reply, almost finding it ridiculous.

“There are seven people in this camp, myself included, that can keep an eye on two children. We can take turns, rotate out if needed.” You offered, hoping he would take your advice and take a night off for once. Instead, he simply shook his head.

“They are my responsibility. They’ve suffered for too long already while I sat back and did nothing. I cannot and I will not fail them now that they are safe.” Halsin was determined to carry on his camp duties as normal, but you were not ready to back down so easily.

“And how do you plan on protecting them if you’re too tired to stand? Just now on the battlefield someone could have come up behind you because you were distracted. Hells, I managed to startle you with a touch.” Your voice was low, but firm. Gods be damned the man before you could be stubborn. His heart was always in the right place, wanting to protect and serve, but his head certainly wasn’t. “Get a bit of sleep. I’ll bring you a fresh bowl of whatever Gale’s managed to make from a couple of fish heads and a few questionable carrots when it’s ready.”

“You don’t have to coddle,” Halsin said firmly, “I will be fine.”

“It’s not coddling if the attention is required.” You shot back quickly, a lick of frustration to your voice, “Would you not do the same for me if the roles were reversed?” Halsin paused at your question, unable to argue your point. Halsin would do anything you asked of him without question. He’d bring you whatever you wanted and offer aid in any way possible. 

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your voice had softened by now, eyes scanning his face as he searched for an answer. Your eyes locked onto his cheek, which had been streaked with blood.

Halsin remained silent, trying to come up with an answer for your inquiry, but continually ending up without a decent answer. It had been quite some time since he’d allowed himself a chance to relax and unwind, let alone be cared for by others. His service was always demanded by others, yet very rarely offered in return. The residents of the Grove always turned to him for strength, to lead them in Silvanus’ path while keeping tempers at bay, more often than not never managing to appease everyone who resided there and often led to resentment in some form. Or those same people were coming to him day and night, asking for healing of wounds that ranged from the smallest of scrapes to the precipice of death, despite having multiple healers in the inner chambers. 

He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he gave up control and let someone else take the reigns. He was an Archdruid, a leader, a beacon of light in the darkest of times, but he was also just tired. He admitted to himself that perhaps it would be nice to take a long rest, only awakening when he was ready, and to have you by his side when his slumber ended. To have you seated beside him, a bowl of steaming food in your hands as you offered it to him would be quite the sight. You’d have your usual warm smile across your pretty lips as you sat with him, letting him relax and unwind in your presence. It was a pretty dream indeed.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” You said after a long silence as Halsin had yet to answer your question. You brought your thumb to your lips, swiping your tongue across the pad of the digit quickly until it was lightly damp. Reaching forward, you pressed your palm to Halsin’s cheek and used your now wet thumb to wipe the streak of blood from his skin. You were thankful to not find an injury beneath the blood, but found yourself lingering against his skin, your thumb stroking over his cheekbone. You cared for him, deeply, despite Halsin always finding a way to weave out of your advances. Perhaps you were too forward or perhaps he was simply that consumed with his duties, but either way you craved his attention more and more with each day that passed.

Halsin fought the urge to lean into your embrace, having rejected your advances in the weeks prior during the celebration with the tieflings and not wanting to give mixed signals, but the longer your gentle hand caressed his cheek, the urge became more and more difficult to suppress. Gods how he missed the caring touch of others. It had been too long since the last time he allowed himself the pleasure of sharing company with another, the issue of the curse and the stress of the Grove had made any sort of companionship less than a priority and something he easily could push to the side. However, since being in your company, the ease that he previously had at keeping others at arm length was becoming harder and harder to allow. 

It would be an understatement to say he enjoyed your company. Instead, you were someone he had craved. Every moment he spent in your presence was exhilarating, refreshing and addicting at the same time. The sound of your voice was symphonic, the way you managed to find joy even in the bleak lands of late and managed to keep a genuine smile on your face, given the worst of times, was inspiring. He craved your attention and longed for more than just your friendship for quite some time. It was an ache that tunneled deeper in his chest each night when his head went down to rest and the ability to continually push you away was becoming unbearable. The feeling of your skin against his always sent his heart into a whirlwind, fluttering in his chest like a butterfly tumbling in the wind. Halsin wanted so much more with you than mere companionship, but knew that now was not the time nor the place. Too much was at stake to allow himself distractions of the flesh, no matter how desirable they may be. So, as much as it pained him to do so, he walled himself off and pushed you away once more. 

“Perhaps another time.” He said simply, almost ready to pull away from your touch. His demeanor was stiff and cold, far from the welcoming aura he normally emitted.

You felt your heart drop, falling heavily into the pit of your stomach. Having realized that perhaps you had been lingering a bit too long, you pulled your hand from his cheek and returned them to yourself, awkwardly picking at your nails as silence between the two of you grew. You desperately tried to hide the feelings in you that were bubbling to the surface; hurt mixed with some sort frustration. Halsin was a tricky one to figure out. He was kind, caring, and truly wonderful company to have, but any sort of affection on your part was always met with the same rejection. Always gentle in nature, of course, but certainly there. You were fond of Halsin, more than just a casual friendship, but you were beginning to realize that maybe your feelings were one sided.

Halsin felt his heart stop upon seeing your reaction. You were quick to try and hide your disappointment, but it still managed to slip through for the briefest of moments. He knew you were fond of him, perhaps in more ways than one, and he would be a fool to deny he felt the same. You were precious to him, more so than any other he’d previously had the privilege of calling friend and confidant, and knowing that he had caused you even the quickest moments of sadness made him feel terrible. He wanted to reach up and take your hands in his and press his lips to your fingers, but you had swatted him away before he had the chance.

“Go on,” you said quietly, motioning in the direction of his distant tent with a few waves of your hand, “get some rest. I’ll keep an eye out for Thaniel and Oliver.” You took a step back, inching back as slowly as you could, waiting for Halsin to do the same. As much as you wanted to break through his exterior and get to the heart of whatever was causing him trouble, you respected his need to be alone, as much as it pained you to be kept at arms length.

With a slight nod of his head, Halsin made his leave, not wishing to turn this into a more serious argument. In his heart, he knew you meant well and also knew that both halves of the land spirit would be safe under your watch. He turned to return to his tent after you had also made your leave, walking to the opposite end of camp with a disheartened sigh. He made the agonizingly long walk from the center of camp to his secluded corner of the area in silence, tugging open the flap to his tent in a fluid motion. 

Halsin’s little plot of land in camp was quiet and tucked away from the other tents, offering as much tranquility as the shadow lands would offer, but was admittedly lonely. Despite choosing the spot himself, Halsin had recently begun to regret setting his tent so far from the others. Duty and responsibility came first, so jovial nights around the campfire passing bottles of wine were nothing if not a distraction. Secluding himself would keep him focused on the task at hand and, for now, thankfully keep him out of your sullied gaze.

Halsin stripped himself of his bands and bracers, tossing them into his bed space with a frustrated flick of his wrist. His boots and weapons were left by the entrance, out of the way but close by if they were needed in a hurry. He was frustrated with himself for just how desperately he wanted to be with you but not having the opportunity to do so. It would be a fools dream to think you would still be interested in him once the curse was lifted, considering just how long it would actually take, and now combined with the knowledge that he had wounded your feelings once more. His heart ached at the thought of knowing your delicate heart had been shattered so easily.

He cursed himself as he stepped inside, making sure to close the tent behind him. Halsin stripped himself of his armor, tossing the garments to the side so he could change into his usual night clothes. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were correct. Sleep was sorely needed and any sort of apology or resolution to this new problem would need to wait until morning. Halsin was having trouble concentration, not being able to focus on the task at hand. He ran his hands across his face and into his hair, lightly tugging at his scalp in the process.

With a soft sigh, Halsin laid himself on the ground, nestling his frame against the fabric of his bedroll as he settled for the evening. He shifted as he tried to find a comfortable spot, his shoulders rustling against the ground in an attempt to dislodge any loose pebbles or larger rocks that may be in the way. Eventually, he settled into a position that was comfortable enough for the evening, his hands and arms taking their place at his sides and his eyes closed so he could begin drifting off into a trace or, if he was lucky, a few hours of actual sleep. The rhythmic sound of wind rustling in the tree limbs and leave hanging above his tent and the low hum of sounds from the center of the camp should have been enough to lull him into the beginning phases of a trance, yet he found himself awake and unable to sleep. 

The usual intrusive thoughts were ever present, of course. The imminent dangers of the shadow curse, making sure Thaniel,  and now Oliver, were well and safe, even the mistakes of his past wove their way into his thoughts and sat heavily on his conscious. But tonight they were quieted and offered nothing more than a faint echo in his mind. Instead, his usual thoughts were being drowned out by something much more prominent and enticing to the forefront of his mind; you. Halsin couldn’t deny the impact you had on his thoughts, which had only grown increasingly more frequent and intense as each day passed in your company. Your kindness and eagerness to help others weighed heavily in his mind, but even more so on his heart. To say you were a delight would be doing you a disservice. 

And more than anything, Halsin wanted you completely. He wanted to be by your side in the upcoming fight against Ketheric and the Absolute, but he wanted everything else that came with that. He wanted to enjoy your company in a more intimate way; to be the one that kept your bed warm at night, to feel the brush of your lips against his, and the feeling of his body sinking deliciously into yours. He could imagine the tightness you would offer, the loving and welcoming warmth that would take him completely, even the sweet noises he could elect from you with the correct moments. He ached for you and that was a feeling that was growing with each passing second.

His eyes remained open, scanning the canvas ceiling of his simple tent as he allowed his mind to unwind in an attempt to drift off into a peaceful meditation, soon finding that his wandering thoughts found no purchase in their usual subject matter. Lingering regrets concerning Emerald Grove, the dangers ever present in the shadow curse, and now the problem of the growing illithid infection festering deep within Moonrise Towers were long forgotten as he focused on something much more pressing and mind consuming. Halsin was suddenly overtaken with the memory of your hands running along his skin earlier in the evening. He longed to feel your touch again, if even for a just passing second. 

Halsin focused his thoughts, doing his best to push you from his mind as he tried to settle for the night. You were right when you said he needed sleep and he tried his best to oblige in your request, but the image of you continued to gnaw on his psyche. You were infectious in that sense; able to burrow into his thoughts just as the tadpole had buried itself in your brain. He couldn’t think normally with you flitting around his thoughts like this, but could only imagine the sweetest and most sinful thoughts he’d had in long while.

Halsin’s eyes closed as he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasy, unable to shake the image of you from his mind. He imagined himself elsewhere. Far away from the shadows, away from the ever pressing darkness and chill the curse offered; a place that was warm and bright, nestled somewhere in a heavily wooded forest. Not the Grove, of course, for it was far too political and too demanding with little care going towards what actually mattered. But instead, he imagined a place where the shadows of the present ceased to exist and land could flourish in harmony and tranquility. Perhaps he was dreaming of a world of fantasy and indulgence, but it was a place that brought him inner peace. A gentle calmness washed over his racing mind, bringing the thrum of his heart to a slow, steady pace as he imagined his own back settling against the form of your body in this fantasy world he had created. 

He could almost feel the softness of your body against his back as he reclined against you, his large frame seated perfectly between your legs, his back resting along your chest while his head fit perfectly under your chin. From here, he could imagine himself getting lost in your gentle touches and soft voice. He found himself leaning against you like a drowsy cat in the mid afternoon sun, simply enjoying the warmth of your caresses as your fingers played with his hair, twisting and braiding locks between your fingers with ease. Your cheek rested along the crown of his head, all while soothing his worries with the delightfully gentle sound of your voice. Halsin smiled to himself within the confines of his tent, the image of you being the balm to soothe his restlessness. Instead of sleeping, he simply allowed himself to sink further into his imagination, bringing one of his arms from his side to rest underneath his head, his eyes happily closing as he relaxed into his bedroll once more.

Halsin then imagined your hands cupping his cheeks, mimicking your caress from earlier, your thumbs lightly stroking along his cheek bones with your fingers tracing along his lower lip and chin. You would whisper sweet things against his ear, smiling against the outer shell as your warm breath tickled against his sensitive tips and caused the skin along his neck to prickle. Your plush lips would lightly pepper his cheek with the most tender of kisses, tracing along the shape of his twisting tattoos at a leisurely pace.

The simple thought of having your lips dancing across his skin made his heart flutter in his chest and a light blush to begin forming along his cheeks. He turned his head on his pillow, as if actually giving you access to the tattoo along his neck would somehow manifest you beside him in the tent, but he had gotten too lost in his fantasy to try and rationalize his movements. With his face now turned from the opening of his tent, Halsin’s imagination continued on with his visions, his mind quickly imagining your lips traveling form his cheek to the bright red swirls adorning his neck as the tips of your fingers toyed with the scar that sliced into his lower lip. 

As time inched along at a deliciously slow pace, your demeanor changed. Your kisses were more firm now, making proper, lingering contact with his skin with each passing moment. A shudder rippled down the druid’s spine as he imagined your teeth lightly grazing the skin of his throat, quickly soothing it over with a swipe of your tongue. It wasn’t long before your hands left his face, bypassing his neck and resting near the height of his chest, your nails lightly grazing and stroking along his collar bones.

From the darkness of his tent, Halsin’s hand came up to rest atop his chest, faintly feeling his own steady heartbeat underneath his camp shirt as his thumb absentmindedly ran along the ridges of his attire and took note of the stitching and changes in texture, replaying the feelings that had begun to rise in his chest as you lavished his skin with your touch. Kisses soon trailed back up his neck and cheek, until the flat of your front teeth nibbled lightly against his earlobe. Halsin released a soft a gasp at the imagined contact, his shoulders briefly rising from the ground in excitement, only to settle back down once again.

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your question from earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.

“Far too long.” He whispered on exhale, his voice low and deep as his tongue flicked across his suddenly dry lips. 

His hand slid across his chest slowly, feeling his way across his body with no sense of urgency or frenzy, simply savoring the feeling of contact against his body that was now beginning to burn with desire. Although these were typically feelings he would suppress when his mind was muddled with duty and responsibility, he allowed himself a quiet moment to bask in his thoughts. Halsin imagined it was your hand that was roaming along his sternum, trying his best to mimic the softness of your touch and mirror your prior movements. Even though his large, calloused hands were nothing like your much smaller and softer ones, the lust beginning to cloud his senses allowed the illusion in his mind to be enough to satisfy his meandering touch. A shuddered breath escaped his lips as the tips of his fingers lightly ran over one of his now hardened nipples, the bud pressing firmly against the interior of his night shirt. 

The sensations cascading over his body were almost electric, given just how long it had been since he’d indulged in a moment of self pleasure, and each touch and swipe of his fingers across his chest sent sharp bolts down his back and the heat that had formed along his cheeks to spread across his throat. Halsin’s hand traveled lower across his torso, pressing more firmly with each movement as he explored the expanse of his pectorals, still fantasizing that it was your hands worshiping his body in such a way; touching and caressing with a gentleness only you possessed, easily undoing his hardened resolve with the faintest tease from your fingertips.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” Your phantom voice whispered against his ear, almost shaking with your own desire as your hands continued to explore his clothed chest.

“Please.” His voice was almost a whine, the long suppressed desperation finally beginning to crack Halsin’s all too serious exterior. He answered honestly, finally letting what he’d wanted to tell you out into the open, even if he was the only one to hear.

Halsin envisioned both of your hands running down the length of his chest, your palms pressed firmly against his camp shirt as you made your teasingly slow descent across his torso. Your hands stopped midway, parting at his middle and moving to his sides before sliding up towards his neck once again. Halsin’s own hands followed suit, mimicking his vision as accurately as possible as the path you had created in his mind continued over and over again, each time reaching just a bit lower than before. 

By now, Halsin had gotten lost in his fantasy. His face and neck were now properly flushed, burning with a bright red instead of the light flush just moments prior. His ears burned with excitement and a light layer of sweat had formed along his upper lip, which was occasionally licked away whenever the druid tried to swallow his excitement. A flutter appeared in his chest each time he visualized your form above him, smiling down at him sweetly as your hands continued their exploration of his body. The flutter would skip on occasion if he ever indulged himself enough to imagine you leaning down over once in a while to peck his lips with your own.

Halsin’s thoughts broke momentarily as his fingers brushed along the upper seam of his trousers, making his lower body twitch and buck into the air at the contact. His eyes finally opened as he explored his lower half, glancing down to see that the whole of his now hardened and throbbing cock pressing uncomfortably against the confines of the leather pants. He tentatively ran his palm along the outline of his bulge, feeling how his aching length traveled along his mid thigh and twitched at his touch, stifling a moan at the contact. Halsin’s hand quickly moved to his opposite thigh, squeezing and stroking at the leg of his trousers while taking deep, slow breaths in a quickly failing attempt to take his mind off the intense need to touch himself more. As the throbbing in his cock turned into a much harder pounding, each exhale was met with a low rumble in his chest. His stiffened length strained against his camp clothes, making the sensation borderline painful as he continued his ministrations along his thigh and back towards his lower abdomen. 

A wetness began to coat his thigh where the tip of his cock rested, the head weeping early traces of his spend as it ached and begged for another touch. Halsin succumbed to his desires once again, slowly running his hand along his arousal in attempt to soothe the throbbing. This, of course, only encouraged the lust and desire to bloom more, making his trousers more and more uncomfortable the longer he palmed himself. Eventually the sensation was too much to handle, the desire and intense need for friction had grown too strong and there would be no chance of getting a second of rest until Halsin came to a release. 

It wasn’t long before Halsin began unlacing the ties that lay at the front of his trousers, his fingers shaking with need and fumbling with the tassels. With a frustrated grunt, he finally managed to roughly pull the opening to his trousers apart, almost ripping the eyelets from the fabric with the force behind the tug. His chest heaved with excitement as the cool air that seeped into his tent made contact with his now fully exposed length, which had already begun dripping his spend in anticipation for a touch.

Pretending it was indeed your hand instead of his, Halsin tentatively reached out and brushed his fingers across his hardened cock, electing a soft groan from the contact. His fingertips danced in the slick that had weeped from his tip and begun dripping down the length of his shaft, coating his fingers until they were well lubricated. He gasped softly at the touches, the feeling almost foreign to him considering just how long it had been since he’d touched himself. His hand eventually wrapped around the base, giving himself a light squeeze and squirming at the wonderfully prickly sensation that settled in his spine.

Your imagined figure hummed softly against his the crown of his head as your cheek settled there once again, nuzzling against him gently while you hand began to slowly stroke along his length. Halsin’s eyes closed again as his hand soon fell into a steady rhythm, pumping leisurely with his hand all while the opposite continued to run along various parts of his body. 

“Rest now,” you spoke sweetly to him, your voice soft and low, “I’ll take care of you.” Your thumb circled the tip of his cock, making him squirm against your phantom frame as well as against his bedroll. Halsin fully submitted to his fantasy and desires, his stoic nature dissolving more and more with each passing stroke of his hand. 

He felt wonderful, more than he had in quite some time. Stress and duty had weighed so heavily on him for many years, allowing guilt and an untold amount of pent up frustrations to build with no way of release. But now, simply lying alone in his tent and imagining your company in such a way was almost euphoric. The only thing that could have topped the experience would be to actually have you pressed against him. He not only wanted to hear your voice and feel your touch, but he wanted to smell your scent and feel the heat within your own body begin to build. Sharing a bed with you seemed like a distant dream, especially with how he had seemingly hurt you earlier, so dreaming of you seated behind him while stroking his cock would be the closest thing he could have to your companionship for now, if ever. 

His thoughts were broken as Halsin could almost feel your lips against his neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses against his skin. He fantasized that you would even latch onto him every once in a while, biting softly and suckling against the flesh of his broad shoulder until haphazardly placed purple bruises began to form. He wanted to feel your arm draped across his opposite shoulder, letting your fingers toy with the hair on his chest that was beginning to crest over with sweat before pressing the whole of your palm flat against him and pull his frame into yours tightly. Perhaps you would even drag those teasingly deft fingertips of yours up his throat and against the bottom of his chin, tilting his head to face yours so you could plant sloppy kisses against his mouth. Your tongue darting across his lips, slipping skillfully into his mouth to lick across his teeth before tangling with his own. All of this happening in tandem with the strokes coming from your opposite hand, which would glide effortlessly and skillfully against his throbbing cock.

You would take your time in his fantasy, having nowhere to be and no mind flayer invasion to stop, giving you plenty of time to explore whatever your tender grasp could reach. Halsin tried to mimic the low, thoughtful pulls of your hand against his cock as best he could, trying to immerse himself as best he could in his thoughts. Pleasant tingles ran across his lower abdomen the further Halsin reached into the opening of his trousers. He continued until a significant portion of his forearm had slipped beneath the fabric, the flaps on the opening of his trousers brushing against his elbow as his hand loosely gripped the base of his cock. His grip tightened as he drug his hand along his length, cupping the head with an almost painful grasp before releasing back down as he returned down again.

Halsin’s legs began to bend at the knee, having previously been laid flat from his attempt to trance, and he placed his feet flat against the ground. The muscles in his thighs began to tighten the longer he stroked his hand along his length, his hips starting to writhe under his ministrations. Halsin ran his thumb over the slicked, weeping tip of his cock, his head arching against the pillow of his bedroll as a desperate groan formed in his chest. The sound caught in his throat, dying down before it could escape his lips, for which he was thankful. In this moment, Halsin didn’t want to be found. Instead, he wanted this moment to last as long as possible, where he could exist in his sinful fantasy until his duties pulled him into the realm of reality once more. He couldn’t afford for a stray cry or moan to slip through the opening of his tent and bring forth the whole of camp to his abode.

It was a selfish thought, but one that the elf embraced with all his might. He wanted, if not needed, this moment of self pleasure. To bring himself to a blissful release with you in the center of his minds eye. There were parts of him that protested and urged himself to stop now, but he carried on, stroking his cock at an increase paced with each moment that passed. Just one moment; one precious, well deserved moment is all he needed to release many weeks worth of pent up frustrations and desires and set his mind right once more.

Halsin’s nails roughly scratched along his chest, digging into the thick fabric of his camp shirt as a wave of ecstasy washed over his belly, making his stroking stutter briefly. His hips lifted from the hard ground, bucking upwards to meet his hand and the mental image of your own. He dreamed of your legs swinging over his hips only to press firmly against his own squirming legs, keeping the thick walls of muscles in place to allow you to continue your stroking and pleasing at your own pace without him interfering, which had significantly increased since his visions first began. It wouldn’t take much to over power you and reverse the roles, given his size. To pin you beneath him and take you properly would be an easy feat, but one he did not want to act on. Instead, deep within the confines of his fantasies, Halsin wanted you to take control and dote on his aching body as you had suggested earlier in the evening.

His heart ached at how badly he wanted you to lead him to orgasm by being the one in power. He had spent the better part of a century leading others and having to be the one to bear the crushing weight of responsibility, even when he didn’t want to. But now, lying on the cold floor of his tent, he relinquished control and let you have your way, even if it was only in his mind. 

Your hand had begun to pick up speed, not quite frantic, but much more than the easy pace you had previously set. Although not knowing much about your previous experience with partners in such a situation, simply seeing how skilled you were in battle with a sword as well as how nimble you were in combat told Halsin all he needed to know about how wonderful you were feel. You would be firm in your grasp, yet gentle enough to not cause harm. Your wrist would flick in just the right way so you would tug gently along his cock while allowing him to feel every bit of your fingers and palm as you continued in long, fluid strokes. You were compassionate enough to listen to worries and fears in camp, so there was no doubt that you would listen to his moans and gasps and adjust your pace or grip accordingly; slowing down with a looser grip if he came too close to completion or speeding up with a tighter grasp if he bucked against your hand for more contact. Generous with his pleasure, yet fully in control and taking the weight of responsibly away from him so Halsin could simply enjoy the feelings festering in his body.

His free hand quickly left his chest and clamped into the fabric of his bedroll, his grip hardened and his knuckles white as the string of pleasure that had been woven in his belly was pulled taught, teetering on the precipice of snapping. Halsin’s hips bucked wildly into his hand, taking his pleasure based more on touch than the actual imagine of you in his mind, although that did not deter him from thinking of you. You were there, holding his large frame against yours, pressing his back into your chest firmly as your hand pumped along his throbbing, aching cock as a fevered pace. Your voice was in his ear, panting white hot breaths against his skin as your voice dripped with your own ecstasy. You begged him to release, to spill his seed against your hand and take his pleasure how he wanted. His incredibly hazy mind imagined you coaxing him along, telling him just how desperately you wanted to see and feel his orgasm ripple through this body. How you wanted to feel his tired muscles twitch and shake as he finally released himself for you.

Sweat dripped quickly from his temples, running along his neck where you could so easily lick it up for him if you were actually there in his tent, stroking his cock from behind as you whimpered and whined sweet promises in his ear. You would offer to clean the mess that was made before laying him down and letting him find pleasure within your body. Halsin could practically feel the heat radiating from your body while his mind burned with desire, imagining your own expression to be blissed out and hazy in anticipation of finding your own orgasm simply from witnessing his. He desperately wanted to watch as you unravelled for him, brought to the brink just from how you touched along his body and whispered in his ear. 

You would seat yourself nicely atop him, fingers gently clawing down his chest as you sunk down on his cock, your own breath heaving as toyed and teased him. From here, his hands could roam your body as he pleased, touching and caressing every bit of your body. Halsin wanted to run his hand along your stomach and chest, inching upwards until his thumb reached your lips, dampening the digit with a swipe of your tongue in a similar matter to how you had earlier in the evening. He could see your hips rolling against his, head thrown back as you gasped for air, teetering on the edge of being in completely control to losing every bit of sense you had while riding out an orgasm.

The disciplined portion of Halsin’s mind that had yet to be fogged over with desire argued with the fire burning in his belly, causing a battle in his mind over what was morally right and what was physically wrong. He wanted you more than anything he’d wanted in so very long, yet Halsin did feel a twinge of guilt in his self pleasure in knowing it was your image that was bringing him so close to release despite the sadness in your expression only moments prior. What would your reaction be if you could see him now sprawled on his back in the solitude of his tent, arm buried deep in his trousers, palming his strained cock at a fevered pace all while imagining you? He would like to think you were be flattered, but deep down he knew you were would be disappointed, disgusted even. To have the courage to turn you down repeatedly, sending you away from him time and time again, yet thrusting into his hand to your image like an animal in rut would be a slap in the face. 

He could feel his pleasure mounting, his cock twitching and throbbing against his hand as his body prepared to spill his seed along his hand and stomach while whimpering your name. A few more strokes would be all he needed to finish, to finally release the built up feelings he’d harbored for so, so long. His legs shook, hips thrusting wildly into the air as his free hand trembled in excitement and small moans slipped into the air. However, the more rational portion of Halsin’s mind finally took control, stopping him before he could finish. 

He flipped over quickly, pressing his stomach firmly into the ground beneath him, trapping his violently twitching cock between his body and the fabric of his bedroll, still wrapped tightly by his hand. Halsin’s hips stilled, his head coming to rest atop his free arm as he caught his breath, the closeness to orgasm slowly ebbing away the longer he stilled. Ragged breaths tore from his lungs, panting into his pillow as he released a frustrated shout, letting the fabric beneath him muffle the majority of it. He was frustrated, angry even. He wanted, if not needed, to complete his task and feel an orgasm finally tear through his body, but he couldn’t allow himself to continue. 

It would be wrong, he decided, to finish the deed. The urge was only natural, but not like this. He had allowed himself to be distracted enough as it is as well as causing you harm, so he deemed himself unworthy of a wonderful release. It needed to wait until after the curse had been lifted and he had gotten in your good graces again, if possible. As much as he wanted it now, he knew that waiting until things were right would be kinder to his conscious and even more blissful once he could finally release.

Halsin remained in his spot, his breath slowly regaining a normal speed as he allowed his orgasm to ebb away. He could feel the more frequent feelings of frustration begin to fester in his mind once again, his still throbbing cock sitting in his hand certainly didn’t help matters. Neither did the sudden sound of your laughter breaking through the silence of camp, making its way to Halsin’s secluded tent off in the distance. The melodious sound of you enjoying yourself made Halsin grind his hips into his hand, causing him to moan loudly at the feeling. Your laughter had spurred him on once more, the idea that you had found joy once again this evening and possibly not sitting somewhere upset due to his actions brought back the feelings of lust. 

Each little snippet of sound he could hear from the far off center of camp made him thrust into his hand even more, particularly if your voice seemed closer than before. Halsin’s breaths had become deeper and heavier with each downward thrust of his hips, the occasional muffled cry coming from his throat if his hips came down at just the right angle. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his pillow, his nails threatening to rip the material apart the closer he came to his release. His muscles were wound tightly, rippling across his back with each roll of his body against his own hand and into his bedroll. By now the fabric of his camp shirt had been soaked with sweat, the material clinging to his body and creating new sensations across his skin as the friction increased. 

Halsin’s fogged mind imagined it was you clinging to him instead, your hands sliding against and caressing his arms and back as you were pressed firmly beneath him. The sweat that rolled lazily down his neck was your tongue lapping at the tender parts of skin and the feeling of his ragged breaths beating against his pillow and recoiling to touch his face instead your own sweet breath panting into his mouth. With eyes shut tightly, Halsin’s hips increased their speed and began audibly slapping against the slick that had coated his hand, letting anyone who came close to his living quarters acutely aware of what his was doing from within the confines of his tent. His moans had become more audible, his senses having long been lost.

Your name tumbled from his lips as his release drew closer, saying it over and over again as if he were begging you to let him finish. Each time he said your name he imagined his own name coming from you, being panted in his ear as he trust into you, your bodies colliding into each other at a fevered pace. He could feel your fingers intertwining with his hair, tugging at his scalp as you moaned and cooed in his ear. Your voice wavered as you whispered for him to release, Halsin imagined you growing closer to your very own peak as you encouraged and begged him to finish for you. And much to his happiness, it was long before he obliged your request.

With a final heavy thrust and one more warbled cry of pleasure, Halsin’s orgasm washed over his body in searing hot waves of pleasure. Halsin’s body stiffened with his orgasm, curling in on himself as his spend finally shot from the tip of his pulsing cock. His grip tightened around his length, feeling each spurt that erupted from his tip land across his hand onto the bedroll beneath him, the occasional rope landing somewhere along his abdomen if his cock twitched at the right time. He let out a gasping breath with each passing release, each one decreasing in intensity as he rode out the last remaining moments of his orgasm.

After the last ropes of his spend were spilled onto the ground beneath him, Halsin took in a final sucking breath, utterly spent and exhausted. The ironclad grip he’d previously had on his pillow finally released, the same hand pushing up his weight so he could sit up and rest on his knees. His opposite hand released his length, now quickly softening as he came down from the high of his orgasm. The druid still struggled to catch his breath, his chest slightly heaving as he wiped his hand clean with the edge of his blanket before resting both hands on his still trembling thighs. He took another deep breath in, his head falling back against his shoulders as his eyes closed until he was facing the ceiling of his tent. 

By now, the illusion he had created for himself had faded. Halsin was no longer seated happily in a tender patch of grass nestled between your thighs, but was instead alone and hovering over his bedroll that rested on a rather hard bit of earth. The warmth of the sun kissing his face had been replaced with the coldness of the shadow curse and the darkness of the inside of his tent. The tender caress of your wonderful hands along his body was now nothing more than his own guilt and shame clawing at his heart once again. He heard nothing but howls and screams in the distant shadows instead of the soft, intoxicating sound of your voice against his ear. The heat from his skin was beginning to dissipate as well, allowing the coolness of the night air to lick at his exposed skin. 

With a soft sigh, Halsin opened his eyes, disappointed to not be greeted with the image of your face, although not entirely surprised to only be greeted with the tattered fabric of his makeshift home. Despite being still sensitive to the touch, Halsin tucked himself back into the confines of his trousers, lacing the ties on the front with a slight hiss at the contact. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand as he looked at the mess now waiting before him. Not wanting to deal with the aftermath of his self pleasure, Halsin simply rolled his heavily soiled bedroll into a tight bundle, tossing it to the back end of his tent and decided to either clean or dispose of in the morning. 

He pulled open the flap of his tent, letting in the last remnants of light from the campfire into his abode as he prepared to finally rest for the evening, the exertion from his orgasm having finally worn him out enough to indulge in a bit of sleep. He shivered at the abrupt feeling of the cool night against the warmth he had created in his tent. The camp had gone quiet, the rest of his companions having seemingly turned in for the night, and the earlier sounds of children laughing and animals barking seemed to be silenced as well. Halsin brushed the straw bits of strained that coated the floor of his tent into a smooth layer so he would have a bit of cushion against his tired bones. He had finished smoothing down the outer edge when something small caught his eye. 

Sitting neatly beside his discarded camp gear was a small bowl of stew, still billowing steam from the surface. Halsin simply stared at the bowl, which had been placed on a small saucer with an accompanying spoon and a hearty chunk of bread. It didn’t take much thinking on his part to know you had been the one to leave the bit of supper by his tent, although he couldn’t be quite sure when you had dropped it off. He had admittedly been too caught up in his fantasy to begin to hear you shuffling about outside, which made him question just how much of his guilty pleasure you had heard. 

Perhaps you had herd nothing and merely wanted to leave his undisturbed under the pretense he was asleep. However, the much more likely scenario considering just how hot the stew was, was that you had walked up right as he was chanting your name while at the height of his pleasure. He felt an all too familiar heat creep up his neck as he eyed the bowl. He sat back on his knees once more, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he imagined a dozen scenarios he’d be having with you come morning. But for now, Halsin simply took the bowl of stew in hand and ate it quickly, ready to finish his meal and finally take a bit of well deserved rest.

Tag list: @thoughts-of-bear @mothermoth92

[drabblesandimagines]

Nettle Soup

Halsin x female reader 5,776 words of fluffy nonsense

--

It had started as an innocent tickle at the very back of your throat, something you’d barely given more than a moment’s thought to - fair enough due to the fact you had a tadpole squirming around in your skull to contend with. A day or so later, it had graduated from a tickle to an annoying and stubborn irritation which very much demanded attention – wouldn’t shift despite how many times you’d tried.

It would clear, surely, you thought, especially since the curse had lifted from the land and you were on your way towards Baldur’s Gate at last.

Except it didn’t.

If anything, it got worse - like you’d swallowed handfuls of crushed glass, the way it stung with every swallow – accompanied by heavy limbs and growing fatigue, no matter how much sleep you managed. Perhaps that was hardly surprising after the number of fights you’d undertaken recently, not quite as young as you once were. 

Although not comfortable with the hitchhiker in your skull, you were at least confident it wasn’t the first sign of ceremorphosis, though the concern that Lae’zel may try to slit your throat if you voiced any notion of feeling unwell remained, so you kept silent.

You powered on, as you always do.

Gale frowned when you didn’t finish your portion of stew that evening, all sat around the campfire. He prided himself on keeping the party well-fed and anything but clean bowls appeared to be a personal affront to his skill. It wasn’t that you felt nauseous, just a lack of appetite made the quarter you had managed sit too heavy in your stomach.

“Was it not to your liking?” The wizard hovers over your shoulder. “While I’ll admit it is a repeated recipe from a few days ago, you enjoyed it well enough then.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful, Gale.” You smile, trying to appease his anxieties by laying a hand on your stomach. “It’s just filling – I’m stuffed already.”

“I recall you had second helpings.”

Oh, he had you there. Think.

“We had just fought Ketheric Thorn too, quite a difference from the day’s leisurely pace.”

“Hm.” His pout remains, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach has been joined by guilt.

“Hardly a repeated recipe, though. I’m sure I noted something different on the palate?”

That did the trick, a wistful smile now gracing his face. “Ah, yes, I did stumble upon some splendid wild garlic that I thought would enhance the flavour profile – how kind of you to notice.”

You nod along, politely, as Gale tells his tale – something about how it elevates the spices - not noticing the wood elf staring at you curiously from across the circle.

You’re thankful it’s not your turn to keep watch as the githyanki takes her place in the centre of the camp, sword laying ready in her lap. You don’t wish to dawdle around the campfire like you do most nights, worried she might sense something off about you and jump to conclusions, so you bid the remaining members of the party goodnight and walk at a brisk pace to the safety of your tent…

..only for an icy cold grip around your elbow to jerk you into their own, your back now pressed against a firm chest with a thud.

“Surprised, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your crown, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I thought you better than that. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bed.” You reply as brightly as possible, overcompensating for how rotten you’re now feeling.

“Oh, but the evening is still so young! I have a fine idea that will while away the hours, if you would be so very kind.” He drops his grip on your elbow and ghosts his hand up your side, making you squirm.

“Not tonight, Astarion.” You shake your head. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him feed off you after that first night. “I’m tired.”

“I can wait until you’re asleep, my sweet.” His hand finally reaches the back of your neck, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’ll be sure not to disturb any of your pretty dreams.”

“No.” Your tone is firm, maybe a little too firm as the vampire stiffens against you and drops his hand, causing your stomach to squirm with guilt once again. “Another night, I’m all yours – I promise.”

Astarion spins you around and you nearly lose your footing – a fact not missed by the vampire as his face transforms from annoyance at your denial to mild concern.

“My, you are out of sorts.” He sighs, before he plasters on a smile that you know to be fake. “Very well, darling. Off to bed you pop.”

You nod a thanks and hurry out of his tent, casting your eyes to the ground in the hopes of keeping steadier footing, only to collide into something firm.

A large, solid chest, covered in familiar druidic garb.

“My sincere apologies,” two warm hands grasp your upper arms, steadying you once again. “I am afraid I did not see you there. Are you all right?”

Your scalp tingles from the gravelly tones of Halsin’s voice, a warmth flushing over your cheeks as you look up at the former archdruid, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine, Halsin. And I should be the one apologizing - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

He chuckles at your concern. “Of course. Although you have remained polite by not yet mentioning my stature, I am sure you have noticed the comparison between us, little one.”

Although one to lose your temper with the use of such pet names in inns or in combat, there is something entirely different when Halsin says it. You know it is not meant to be patronizing, more a sign of his age, really – it’s wholeheartedly sincere, affectionate, perhaps even… loving? Well, you could still dream, couldn’t you? Even though he’d kindly turned you down at the celebration for the tieflings at camp all those weeks ago, you’d be a liar if you didn’t still kindle a flame of affection for the large elf. You smile, wryly. “I suppose I have.”

“Forgive me for prying, but is anything the matter? You seemed in quite the hurry after supper. I confess I’d hoped to catch you for a moment.”

Your throat stings again as you swallow. Halsin is a healer - he would be the one to mention it to…

But you don’t want to be a bother, especially so soon after Thaniel. What was a sore throat in comparison to being trapped within the Shadowrealm for near on a century? Pathetic, really.

You shrug it off, “A little tired, nothing an early night won’t sort. What did you wish to speak about?”

He smiles at your response, though you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wish you weren’t so observant of him to be able to identify which are real and which are polite.

“Ah, no, nothing of urgency. Please, do not let me keep you from your well-deserved rest any longer.”

You eye your tent in the distance, but hesitate all the same. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He squeezes your upper arms, gently, before letting go. “I bid you sweet dreams and a peaceful sleep.”

--

You don’t even fall asleep deeply enough to dream – tossing and turning for hours, one moment feeling too hot and then another too cold, periodically drinking from your waterskin trying to ease the rawness of your throat.

You give up at dawn, quickly dressing in your armor. Instead of waiting for your companions to rise, you set your sight on climbing the hill not far off from camp - it should provide a good vista of the road ahead to Baldur’s Gate. It shouldn’t be a long walk either, you’ll be there and back before even Karlach has roused, usually the last to do so.

You had only made it a quarter of the way up the admittedly gentle incline when you start to feel unusually winded from the exercise – it feels as if you are not quite breathing deep enough, oxygen stagnating at the top of your lungs. Perhaps you’d laced your armour too tight that morning in your haste to get moving? The sun is still only a little over the horizon, given the earliness of the hour, but you feel so very warm, a sheen of sweat already on your brow.

You raise a weary hand to wipe it away, but your vision swims in response and you stumble, all reflexes abandoning you and your face meets the dirt.

--

Halsin lets out a sigh as he rubs his back against the bark in his bear form, the ridges appeasing an itch that had been bothering him since he had wildshaped. It has been a while since he’d indulged the bear for purely pleasure and not combat – it hadn’t felt right to do so when traveling through the shadow cursed lands.

He’d woken early, as usual, and decided to take advantage of an hour or so to patrol the area before the plan would be to head towards Baldur’s Gate. Heading to the city wasn’t something he was looking forward to – to be cut off from the nature he so adored made he feel uneasy - but he’d made a vow that he intended to keep.

A familiar, invigorating smell crosses his snout, carried in the gentle breeze. He inhales it deeply, being drawn him from his thoughts.

White violet, jasmine, a touch of sandalwood…

You.

It is too strong a scent to have drifted in from camp, which must mean you’re close by. He drops down to all four paws and begins to follow the trail, curious as to what has brought you out so early and, perhaps selfishly, hoping to take advantage of your company.

He doesn’t have to travel far, though, lumbering a hundred or so metres out of the wood that lines the path. His stomach sinks when he sees you sprawled out on your front down the incline, unmoving, eyes open in a blank stare in his direction.

The next thing you were aware of was thundering paws on the earth, a flash of gold and then warm, heavy palms turning you over to face the dawn sky. A very concerned wood elf soon fills your vision, pressing a hand to your cheek as his eyes scan you over, frantically.

“What is it, my heart? Speak to me.” Heart…? The world goes black.

--

You wake up slowly. Your eyelids feel heavy, drifting in and out of consciousness until, finally, you manage to crack both eyes open to find yourself swaddled in unfamiliar furs and blinking up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling.

No, not ceiling, but the inside of a tent and one that is not your own. Various herbs and flowers are hung from the support pole across the top, seemingly set out to dry, dotted between other hand-made trinkets. There’s a scent of wood smoke, flowers, freshly cut grass, and something enticingly sweet...

You sit up in alarm, trying to work out where you are, panic rising in your already tight chest when your eyes meet those of the large wood elf’s, sat only a little way to the side of the bed roll.

“Ah-ah,” Halsin chides with a sympathetic smile, pushing you back down easily with one large palm upon your shoulder. “Please - you must rest.”

“This isn’t my tent.” Your voice is painfully hoarse, but you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and watch as he tugs the furs back up to under your chin - the brief moment you had been upright a chill had prickled across your skin, almost down to your very bones.

“That is true.” The former archdruid nods, looking a little bashful. “We were camped at quite opposite ends this time round.” Your party did tend to spread the tents out across the ground you used, rather than all cluster together. “I thought it best to bring you here, where I have everything to hand to easily prepare, rather than go to and fro whilst I oversee your recovery.”

“Recov-” You don’t reach the end of the word as a horrendous, wracking cough emerges deep within your chest. You sit up again in panic, hoping it will cease. Halsin assists you with one hand on your arm and an arm around your waist, before he begins to rub large circles on your upper back.

“Easy, little one. Easy. I know it is uncomfortable, but it will pass.” He says, softly. It doesn’t feel like it will – the pain is sharp, a tightness in your chest, a burn in your lungs, heart pounding as you feel more and more breathless with every cough.

Tears burn at your eyes but, true to his word, slowly but surely, it begins to settle, allowing you to catch your breath at last and left feeling exhausted.

The hand leaves your arm then but one remains on your back, keeping you steady, before a waterskin is brought up to your lips. “Take small sips. If you drink too quickly, it might trigger another fit.”

You nod, reaching up a hand to hold over his as he tips the liquid into your mouth. It’s soothing on your raw throat, but only for a brief moment. When he deems you’ve had enough, he pulls the waterskin away, placing it back down to the side of the bedroll before pressing a hand to your forehead, a poorly concealed frown soon gracing his lips.

“You have a fairly high fever.”

“Can’t you…?” You reach out to mimic cure wounds – a spell you’ve seen him and Shadowheart cast many a time - but it seems even your depth perception has abandoned you as you brush up against the wood elf's firm chest, before snatching your hand back and circling your wrist in what you think looks a somewhat magical motion. Halsin lets out a chuckle that makes you feel flush – your temperature varying sporadically by the minute.

“Wounds and other injuries indeed, as can Shadowheart, but I am afraid for such illnesses as this the only treatment is rest for a few days, supplemented by herbal remedies to alleviate symptoms.”

“No,” you shake your head and immediately regret how it makes your vision and head swim. “We must press on - the Absolute are already in the city.”

He looks at you in alarm. “You cannot mean you wish to go and face them? You know I admire your unwavering resolve and strength to do what is right, but at the moment I fear a light breeze would be more than enough to knock you prone.”

“But-”

“No. I cannot allow it.” His tone is firm, a growl at the back of his throat – it reminds you of how he had spoken to Kagha once he’d returned to the grove. "You will rest. Lie down,” he doesn’t even need to push you back this time with a heavy hand, you’ve gone quite limp against the arm that had been supporting you, shrinking back at his tone of voice and nestle back down amongst the furs.

 “Thank you.” Halsin replies, sincerely, the tension dropping both from his shoulders and voice. “I… I apologise for my manner of speaking, but I know of what I speak - you must rest in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll try – I promise.”

He looks down at you with a smile before brushing some loose hair from your face and then cupping your cheek with a large palm and calloused fingers. If you’d had more of your wits about you, if you could think clearly, you would’ve noticed the flash of gold in his palm as he cast sleep upon you.

--

You wake up to a hand pressing a damp cold compress against your forehead and your chest feeling tighter than before. You can’t help the wince as you open your eyes, the light smarting despite it being somewhat dim inside the tent. Halsin is sat cross-legged by your side, a frown in place.

“I am sorry to have woken you, but I am afraid your fever has developed.”

“Oh.”

“I have prepared something that will help. Allow me to sit you up.” Somehow, he manages to slip his arm beneath your head and around your shoulders, assisting you upright to lean back against a pile of firm pillows. Once he is satisfied you are settled, he produces a bowl from his side – a waft of steam emitting off the top.

“Here. It has cooled enough to drink.”

“What is it?” Your voice is still awfully hoarse, a raw sting as you talk.

“A staple in every healer’s repertoire - nettle soup. Adept at reducing fevers.”

You take the bowl carefully from his hand, though his follows closely as you guide it up to your mouth lest your grip fail.

You gulp down a mouthful, but it’s absolutely foul upon your tongue, burns your throat as you swallow it down. It feels as if you’ve taken a gulp out of a particularly filthy pond, one thick with algae.

You hold the bowl back out with a shake of your head, hoping he’ll take it. “That’s disgusting.”

Halsin smiles, knowingly – seemingly a complaint he is not all that unfamiliar with hearing. “Whilst I admit the taste is far from what one might call pleasant, it will do you a world of good to drink it.”

You shake your head again, trying to hand it back to him. “I can’t.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Dare I enquire your age again, little one? The children in the grove manage it just fine.”

“I’m not a child,” you pout – too feverish to realise the contradiction of your actions. “And they surely do not.”

“They do…”, he retorts, a wistful smile crosses his lips, “albeit with the promise of something sweet after they’ve rested. Would that suffice?”

“Something… sweet?” Your mind drifts off to somewhere it should not as your eyes drop down to focus on the druid’s mouth.

“Mm. They are quite partial to honeycakes, does that appeal?”

You shake your head, placing the bowl down on the floor between the two of you. Though a fan of sweets, the idea of eating anything at the moment doesn’t entice at all.

“No? Well, perhaps you have something else in mind. I’m sure Baldur’s Gate itself will have something to your tastes.”

“I want a kiss.” You mumble.

He must have misheard. “What was that?”

“A kiss - that’s the sweet thing I want.”

“Ah,” if it wasn’t for the dim light within the tent, you would’ve sworn the druid was blushing. “Now, that’ll be the fever speaking.”

“No.” You gaze up at him, wishing you had the strength to curl your fingers in his hair and pull him in for the kiss you crave. “It’s not. I’ve wanted one since that night at camp, the celebration with the tieflings. I swear I’ll drink all the nettle soup in Faerun for a kiss.” “Since…” He trails off. “No, I couldn’t, little one.” He shakes his head, truly looking apologetic. “I won’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why?”

He cups your cheek in a large palm, a small smile on his lips. “I do not believe you are quite aware of what you are requesting, given your current ailment.”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to seek a compromise. “What about when I’m better, then?”

He removes his hand and nods. “When you are recovered and if you recall this conversation and still desire it, then… yes, you may claim your sweet.” He mumbles towards the end, not quite believing what he was apparently promising. “However, you will still need to drink the nettle soup now.”

“Deal.” You acquiesce, and Halsin picks up the bowl in offering.

It burns as it goes down – all four or five remaining mouthfuls - but you manage the whole bowl.

“Good girl,” the wood elf murmurs with a smile – it makes the discomfort feel worth it for a moment - as he inspects the empty bowl, swapping it out for the waterskin once again.  

“Now, try and sleep some more. By the time you wake, it will have done its work and you’ll be feeling much better.”

You lie back down without protest, closing your eyes. The furs smell like Halsin and you soon drift off back to sleep, a feverish thought of being wrapped up in his arms and the kiss you hoped to claim come morning.

--

Day turns into night and then day once more, the hours passed with numerous bowls of nettle soup that still burn at your throat with every swallow, vegetable broth for more sustenance and countless naps to no improvement. Halsin has been trying to distract himself with whittling, but it is not proving successful – lopping off half of the duck’s beak when you stir momentarily. He’s checked your temperature with the back of his hand too many times to count. There’s a taunting rattle from your lungs between bouts of sharp coughing fits that doesn’t seem to be easing either. The nettle soup should’ve broken your fever at least – he hadn’t encountered one in all his years that it had failed to do so – but you seem to be growing worse by the hour.

He watches as you toss and turn, brushing your hair from your face. You’ve done so much for him – freed him from the goblins, ensured the safety of the Grove and its occupants, defended him whilst he recovered Thaniel, freed a realm from the shadowcurse of beyond a century and yet he cannot return a simple favour by ridding you of a fever?

“Is she sick?”

“Thaniel.” Halsin’s starts at the sudden appearance of the spirit. The boy is knelt besides him, staring down curiously at your slumbering form. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

“Your party hasn’t moved on - I wondered why. Is she sick?”

Thaniel remained as curious as ever, it seemed.

Halsin sighs. “Yes, I am afraid so. The fever and cough proves most stubborn – I fear I am depleting this area’s supply of nettles.”

“Nettles?”

“For the soup – it reduces the fever. Or it should.”

Thaniel frowns, leaning over you and taking a cautious sniff. “But she smells of spolar.”

“Spolar?” The word seems vaguely familiar, though it sparks a sinking, sickening feeling in his stomach.

“It will have been a long time since you’ve had to treat it.” The boy shrugs. “A large purple mushroom, remember? Its spores line the lungs – its growth accelerates if surrounded by nettles.”

“No…” It’s as if a hand is squeezing at his heart. “I don’t recall seeing any on our travels out. It would grow so quickly?”

“Nettles are sturdy enough even for the shadowcurse, so when it was lifted it had probably laid dormant beneath the soil until the time came. How long have you been treating her?”

“Nearly two moons – numerous bowls of nettle soup.” Halsin’s face has drained of all colour. “By Silvanus, I’ll have been nourishing the infection itself.”

“You did not mean to,” Thaniel replied, patting Halsin on his thigh. “Do not fret. Vapours from a wilted Sussur Bloom will clear the lungs when inhaled, suspending any further spread. Then she will just need rest.”

“A wilted…” He gets to his feet, his mind whirring with the next steps. “I must make haste back to the Underdark – I could be there and back by night fall with the aid of sigil circles.”

He hurries out of his tent, finding Gale sat outside of his, camped a stone’s throw away, and a large tome in his lap.

“Halsin,” Gale starts cautiously, setting down his book at the wood elf's urgency. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything.” The druid drops to his knees and empties out his pack – planning to stuff it full of as much Sussur Bloom as he can lay his hands upon. “I made her worse. She’s inhaled the spore of the spolar.”

“The spore of what? And how could you have made her worse?” Gale quirks an eyebrow, trying to keep up. He has never seen the wood elf so flustered. “I don’t understand.”

“Spolar… the spores line the airways. It feeds and thrives upon other vegetation – I’ve been giving her nettle soup. She told me it burnt and I insisted she eat more. And she did, because she trusted me.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t know-”

“I should’ve known!” Halsin explodes in response, his voice echoing around their encampment. “I need to go to the Underdark, I-” He gets up to his feet and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he could fall. Gale is quick to stand in front of him, hands held up to try in a feeble attempt to stop the wood elf leaving.

“Halsin, when is the last time you rested?”

“It matters not-”

“It very much does.” Gale chides. “Look at you – you are in no fit state to look after yourself, let alone gallivant off to the Underdark.”

“What the hells is going on?” Astarion appears the other side of Gale, drawn out by Halsin’s outburst.  

“I must set this right. I cannot allow her to suffer a moment longer due to my negligence-“

“Okay, I’m sensing there’s a lot more to your feelings here, but allow me to assure you that we all care about her. Allow us to assist you, to aid you in whatever you need in this moment.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Astarion almost stomps his foot, never one to be ignored.

Halsin sighs, running a large palm down his face. Gale is right – he is exhausted, unable to enter a state of reverie in the past days in fear of you needing him.

“A Sussur Bloom. I need to retrieve one from the Underdark.”

Gale frowns. “But they don’t work outside the Underdark.“

“Wilted ones, they-"

“Wilted, you say?” Astarion looks at his fingernails for imaginary dirt. “I’ve got a handful in my pack still, I’m sure.”

Halsin sets off running in the direction of the vampire’s tent and his pack, Astarion hot on his heels.

“Now, wait a moment!”

--

Halsin won’t look at you.

You’d woken up, confusingly, back in your own tent two days later to Gale sat by your side and your fever broken. Your voice was still a little hoarse and walking around the camp left you all but winded, but that was meant to pass in another day or two, then the plan was to finally set off towards Baldur’s Gate.

You’d felt bad for holding the party up for so long, but everyone has been rather kind about the delay, doting on you a little more than you’d like.

All but Halsin, really, who stares over your head – not a hard feat given his height, true – but still, it smarts when you cannot catch his eye, especially when it was something you used to achieve so easily. He appears to leave the campsite before dawn and returns for supper, though he moves away from the campfire when you take your place, thanking Gale for the meal before hurrying off.

It’s driving you mad.

Tonight, though, you have a plan. You took supper back to your tent, feigning the need for an early night to your companions and lying in wait for Halsin to depart the camp once more.

You find the elf stood at the very edge of the lake, standing in the shallow waters as it laps to and fro, hands held behind his back.

You approach cautiously, conscious of disturbing a meditation or ritual the ex-archdruid might be partaking in, but it seems he is already acutely aware of your presence.

“There’s a chill in the air tonight.” His voice is firm – you can imagine him using the same tone when he was chairing heated discussions amongst the other druids back at the Emerald Grove. “You should go back to camp and keep warm by the fire at least if you find yourself restless.”

“Halsin,” you choose to ignore him as you wring your hands together and take another step closer. “Have I… offended you in some way?”

“Offended? Never.” Still, he keeps his head turned away from you.

“I apologise sincerely if I said something that upset you whilst I was sick. I’m afraid I don’t recall much of the time in your tent – it’s all a bit of a haze.”

“That’s understandable. You were…” His breath hitches, as if it’s painful to remember. “..quite unwell. But, no, you did not say anything malicious or cruel – it is not in your nature.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

His biceps tense as he brings his arms back in front of him, his shoulders heaving up with a breath before dropping back down as he swings round on his heels. He meets your eyes for a second or two before his gaze moves back above your head, as if something was extremely interesting in the distance.

“There.” A forced smile – it doesn’t reach the wood elf’s eyes by a mile. “Now, will you go back to the camp?”

“No.” You huff, taking a step closer.

“Please. Your lungs are not fully recovered yet and the chill tonight will do you no favours.”

“I’m not going back until you look me in the eyes and tell me what I’ve done to be treated this way.” You stand firm, stubborn.

He sighs, seemingly exasperated at the conversation. “You have not done anything, my h… friend.”

“I must have done something.”

“You are mistaken.”

 “No, I’m not.” You retort back, placing your hands on your hips. “Ever since you healed me, you’ve been-”

“Healed you?” He scoffs, derisively, meeting your eyes at last with a furrowed brow. “Healed you? I did no such thing - I made you worse!”

You stare for a moment, bemused. “What? Worse how?”

“You said the nettle soup was burning your throat, you told me multiple times and I dismissed you saying it for not liking the taste, not of a symptom. Every time I had you drink it, I was giving the infection what it needed to thrive. I was killing you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t remember that.” And you don’t, everything’s hazy – vague memories of cooling compresses on your head, a supportive arm around your waist as you drank from a waterskin. “Why would I keep drinking it if it hurt?”

“Because,” he takes a shuddering breath, “we made a deal.”

“A deal about what?”

“I beg of you not to make me relive my shame.” Halsin sounds defeated, but you continue to push.

“A deal about what?”

“I… I told you of how the children in the Grove took their medicine under the promise they would receive something sweet when they were better. Honeycakes, candied fruits, the like. You…” His voice grows tight. “You asked for something else sweet.”

You feel your face flush, a hazy, whisp of a memory now becoming crystal clear. “A kiss.”

The wood elf’s shoulders shudder. “I took advantage of your trust in me.”

“Advantage?”

“Of your feverish state.”

“I’m the one who suggested the kiss.”

“And I’m the one who agreed due to my own selfish desires, ignoring what my patient was trying to tell me.”

“No, you thought you were doing the right thing. We all make mistakes, or misinterpret. I’m fine.” You wrap your hand around his forearm as best as you can, trying to tug him forward. “Besides the whole tadpole in my head, of course…”

He smiles, wryly, at your poor joke, though you see tears burn at his eyes. “I just… I cannot stand the thought that I have caused you harm, little one – intentional or otherwise.”

“You haven’t, Halsin.” You place your other hand tentatively on his chest and look up, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I am well and, if you were still willing, I’m ready for my sweet.”

He shakes his head. “As much as my heart desires it – and it does - I do not deserve it.”

“Am I not allowed to be the judge of that? And I say a deal is a deal.”

“You… truly wish for it still?”

You stand up on your very tip toes and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, as far as you can reach. “More than ever.”

A firm arm wraps delicately around your waist – cautious of squeezing you too firmly – and heaves you up easily against his firm chest, his other hand cupping your cheek as he captures your lips in a kiss. It is soft and delicate, as if he’s worried you’ll break, but when you lift your hand to tangle in his locks and tug to bring him closer and deepening the kiss, there is no mistaking the growl that emits from his throat when your tongues intertwine.

As soon as you drop your hand from his hair, he retreats too, dropping you back down carefully to the ground, eyes scanning you in concern.

“You’re breathless, my heart.” You feel your cheeks prickle with heat at the term of endearment. “And flush too. Please, I insist you go back and keep warm-"

You cut him off, pressing your fingers against his lips, exhaling breathily. “Two things. One, I’m breathless because of your kiss. Two, I’m flush because of your words - what sort of reaction am I meant to have to you calling me that?”

He lifts his own hand then to hold yours in place so he can kiss the fingertips pressed against his lips, before tugging your hand back down and interlacing your fingers.

“My heart, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars - so many things I wish to call you whilst I lavish you with affection from dusk till dawn, and dawn till dusk… if you’d allow me, that is.”

“Allow?” You smile, “I encourage – heartily.”

It happens too fast to comprehend, a gentle twist of your arm to twirl you in front of him before one arm wraps around the back of your knees and you are swept off your feet, the wood elf commencing large strides back towards the camp.

“Then I insist we return to your tent where you will have as many sweets as you desire.”

“Oh, my tent now, is it?” You tease. “I thought I had to go and stay warm by the fire.”

 “Yes, but, lucky for you,” he smirks, “I am known to run quite hot.”

--

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[amorgansgal]

A Moment in Moonrise Towers Library

Big thank you to @12thhouse-sun for letting me be inspired by their fic you're at the top of my lungs (a wonderful Gale x Tav fic and is well worth a read) and allowing me to write a smutty scene involving Gale x Female reader in the Moonrise Tower library post Ketheric fight! Hope you enjoy this homage.

CW: Sexual content, touch of dominance/submission, very brief mentions of blood and injury

The portal Dame Aylin had conjured led you all back to the doorway that you had first gone through to reach the eponymous towers that made up Moonrise. You stumbled a little on the first step, your heart was still racing after the battle, your skin covered in bruises, sweat and blood - some of yours, some of the other creatures you had fought. So while you longed for a good hot bath, some bread and cheese, and your bedroll, you knew you’d be unlikely to sleep with how shaky you felt. 

Thankfully your lover, Gale, caught hold of your arm, stopping yourself from falling flat on your face down the rest of the stairs. It would hardly do for a conquering hero to make a bit of a fool of themselves! You were about to crack a similar joke to Gale while thanking him for coming to your aid, but on turning to him, and catching his gaze, you faltered. 

His eyes were dark, much darker than even their usual warm brown depths would be, and the slight flair of his nostrils and tightened grip on your arm made you pause. He inhaled sharply as though he longed to press his nose against your neck and you remembered how he had once said he found you utterly desirable in the heat of battle with your muscles glistening! At the time you had, more or less, dismissed the notion as just a bit of silly flirting, a little bit of fun with not much to it… but given how he was staring at you, as though he would practically devour you… maybe he had been skirting around the truth. Or… well… pointing you directly at it!

Gale’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and you saw him shift his weight, curving his back a little and finally letting go of your arm to rearrange his robes. You glanced down, then cursed yourself for doing something so stupid in front of the others, though thankfully everyone seemed to be distracted and were already moving off to go back down to the main hall. But you were quite certain that Gale was hard. 

You tried to act like you hadn’t even noticed and began to follow the others along the hallway to the stairs, but before you could catch up Gale took hold of your arm again and whisked you into what had been Moonrise Tower’s library before you could even let out a cry of surprise. The door was shut behind you and you didn’t even have a chance to ask, ‘Gale, what are you doing?’ He pressed his body tightly against yours and was kissing you as though you might disappear, his hands cupping your face, running down your sides, round your back until you were flush against him and he was grinding his hard length into you. 

The growing ache between your thighs made you whimper against his mouth and suddenly he pulled you round the corner of bookshelves to where Z’rell’s desk was. An absolutely devilish gleam entered Gale’s eyes and he pushed all of the books, papers, quills and so forth that had been scattered on there onto the floor. 

He grinned. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that, but hesitated when it came to my own desk!’

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, but Gale easily picked you up and then plonked you down on the desk, his lips continuing their onslaught of passion and desire as he kissed down your jaw and neck. ‘Gods, I was so worried about you,’ he murmured.

‘I was fine,’ you said softly, your head tipped back, enjoying the kisses he was burning into your skin. ‘We did it, we defeated him.’

‘I’ll never not worry about you, my love. And the moment the battle was done, I wanted nothing more than to take you into my arms, to claim you, to become one with you-’

‘Well I’m glad you waited until we found a private spot, I’m not sure how the others would feel about that, but we should get downstairs…’

Gale outright growled and you let out a breathless laugh as his fingers eagerly scrabbled with the ties on your breeches, tugging them down to your ankles. ‘Gale!’ you cried out quietly, but he seized your mouth in another passionate kiss till you felt like he was trying to pull every bit of air from your lungs and leave you dizzy. 

‘Shh, my love, we have to be quick.’

‘Gale!’ you whispered, attempting to be scandalised that he was actually considering this: fucking you desperately and quickly in the quiet, dark library while your companions, friends and allies were downstairs. When in truth it sent a shiver of desire coursing through you and the brief touch of his fingers against your cunt made it downright clear how sopping wet you were just from the delicious notion of him claiming you after a battle, how much it turned you on seeing his dark, wild look. 

He smiled, triumphantly, wickedly, his beautiful brown eyes gleamed in the half light and finally his clever fingers slipped between your thighs, drenching themselves in your slick and circling your clit till you let out a pathetic whimper and instinctively bucked against his touch. 

‘Gods damn,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. ‘Evidently I’m not the only one who finds a scrape with death inspiring!’ 

‘Gale!’ you whined and felt his soft chuckle of laughter, as he pressed kisses to your throat, his fingers easily slipping inside of you, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit, making you thrust your hips, needily seeking out your pleasure. 

‘You’re so wet,’ he whispered, his voice tickling your ear. ‘Did I do that, my love? Do you want me to take you here, fuck you on this desk, claim the hero of Reithwin?’

You didn’t even have it in you to argue that the whole group were the heroes of Reithwin and of course, he was utterly to blame for the slick between your thighs, the domineering, passionate kiss he had given you made you weak with longing. You nodded pathetically and eagerly reached for him, uncaring whether anyone downstairs noticed your absence or whether they would try to look for you. You pushed aside his robe, unlacing him and freeing his hard cock from the confines of cloth. Gale hissed as your hand stroked him, smearing down the precum that beaded at the end of his cock down the length.

‘Be quick,’ you demanded and his smile widened. He placed your hand back on the desk, then found your slit once more with his fingers, sliding one inside and making you drop your head back to moan.

‘Quiet, darling, you don’t want anyone to hear us,’ he murmured, though he was still looking very pleased with himself and you were quite certain he did not care a jot whether anyone else heard your cries of pleasure. There had already been a few teasing comments and displeased looks from your companions on a couple of occasions when you hadn’t been able to bite back your moans in camp. Gale rarely tried to stifle his either and kept up a running stream of how good you looked, how much he wanted you, how wonderful you felt, how badly he needed to hear your pleasure. 

He slid his cock back and forth against your slit, then easily sunk into you, his fingers tightly digging into your thighs, his groan buried against your neck and turning into a sharp bite. You gasped at the sensation and whimpered at the feel of his long cock nestled deep inside you. His warm tongue laved at the mark now left on your neck, soothing it. 

‘Gods, I will never get used to how good you feel,’ Gale said, then slowly pulled his hips back, till just an inch of him was left inside you and then quickly thrusting into you, making the desk jolt underneath you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, wanting him closer, but he suddenly pushed you down on the desk and draped your arms back so you were clinging to a corner of the desk. 

‘Keep those legs wrapped tightly around me, my love,’ he said, then placed a hand against a nearby bookshelf and began to fuck you, hard and fast. 

It was relentless, desperate, the culmination of all the emotions and fear you had felt during battle, a deep seated need to touch and make sure the other person was alive and well, the adoration and love you felt for one another. The bookshelf creaked under Gale’s clenched grip, the desk groaned and you cared nothing at all if anyone heard you. You moaned loudly as Gale’s other hand returned to your clit, stroking and circling it quickly, bringing you almost painfully to your pleasure, an inescapable wave and rush of utter bliss. 

He continued to thrust into you, his eyes gazing down on you, drinking you in, his brow furrowed a little, his breath coming short and fast, his groans joining yours in a cacophony of lust in the quiet library. Finally he almost collapsed onto you, the last few thrusts were short but deep, pressing himself all the way inside you, Gale panting against your cheek, his eyes closed, a few unthinking kisses pressed against your cheek and jaw and lips. Then he was still, the warm weight of his body over yours, your legs still wrapped around him.

‘Gods, I needed that,’ Gale murmured, his throat sounded a little rough and dry. ‘I needed you.’ He gently cupped your face and then kissed you, now so sweetly and gentle that it felt almost impossible to think that desperate, domineering man who had yanked you into the library and this soft, sweet man were one and the same. ‘You are so beautiful, so wondrous, everything about you… gods… it’s beyond words, beyond any magic I could conjure, you are…’

‘Shh,’ you whispered. ‘You are incredible too,’ you leaned your head back again and got your breath back. ‘That was good… very good.’

‘Not too fast?’

‘I liked it fast. I liked how much you wanted me.’

‘Oh, you have no idea!’ Gale chuckled, then manoeuvred himself off you and offered a hand to help you up. He gave you one last searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist when he felt your knees buckle a little. He then rested his forehead against yours and you breathed in the scent of him, even if he did smell slightly of sweat, blood and ash. ‘I love you, my dearest, darling heart,’ he said.

‘I love you too.’

You both quickly tidied yourself away and headed back downstairs to join the others. At first you thought that maybe no one had missed you, that everyone was so busy talking and celebrating the battle being won and done, that you had timed your little jaunt well. But as you walked down the stairs Astarion caught your eye. He raised an all too familiar mocking eyebrow and smirked. 

‘Where were you?’ he asked.

‘Just seeing if there was anything in the library worth taking,’ you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

‘Well evidently you found something worth the taking!’ he teased, pointedly staring at Gale who had been pulled into a conversation with Jaheira and Halsin. ‘Or was it Gale who did the taking?’