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rahuratna · 9 days ago

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Synopsis: A herb which gives you greater awareness of your animal forms leads to a memorable night with Halsin. [Fem Reader x Halsin Silverbough]

Contents: Romance, pre-relationship, explicit sexual content, consensual substance use, shape shifting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

WC: 7220

Written as a gift fic for the lovely @tsukimefuku for her birthday. Here's a little something from me!

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"I crave you mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me,

all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the colour of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

~ Love Sonnet XI (Pablo Neruda)

In Faerûn, the winds are changeable. The shift of seasons is as delicate as the colour spreading from the bruised flesh of a summer fruit, marring beneath scrutiny that delves too deep, beneath fingers that probe too hard.

You had always been one who preferred to let nature bloom along its natural course.

You'll always have one hand on the wheel of your destiny, but you'll also let the land take you where it needs you most.

You supposed that this was what drew you to him in the first place.

He was the first of your companions who didn't look directly at you to set the path, to plot the lines that would lead to the emancipation of the vale that had fallen beneath Ketheric's shadow.

In the denouement, he'd leaned on you in the way only he could, leaving you with the task of watching his broad back fade into a realm where you could not follow. He had gone to fetch Thaniel, and you had believed faithfully in his return, holding off your enemies until the dawn.

Afterwards, there had been signs.

Like the faint embroidery of green in winter-brown branches, he'd looked to you with greater frequency, and certainty. You no longer felt that your paths had merely coincided, more as if there was a great guardian that stalked the woods and hedges beside you, partaking of your kill.

Silverbough was his name, and you grew to fancy that his tongue was molded from a similar vein, because you could listen to him speak endlessly.

On days when journeying consumed the largest part of your time, he would stride along at your side, or just slightly ahead, nose raised to the wind. You'd find yourself watching the way the soft, brown braids would stir in the breeze, the way the faint crows' feet at the corners of his eyes would deepen in direct sunlight, the way shadow played across the bulge and dip of his bicep when he raised an arm to shield you from the worst of the midday heat.

You could brush off Shadowheart's knowing smile, or the way Gale's eyes seemed to follow you with greater intensity, even Astarion's snide quips about 'receiving the many gifts of nature.'

That was not your way, and, you were coming to learn, it was not Halsin's way either.

He was attractive as all Hells, that was for certain, but there was a different kind of dance that played out between you two that went beyond the call of man to woman, and vice versa.

He was a zephyr who led you gaily from one reckless spar on a cliff edge to another. He was a stone sentinel that stood bare-faced to each scoring wind of challenge. He was tooth and claw and sinew, encased in the rare flesh of the changeling. You could follow, and you could also lead, and the destination was never marked down on any map known to you or him.

To know Halsin was to let go of yourself, as you came to learn, soon enough.

"What are you looking for?"

Your curiosity leads you to the banks of the river you have camped beside, one summer evening.

Halsin is standing before you, feet braced on the riverbed, the water lapping midway up his thighs. He must have been submerged a short while before, and you pause to take in the sight of water dripping from the ends of his braids, across the scarred flesh of his brow, darkening the coarse hair that fans across his chest. Your hand comes up to your throat and you lower it again, hastily.

He regards you over his shoulder, eyes lambent in the dark, and you watch the slow curve of his mouth.

"These. Have you seen them before?"

He holds out one hand. Within the large cupping surface of his palm, you make out what seems to be an aquatic plant, the roots still clumped together with dark alluviual mud.

Hands braced on knees, you shake your head.

"Some kind of healing herb?"

"Something like that."

You catch his eye and cannot help the small twitch of your lips.

"Should I be concerned?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Humour me. What does it do?"

He clambers up the bank with that easy, powerful stride, shaking off his body as he approaches you. Small flecks of damp speckle your jerkin and you straighten as he places the herbs carefully on a rack that he'd set up nearby.

"These will dry in the sun, but they need to be harvested at low light. The compounds within them are quite volatile."

"So once they're dry, I can put them in a pipe and smoke them?"

He pauses, shoulders shaking silently, before turning to you.

"A pipe isn't required, but that's the idea, yes. This is Fidoram, a herb we druids are fond of using when we want to ... gain greater affinity with our wild shapes."

Halsin picks up a pouch from beside the drying rack containing what you presume to be the same herb which he'd harvested and dried earlier. He crushes the roots slightly between his fingers, holding them out for you to sniff. Leaning forward, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Some barrier has broken down, between his skin and the torn flesh of the root. What was herbal before now seems muddied in essence, a warm animal musk, the sweetness of new sweat on skin, the mingling of smoke and breath from between parted lips on an evening beneath the trees.

Your eyes slide open and he is watching you, a gleam of clouded grey beneath lowered lids.

Halsin's gaze is always a contradiction to you; on the one hand, clear and piercing, parting the veil between worlds, and on the other, misted over at times with a strange quality, as if human nature were optional, a skin he wore to pass time amongst beings such as yourself.

It intrigued you to no end. It made you wish to part that curtain with tentative fingers, to drink from that forbidden lake yourself.

"It smells ... "

"Intense?"

You nod, throat suddenly feeling a trifle tight, saliva thicker as you swallow. Halsin places the herb carefully back in the bag, and you feel his attention wander over you, from your bare feet on the grass, to your slightly bruised knees from the scuffle you'd had with bandits a few days prior, to the front of your jerkin, slightly unlaced.

He breathes out heavily and the air suddenly feels warmer, as if he's savouring your unique scent, the feather-light fingers of restraint dancing over his large form.

"Would you like to join me?"

You tilt your head, questioning.

"Join you?"

"I'm partaking of this joining ceremony. These Fidoram herbs are to replace the dried ones I'll be using presently. Would you like to be part of it?"

Your eager nodding causes him some evident amusement before you hesitate.

"You called it a joining ceremony?"

"When we druids transform our bodies, a deeper connection with the wild shape ensures a smoother transition."

"So you ... join your conscience with that of the beast?"

He stirs and straightens, holding out his hand.

"Here."

You place your hand within his, trying not to dwell too much on how the size of his palm dwarfs your own. His grasp is warm, roughened across the knuckles and the pads just below the fingers.

"Close your eyes again," he commands gently, and you comply, shifting a little closer to get comfortable.

"Now, follow the sensations on your arm."

Keeping your arm outstretched, he begins a slow exploration, digits tracing over skin. It begins with the feel of his touch radiating up, from the center of your palm to the soft area at the inside of your wrist. Halsin's voice rolls across your senses like muted thunder, close, humid, heated.

"You can feel me here. Now, you sense man, and now... "

Something shifts, and there is a charge in the air that causes the hair on your arms to stand upright. Halsin's tracing now feels ... different. There is a heaviness there that wasn't present before, coarse hair brushing over the inside of your arm, large, cushioned pads passing over you ... as if he'd switched to his bear form, which you'd witnessed many times before.

And then, another change, the heaviness giving way to something sharper; a living dagger being drawn down the centre of your arm ... not one, but two, three, four. The claws of a larger beast.

Hot breath blasts across your face, that scent of wet pelt in the rain stronger than ever. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

And as the raking reaches your wrist once more, there is another shift, much lighter, no less bestial. The swift shake and fluff of feathers, the click of a beak, sharp and staccato in the growing darkness.

A series of sharp prods, never breaking the skin, and suddenly Halsin's fingers are back, stroking to firm completion the motion he had started.

You still kept your eyes closed tight, a sharp exhale escaping you as you felt him raise your hand and place his lips against the juncture of thumb and finger. His mouth was hot, wide, lips slightly chapped and softer beneath in a way that defied all the sensations he'd just given you.

"Look at me."

It is no longer a command, yet you still obey. Maybe it was that you trusted him so completely, that you allowed him these ventures where no other had dared before.

He is smiling at you, soft and knowing, and the angle of the light through the trees plants a verdancy in that penetrating gaze that some part of your mind recognizes as both familiar and not.

His mouth doesn't leave your palm, and now he speaks against it.

"I've never changed my form, in all the time we were sitting here."

"But - "

You take the initiative, leaning forward and crawling toward him, inching by on your knees. He watches as the laces on your front fall further open, as you keep your eyes on him in a way that exposes your throat a little more, hair coming loose across your forehead.

" ... but, I felt it. I felt ... the bear, and the displacer beast, and a crow, and - "

"And I've never changed my form. You felt ... what I wanted you to feel. A great portion of our transformations are sensory, and the rest rely on our own awareness of our bodies. I can become a bear more easily because I spent the most time in that form. My body remembers it."

You're seated much closer to him now, where he seems to want you. Some physical boundary has been crossed, your space overlapping easily with his.

"So what would I experience in all this? Would I also contact some inner beast?"

He leans back on his palms, body stretching out to its full length, almost an invitation. Chin tilting, his glance passes from you to the stars that are now revealing themselves from behind pastel-painted clouds, dimming to the greater darkness of nightfall.

"Perhaps. Or possibly ... you'll just become better acquainted with mine."

Your laughter echoes between the trees, and somehow, this reminds you of the distance between your current position and the main camp. Beyond here, your companions may be milling around the fire, helping themselves to the pot roast Gale had prepared for supper.

It was your arrow that had stilled that boar's heart.

Emboldened, you nod, sitting upright.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do to prepare?"

Halsin is silent, and for a moment, you think he might deny you, that he might ask you in that warm, firm manner of his not to join him after all.

He doesn't do anything of the kind. It seems that he is aware of some willingness on your part, some desire to tear down the shifting, rustling wall between you two even further.

When he speaks, his voice is lower, but no less clear, the last thread of restraint stretching against the swell of long-present desire.

"Take off your clothes."

"And?"

"Allow me to perform a small cleansing ceremony. In the river."

"All right."

It isn't that you're more compliant. You're testing the limits of his control, in the way you feel you must.

Standing, you catch his gaze and hold it as you finally and fully unfasten the laces that are, at present, barely holding the leather garment together over your shirt. You peel it away from your body, arms stretching outward, a shadow like the wings of a larger bird spreading over his reclining form for a moment.

You take one step back, then another.

The hem of your shirt is lifted slightly, a teasing glimpse of the skin of your stomach visible. You turn away, keeping your profile facing over one shoulder, and lift the garment fully, chest and shoulders exposed to the mellow chill of the evening air.

You hands drop to your belt and you unfasten the buckle with a quick motion, tossing it aside. You're not quite bothered about finding it later.

Still facing away from him, your fingers hook into the top of your trousers, sliding them down to your ankles. You lift one leg, the sleek material still entangled and pull it free of your foot.

Underwear follows next, removed and discarded with swift movements.

Halsin has been watching patiently from somewhere behind you. You're fully aware that nakedness means little to him, that he is as comfortable in his own skin as he is with witnessing the reveal of yours.

Something about the act of standing nude before him now feels ... different, though. As if you've shed one skin for another, as if you're taking one step further into a closeness that breathes an stealthy, sensual vitality into your form.

When he stands and joins you, and you realise that he has also shed all of his clothes, it becomes even more evident.

Every hair on your body seems attuned to his, lifting, sensing, prickling with intent. A beast moves in the shadows of faint outer consciousness, one in the shadows you have yet to breach.

Halsin is looking at you as if you are a distant light on the water, focused, intent, the gleam of his eyes parting the gloom. He takes your hand, touch light and steady, and leads you to the river bank.

The temperature of the water is a slight shock at first. You didn't expect it to be quite so cold, but your body grows accustomed within minutes. Gooseflesh spreads from your extremities, across your upper chest, but you refrain from shivering outright.

Halsin wades into a position opposite you, before reaching down with cupped hands to collect water within. He steps forward and a light cascade runs down one shoulder, then the other. He takes his time, placing two fingers under your chin and tilting your head back.

River water dampens your hair, running in rivulets down your back and neck, tracing soft, cool lines down your breasts, the curve of your ribcage and down, down, to the slight dip above your buttocks.

"Prepare yourself."

You nod, the slick gravel beneath and between your toes digging into your flesh.

Halsin places a finger on your brow, tracing lightly down over the bridge of your nose, and suddenly the world shifts around you.

Inhaling sharply, you grasp his wrist.

"Easy. Easy. It's a sense enhancement. It will help you perceive ... everything a little better."

That was something of an understatement, perhaps because, unlike him, this was the first time you'd experienced such a phenomenon. It took a few minutes before you processed everything in a meaningful fashion again, his grip steady and warm at your waist, supporting you.

You realised now why he'd taken you into the water.

The cool pressure of the river against your thighs, the dampness on your skin, all grounded you, held your consciousness prisoner by a shifting tether. It was almost overwhelming, and then it wasn't.

Now, the world flitted against your senses in the way he'd intended, each sensation vibrant, fleeting, processed by the heightened awareness of your mind before another took its place.

There was a tug on your hand as Halsin indicated the grassy bank ahead. Nodding slowly, gearing your body for movement, you accompanied him as he led you back to the sheltered space between the trees.

He had you sit on a rolled out hide, covering you with a cloth that felt shockingly warm against your skin. You shivered as he dried the water off your arms, then your shoulders and back. He draped the rest of the fabric over your legs and squatted, opening up his pack.

"You don't have to take this journey with me, you know. I can always help you back to camp."

His voice is as gentle as the rustle of the leaves overhead. You shake your head and smile as your hair seems to sway around your ears with a similar sound, restless, tired of playing a soft cradle.

You want more.

Jerking your chin at the small brazier he'd produced from within the pack, you sniff and drop the blanket slightly. It pools around your shoulders, settling softly under your breasts.

Somehow, in Halsin's presence, nothing about the human form seemed shameful, or required concealment.

"Is that what you'll use to burn it?"

"Not directly on the flames, no."

Another small earthenware pot, blackened and singed, is pulled from the depths of the pack and Halsin is now packing the dried herb tightly within, until all the space within the vessel seems occupied.

"This is reinforced clay. Whatever's in here will heat up very slowly. That's what we're after."

He builds a small blaze, placing the brazier over and on top of that, the pot carefully balanced over a few well-placed river stones. He'd evidently had long practice with this.

You bring your knees down, sitting cross-legged. Before long, pale tendrils of smoke begin to emerge from the clay vessel, threading through the evening air. Halsin makes no move to direct the fumes, simply keeping his warm, watchful gaze fixed on you.

Tilting your head back, you inhale deeply. The scent is heady, fragrant, tinged with a low-lying heaviness that steals gradually across the back of the tongue.

Pleasant.

The world shifts around you again, but this time, your awareness holds firm. Something stirs within you, deep and primal, powerful. You can scent it on the wind, and now you can even discern Halsin's soft exhalation from across the small blaze.

Unconsciously, your breathing syncs with his. A tingling warmth spreads through your limbs, the kind that signals the start of a fever. You straighten, alert, eyelids fluttering open.

Halsin seems to have been waiting for this.

He stands, and you inhale softly as you take him in, the coil and release of muscle under tawny skin, the stretch and lift of old scars, the dark hair that spreads across his chest, tapers, then spreads again to form a dense thatch over the apex of his thighs.

He lets you look, arms spreading out slightly as he rolls one shoulder, then the other.

The air around him changes, as it does when he transforms. The transition is one you have seen many times now, so it comes as no surprise when you're confronted with the hulking form of the bear, towering over you, the flickering of the small fire still in between.

You rise slowly, the blanket falling away, and pace in a slow circle until you come to his side. Even on all fours, he is substantial, shoulder almost reaching yours.

His fur is thick, slightly coarse and you're suddenly struck with a desire to take handfuls of it, carding it in between your fingers. His flank is hot, pressed against your bare stomach, and he feels indescribably powerful, vital, present in a manner that you'd never quite understood the weight of before.

This is the bear, and this is Halsin.

Before you can think it over further, he turns, body lowering slightly and with a sharp gasp, you're being gently maneuvered onto his back.

You let out an incredulous laugh, echoed by a soft snort from his muzzle as it passes, breath hot and wet against your calf. The prickle of his fur sets off a dangerous dance of pain and pleasure along your sensitized breasts, your stomach and inner thighs.

And here you are, beneath the stars, your breath now steaming out of your lungs into the summer night, the shift of ancient strength beneath your body.

Halsin carries you through the woods on a throne of bone, flesh and fur, heading deeper into the embrace of the trees.

Above your head, the night fires wheel and the silent swooping shadow of an owl passes, cutting through the night sky with a deeper darkness. Something inside you purrs in answer, preens at the thought of seeing all.

Nothing escapes you, not even the flick of a here's ears as it traces your passage with wide, cold eyes.

Halsin takes you through the fruit trees, and you arch your back, ready to drink the sweet riot of their nectar, the rot of their fallen flesh trampled further into the soil as you pass. You can reach up and pluck them, rubies that echo with distant heat, and bite hard as their juice runs down your chin.

You feast, naked, on a bear's back, half queen, half animal.

When he reaches the larger clearing, the standing stones forming a ring in the grass-covered dip in the land, you slide from his back, wiping off your lips.

You have realized that the enchantment and, perhaps, some effect of the herb has made your vision in the dark clearer, less muddied around the edges. Shadows don't blend into each other as they do, a hard, jewel-like quality to stone, soil and the earth beneath, transposed over the softness of the living.

Turning in a slow circle, arms outstretched, you spin in exultation. The bear follows you, bellowing softly as his large head presses against your hip; an invitation.

Indeed, you feel like joining Halsin in a different form, as carefree as if you were on stage at the theater, discarding one costume for another.

Some part of your spine stretches, then contracts violently, your face elongating. Your shoulder blades are suddenly pressing outwards, against the skin of your back, two bulges writhing beneath the surface before breaking free in long, spear-tipped appendages. Your drop to all fours, the pain keen and exquisite, nails drawing scores across the ground, body wracked with the convulsions of sudden, shocking change, until ...

Sleek and black, your fur gleams in the darkness. Halsin is still beside you, and you see yourself, reflected in the large, placid eyes, amusement stealing into their depths.

Displacer beast it is then. Who knew that this would be your natural inclination?

The dark tendrils that sprout from your shoulders join your elongated tail in a soft, experimental movement, tracing along the bear's back, shifting between his legs, along his snout. You span the shape of him, as he snorts and nudges you.

You think you have some level of command of the whip-like extremities, and you test it now, tickling across his ribs and binding his jaws together playfully.

He gives a loud, indignant cough, twisting to free himself. You slap him across the backside with your tail and leap out of the reach of his paw, claws out, skittering across the ground.

Let it never be said that dignity had a part to play in this shift.

The bear's eyes narrow. He sways lightly from side to side, as if to deceive your eye as to which direction he'll approach from next. Your tail flicks in anticipation.

Halsin feints left and comes in from the right, aiming to push you over. Your innate ability comes to the fore, almost by instinct. Dodging away from him, you leave afterimages on the air, blue-black and humming with faint energy, taunting.

He lunges for you, head-on, and he's too slow and ... ah!

Mid-stride, his form changes to match your own, brown streaking away to sleek darkness. His momentum carries him forward, bounding off the pillar of stone that partially conceals your form, and he lands heavily on top of you, dragging you snarling into the dirt.

So he plays dirty, too.

The twin tendrils that snake from his shoulders twine with your own, tugging you closer. You squirm in his grasp, using your smaller size to slip beneath his body and tip him over. He lands on his back, tail lashing through the air to wrap around your hind leg, but now that you've had a taste of change, it coils around empty air, because you are -

A raven, darting and fleet of wing, claws curving to talons, fur extending to feathers, nose hardening to a snapping beak. Flesh warps in on itself, defying space, and your form shrinks rapidly as you streak between the trees.

Halsin is an old hand at this though, and he is always close behind. His transition between forms is far more seamless than yours, giving him more time to catch up.

Greater wings sweep close to yours, encroaching, feet tucked up close to his body to give him more speed.

You weave between tree trunks, branches and out of the occasional path of another nocturnal creature, leaves whipping past you with stinging exhilaration.

Where every shift for you is pure instinct, Halsin's grace is unmatched, each movement measured, powerful, weighted with intention. He knows each of his forms as well as he seems to know yours.

But you're not out of tricks yet.

In a final burst of speed, you break through the trees, each flap of your wings taking you further. You're about to turn sharply in mid-air, to dive for the low lying brush, when his talons slot between yours and you find yourself drawn into a dizzying spiral.

You change direction, pull at his grip, but you realise that you'd only destabilize the formation he has wrapped you in.

Giving in to his relentless, teasing pull, you allow yourself to be dragged down, down, as if a whirlpool of air is forcing you down its centre.

In this moment, you are weightless, free, abandonment of your human sensibilities dangerously close. You know only the stars that form streaks across the night sky, the warmth of Halsin's feathers, the slow blink of your inky eyes as you prepare for another shift.

Infiltrating all of these sensations is the overwhelming feeling of trust, that you can place yourself so easily in his hands (paws, talons, the minutiae don't really matter) and he'll always land, feet to the ground, bearing you with him.

And indeed, he does.

Right before the grass of the clearing comes rushing up to meet your falling forms, his wings expand to many times their regular size, dwarfing your body. The sudden air resistance gusts upward, catching in the feathers, and as he slows your landing, you realise that your temporary flight through the forest had not taken you as far as you'd thought.

You are back to being ... yourself, you suppose, although that was now a transient term. Arms wrapping tight around Halsin, you feel when he returns to himself as well.

His torso elongates within your grasp, the coarse brush of hair against your chest, the bunch and slide of hard muscle pressing into your back as he holds you against him.

You both land in the grass with a heavy thump, Halsin cushioning your fall, and something inside you is not quite ready to relinquish victory rights for this unofficial battle. You roll, end over end, warm body over his, a breathless, endless laugh rising in your throat as Halsin seems equally determined to win.

You come to a stop, him on top of you, skin covered in grass and earth, lips still stained with overripe fruit and dark feathers tangled in your hair. He is looking at you as if the Oak Father himself had just spawned you from the wild, lightning-hewn trunk of an ancient tree, reverence, desire, an all-encompassing tenderness that seems to pervade all of his interactions with you.

When his lips come down on yours, it is as natural as leaves falling to earth, the weight of his body on yours as welcome as soft summer rain. His arms hold him slightly aloft, caging you in as his head angles first this way, then that, each wet press and slide of his mouth more hungry than the last.

You body comes apart for him, arms rising past his into the grass above your head, back curving, the angle between your legs widening as he dips down, the entirety of his skin on yours almost too much to bear in your current sensitized state.

You are aware of your hair sliding through the grass with every movement of your head, of scrape of short, coarse hair across your nipples, the shift of his tightening abdominal muscles against your stomach, the way those muscular thighs stretch your legs further apart. He is already at half mast, the tip of him stroking a slow, wet trail of fire upwards, along your inner thigh.

You gasp, arching a little further off the ground, evening dew moistening the skin of your buttocks as you raise your leg slightly, stroking against him. All this time, you've witnessed him in the nude and it was not until now that the urgency of your want became vital, a lust-filled haze that only grew as you took in the size and weight of him against you.

Halsin seems to have decided that he is not simply satisfied with winning the tussle of changing forms.

He pauses above you, eyes drinking in your damp, parted lips before he descends again, lower, lower, and lower still. Hot breath eases over your extended throat, followed by tongue, the heated promise of that single lapping stroke sending you into delirium.

Your head is tilted almost all the way back, the ripe curve of your breasts presented to him with as much generosity as the fruit trees that had lowered their harvest to you earlier.

An explosive moan exits you as he lavishes your nipple with soft, hot licks, suckling the flesh slowly to the left and then to the right, drawing it in with the tightening suction of his cheeks. He takes his time, only coming back to the white hot centre of your areola when he is satisfied that the entirety of the rounded expanse has been tasted.

You jerk under him, fingers scrabbling at his immovable arm as he applies the same attention to the other neglected breast, tugging you gently between his teeth until you're crying out at the gentle but thorough stimulation.

A soft, ticklish sensation alerts you to his next move, as the ends of the beaded braids fall forward over the pointed ends of his ears, painting your ribcage with the swirling ripples of an unseen image of growing lust.

You raise your head slightly, hooded eyes watching him, his breath passing over your mound like a hot wind that comes sailing down from the mountains to collect in the humid harbour of your widening thighs.

Your knees bend, anticipation drawing your abdomen taut as he bites down into the softness of one thigh, then the other. Halsin preserves symmetry, in all that he does.

When he tastes you, a hummingbird pushing slowly, exquisitely, into the sweet burst of a flower's trembling centre, you cannot help the low, desperate keening that escapes you. One hand slams into the grass beside you, fingers threading through and grasping at the cool foliage, trying to anchor your mind that seems to want to abandon all rational thought.

Halsin takes you, with surety, confidence, peeling you apart with large, roughened fingers, plundering your soft heat with the same assiduous attention he'd shown the rest of your body. He grows more intense, his own lust taking the reigns, thrusting his tongue as deep as it will go, pushing the edges apart, suckling the tiny, glistening pearl at the apex of your folds as if it is the finest delicacy he's ever feasted upon.

The slickness that coats his mouth, cheeks, hands and your thighs is a ceaseless font. You writhe beneath him, begging, gasping, shrinking away from and then surrendering to every blissful feeling he bestows.

Just when the taut string of heat that stretches all the way from down there to the base of your throat threatens to snap, he lifts off you, smiling at your outraged gasp, one hand holding down your hip as you furiously buck upward at the loss of sensation.

You slap at his arm, scowling as he laughs, soothing strokes sliding down your stomach and legs as he brings you reluctantly down from the peak you have been teetering on seconds before.

Oh, but he isn't done with you, not yet.

He has been saving the true banquet for this time, when your body has recovered some measure of equilibrium, but not quite. Now, when your sensitized skin burns with unquenched flame, when you moan so wantonly and reach for him, scratching lightly down his chest, when he raises himself once more, looming over you and crawls forward, every move lithe and sinuous as the displacer beast who's form he had borrowed a short while before, now you prepare yourself for what he truly has in store.

Your arms extend, almost looping around his neck, when he grasps your hip firmly and turns you over onto your front.

Oh.

So this was what he intended.

Not that you didn't adjust to the circumstances almost instantly. You were not without your wiles.

Stretching in a distinctly feline manner, you raise your hips, back curving in a perfect, quivering arc, letting out small sounds of encouragement as you feel the supple flesh of your buttocks brush the waving length of his erection. He hisses, but makes no move to stop you, allowing you to have your way with him, albeit, briefly.

And my, do you take advantage of the temporary freedom he's granted you.

Your spine undulates, the folds between your legs long since slicked and wet with his preparation. You enfold him from the sides, dragging your sweet nectar along his length, the heavy tip catching slightly and making you dig your fingers deeper into the soil.

There is some connection here, more expansive than just the two of you. The earth beneath your hands and knees hums with latent energy, the kind that remains undetected when you are not here, with him, in this sacred space that flowers between the sky, the trees, the stones and your body beneath his.

You open your mind to it, kindling some deep spark within that Halsin detects. He hums with approval, leaning further forward.

Like a dull clap of thunder, an electric hum on the air, he rolls his hips forward, taking the initiative. The rounded head breaches you, forcing a full-throated cry as you're rapidly reminded of the sheer size of him.

It's not just the silky iron length that presses forward, inch by inch, displacing the dewy arousal that coats him. It's the feel of his weight sinking further down into your back, an echo of stigma and stamen, the slow spread of your fingers as his lodge between them, the resumed stroke of his braids at the nape of your neck.

Your mouth opens in a silent continuation of your ecstasy, tendons standing out in your neck with the supreme effort of acceptance. The invasive stretch eases as he rocks back and forth, whispering soft praises, obeisances, worshipping the way you engulf him whole.

Lightning now follows the deepening roar in your veins, sweat coating your skin in a luminous sheen as you slowly back onto him, feeling the probe at the edges of your ability to take, jerking away with a hiss, moving back again with intent.

Halsin allows you to set the pace, low grunts of effort sounding against the shell of your ear, hot breath mingling with yours.

You drag your awareness away from the pleasure that builds steadily as you tilt forward, until only the tip remains, then repeat the slow reversal that impales you. You want this to take forever, to last until the final frayed threads of your control slip between your fingers and you surrender to the storm that threatens to crash over your senses with each fluid movement.

When you feel that you're ready, you raise your hips slightly, and he almost slips from your tight heat. His fingers sink into the flesh just above your hip, followed by a low exhale of agreement, a sign to ready yourself.

His forward thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and you cry out and sink down to your elbows almost immediately. The new angle allows him to penetrate even deeper, tearing hoarse cries of pleasure from your throat.

Halsin sets a steady, powerful rhythm, the impact of each slam of his hips rippling the flesh of your buttocks, the folds of your waist deepening as you drop further down. The blades of grass beneath you graze your nipples, snapping past with increasing intensity as he picks up his pace.

Hands fisting once again, you tear up clods of earth, howling, moaning, begging as the slaps of his body against yours matches the pace of his breathing, quickening like the blood in your veins, the heady sap that seeps into your mouth as you press your face into the grass and take it between your teeth.

Tears of pleasure gather at the corners of your eyes, roll down to your entwined fingers and he presses down on you further, lapping at them as they stream down the side of your face.

He is a veritable force of nature, sweeping you up into a maelstrom of unmatched, terrifying sensation. You turn your head to him slightly, sobbing breaths spelling out that you are close, so close, almost, to keep fucking you, to go harder, to -

The staccato encouragement only serves to slow his pace, and now, in spite of the protesting smack of your hand against his abdomen, your nails dragging on his flank, your cursing, he starts a new rhythm, one even more devastating in its undoing of you.

Two deep strokes, followed by a tender, shallower thrust that lodges somewhere different, somewhere that sparks a renewed series of deep, throaty moans, pitched higher and higher as a crescendo builds.

He fills you, stretches you, paints your inner thighs with the soaked traces of your joining, merciless in his assault on the tight ring of muscle at your entrance.

You're no longer aware of where the connection between your bodies ends, so immersed are you in each collision of your hips.

Halsin places a hand firmly in the small of your back, and you're now aware that he has also grown louder in his appreciation of you, almost incoherent in his litany of praises.

Under other circumstances (perhaps later, when you find the time to indulge in each other at a more leisurely pace) you would have taken the time to sling your leg over his, to twist until you managed to lever his body beneath yours, to ride him until that tell-tale ache in your lower back and thighs made itself known.

For now, you can only think of your immediate pleasure, the magnificent sweep of a cyclone that comes crashing across the coastline and catches you when you least expect it.

When it does eventually find you, when your back arches, your muscles convulsing, your body shuddering with an intensity that near rattles your teeth, you allow it to carry you away, hardly aware of your reactions in that moment.

Halsin's reaches beneath you, hand caressing your stomach with soft, grounding fervour, even as you become aware that he has not allowed himself the same abandonment of release. He is harder than ever inside you, the twitch that makes itself known now that he has stilled his pace causing you to gasp and stiffen.

There is still a certain tension coiled there, one that makes itself known as he slowly eases himself in and out, building to steady rocking against you. He throws back his head and growls, body now fully spread across yours, and you raise your legs, tucking your feet behind his knees to pull him further towards the newly set line of completion.

Your second orgasm is less intense, but reverberates through you in a manner that makes him pause again. The wringing contractions around his length seem to finally push him over the edge, and he lets out a gutteral roar as a searing warmth floods within you, the irregular spasmodic slide of him coming to a gradual stop.

You reach back, hand placed flat on his abdomen for some modicum of control as he eases out, the cool night air a shocking contrast to the overwhelming heat of him. Consciousness of your own breathing returns, ragged, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Something slips down your leg, pools on the ground behind you. You keep your rear raised, glancing back over your shoulder, a dazed smile spreading as you note the glazed, shattered stare that Halsin directs at you, at the banner of your union that drapes in a pearlescent string between your once-joined parts.

He sits back on his haunches and runs those large hands through his hair, attempting to bring himself back under control.

Under the circumstances, your expression should not be so self-satisfied, considering that he has all but taken you in the most base, animalistic manner possible. You are aware of how you must look, with your hair draped in sweaty tangles over your forehead, the gleam of perspiration that now covers you from head to toe, the marks of earth on your buttocks, knees and elbows.

Halsin catches your eye and strokes down your back before raising you with that delightfully easy strength, bringing you closer to him.

You seat yourself on his lap, legs parted as if you've assumed your natural throne once again. The soft shake of his shoulders builds to a laugh that you feel all the way down to your bones.

"I take it you've made the acquaintance of your inner beast?"

"And a fine one at that."

"I wasn't expecting such a chase."

"Was it worth it?"

His fingers find their way beneath your chin, tilt your head until he is able to gaze upon your face once again.

There it is, that infinite tenderness, the kind he always reserves just for you. When he speaks, you shudder slightly at the weight of passionate promise there, the rumble that begins somewhere deep in his chest, that let's you lean against him in the lassitude of well-earned submission.

"Well worth it. I'd even go so far as to ask for a re-match."

"Oh? And which form will you choose for our next bout?"

His voice is muffled slightly, from where he presses his mouth to your shoulder, but you hear him nonetheless, and your teeth gleam in the faint light of the clearing.

"The bear. Definitely the bear."

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deardarlingdevil · 2 years ago

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Imagine Raphael feeling a twinge of tenderness whenever he sees you.

Imagine Raphael denying to himself the protectiveness that washes over him at the sight of you.

Imagine Raphael tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep well because Korilla didn't have any new information on you.

Imagine Raphael writing feverishly in his journal about the new dream he had about you.

Imagine Raphael's panic when Korilla reports that you've been captured, and his relief once he knows you're safe, because he sent Korrilla to save you.

Imagine Raphael thinking that perhaps, he can be what he claims to be, and be a savior to you.

Imagine Raphael talking Korrilla's ear off about his plans for you, and it becomes painfully obvious to the warlock that he is deeply infatuated with his favorite misadventurer.

Imagine Raphael starting to believe his own words when he tells you that he has grown fond of you, or that he likes you.

Imagine Raphael realizing that the farcical "love" that he gets from an incubus pales in comparison to that unwanted feelings of love for you that continues to grip his dark heart.

Imagine Raphael, a half-devil, learning to embrace his mortal side, and all the messy feelings that comes with it, love included.

Imagine Raphael finally learning to love anyone other than himself, and he loves you. And he cannot spit it out.

#this is supposed to be exclusively raphael x fortune's dynamic but fuck it let's get the reader/tav involved. still tagging their ship tho #ship: the devil's luck #raphael x tav #raphael x f!tav #raphael x m!tav #raphael x reader #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 imagines #fluff #angst

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moonselune · 7 months ago

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oh nooo, tavs tent got flooded by rain ans now theyre forced to share a bed with someone! can i rq a one bed troupe with male tav with karlach, wyll, astarion, halsin?

oh noooo how could this happen??

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The storm rolled in unexpectedly, drenching the camp in a relentless downpour. You were still trying to salvage what you could when a deafening crack of thunder shook the ground, sending the rivers of rainwater cascading directly into your tent. By the time you managed to crawl out, sputtering and soaked, your belongings were hopelessly waterlogged.

Karlach, of course, was there to witness your predicament. She jogged over, her broad grin illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning.

“Rough night, huh, soldier?” she teased, shaking her head at the state of your tent.

You groaned, wringing out your shirt. “You could say that. Looks like I’m going to be sleeping under the stars tonight—well, under the rain, more like.”

“Nonsense!” Karlach’s voice was as warm as the heat radiating from her. She slapped a hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle. “You can bunk with me. My tent’s dry, and, uh, let’s just say I come with central heating.”

The thought made your stomach twist with equal parts relief and trepidation. Sharing a tent—no, a bed—with Karlach? The woman you’d been nursing an embarrassingly obvious crush on for weeks? Your throat went dry despite the rain drenching you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

She cut you off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll freeze to death out here otherwise. Let’s go.”

Her tent was modest but well-kept, and most importantly, dry. You hesitated at the entrance, dripping onto the canvas floor. Karlach turned, hands on her hips, and raised a brow.

“Get in here before you catch something, will ya?” She rummaged through her belongings, tossing a dry blanket your way. “Strip out of that wet stuff and wrap yourself up. I’ll, uh, look the other way if you’re shy.”

You managed a weak laugh, your heart thudding in your chest as you turned your back to her. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt awkward under her presence, even though she kept her word and busied herself adjusting the bedroll. Once you were as dry as you could get, you turned around, clutching the blanket like a shield.

Karlach motioned to the bedroll, sitting down and patting the spot beside her. “Come on. I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”

Her teasing tone was lighthearted, but it didn’t stop your face from burning as you awkwardly settled beside her. The proximity was unavoidable; the bedroll wasn’t made for two people. Your shoulder brushed against hers, and despite the chill of the rain, her warmth seeped through the thin blanket you shared.

“You’re shivering,” she said, her voice softening. “Hang on.”

Before you could protest, Karlach shifted closer, wrapping her arm around you. The heat from her infernal heart radiated through her skin, chasing away the chill almost instantly. It was overwhelming—comforting, yes, but also intensely intimate.

“You’re like a living furnace,” you muttered, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse hammered in your ears.

She laughed, a sound that was equal parts amusement and kindness. “Perks of the infernal engine, huh? You should take advantage of it. No sense in freezing when you’ve got me around.”

The words were innocent enough, but the tension in the air was anything but. Every small movement felt magnified—the way her arm lingered around your shoulders, the way her breath tickled your neck when she laughed. You could swear she noticed your nervousness because her fingers gave your arm a small squeeze, grounding you.

For a while, you sat in companionable silence, the sound of the rain pattering against the tent mingling with the steady hum of Karlach’s warmth. But the tension remained, unspoken and heavy.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said eventually, tilting her head to look at you. Her voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Just... thinking,” you managed, cursing yourself for how obvious your voice sounded.

Her brow furrowed, her expression softening. “You’re not still worried about being a bother, are you? Because if you are—”

“No!” you blurted, turning to face her. You realized too late how close you were, your noses almost brushing. Your voice caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Her gaze flicked between your eyes and your lips, something unspoken passing through her expression. But then she smiled—gentle, teasing, and yet somehow protective. “You’re really something, you know that?”

The moment stretched, and your heart thundered in your chest. You weren’t sure what would’ve happened if she hadn’t leaned back, breaking the tension.

“Get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll keep you warm.”

As you lay down beside her, her arm still draped around you, you couldn’t help but think about how much you wanted to stay like this forever. It was comforting, yes, but it was also maddening—being so close to her, feeling her heat, and yet knowing the line between you remained unspoken.

But for now, you let yourself savor the moment, even if it left you yearning for something more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The storm came out of nowhere, drenching the camp in sheets of rain so thick you could barely see beyond your own hands. You’d thought your tent was secure, but the deluge proved you wrong. By the time you realized the rain was seeping in, it was too late—your bedroll was soaked, your belongings waterlogged. Swearing under your breath, you tried to salvage what you could, shivering in the cold.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion’s lilting voice rang out from the shadows, cutting through the sound of the rain. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

You turned to see him leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. Despite the weather, he looked immaculate, as always, his pale skin almost glowing against the dark backdrop of the storm.

“My tent flooded,” you muttered, trying not to sound as miserable as you felt.

Astarion’s smirk widened as he sauntered closer, looking you up and down with a mockingly critical eye. “My, my, such a pitiful sight. You’re dripping like a wet dog. And here I thought you’d have more... dignity.”

You shot him a glare, though your teeth chattering probably undermined the effect. “Unless you’re here to help, Astarion, maybe keep walking.”

“Help?” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest, feigning offense. “Darling, I’m not in the business of charity. But... I suppose I could take pity on you, just this once. After all, I’m nothing if not magnanimous.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief, “you’re welcome to my tent. Though, I must warn you, it comes with a price.”

“What price?”

He tapped a finger against his lips, pretending to think. “Hmm... let’s see. Enduring my company, for one. My delightful teasing, for another. And, of course, you’ll have to control yourself. Sharing close quarters with someone as devastatingly attractive as me? Quite the challenge, no?”

You flushed, heat creeping up your neck despite the cold. “I’ll manage.”

Astarion’s tent was—unsurprisingly—pristine. The interior was lit with a soft glow from a single lantern, casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls. His bedroll was luxurious compared to yours, layered with thick blankets and pillows that looked far too indulgent for a camp in the wilderness.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing grandly. “And by that, I mean don’t ruin anything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious as you stepped inside. Your wet clothes clung to you, and you were acutely aware of every move you made. Astarion, of course, noticed.

“Oh, do take those off,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll freeze otherwise, and I’m not about to have you shivering all over me all night.”

“I’m fine—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupted, already digging through his belongings. He tossed you a dry shirt and a blanket. “Here. Change. I’ll avert my eyes, though it’s hardly necessary.”

Your face burned as you turned your back to him, peeling off your soaked clothes and quickly pulling on the shirt he’d given you. It was soft, and it smelled faintly of him—a mix of something earthy and rich, with a hint of sweetness.

When you turned back around, Astarion was already lounging on the bedroll, propped up on one elbow, watching you with a smug expression.

“You clean up nicely,” he remarked, patting the spot beside him. “Now, come along. Let’s get this over with before you catch your death.”

Reluctantly, you sat down, pulling the blanket over yourself. The space was tight, and you couldn’t avoid brushing against him as you lay down. His body was cool, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine—not from the cold, but from the unspoken tension that hung between you like a storm cloud.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Not really,” you muttered, though that was a lie.

He chuckled, his breath brushing against your ear. “I can feel your pulse racing, you know. Are you nervous, darling? Or is it just... me?”

You turned your head to glare at him, only to realize how close he was—his face mere inches from yours, his crimson eyes glinting with something unreadable. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside the tent seemed to disappear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I’m only teasing. Mostly.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

Astarion grinned, his fangs catching the light. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Despite his teasing, he shifted slightly, giving you a bit more space. The tension between you remained, unspoken but palpable, as the rain continued to patter against the tent. It was both maddening and exhilarating, being so close to him, knowing he could probably hear every erratic beat of your heart.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day began to catch up with you. As you started to drift off, you felt him shift beside you, his voice a quiet murmur in the dark.

“Sleep well, darling,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere.

And despite everything—despite the teasing, the tension, and the racing thoughts that refused to quiet—you did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The rain had started as a drizzle, an annoyance more than anything, but by midnight it had turned into a full-blown storm. You’d woken to the sound of water pooling under your bedroll, the fabric of your tent flapping wildly in the wind. It didn’t take long to realize your tent wasn’t holding up—water seeped in through every seam, soaking everything in its path.

Soaked and miserable, you stumbled into the camp’s common area, clutching your blanket and trying not to curse the heavens too loudly. That’s when Wyll, ever the gentleman, emerged from his own tent, lantern in hand.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he teased gently, his voice warm despite the storm.

“My tent flooded,” you muttered, feeling like a fool as you wrung out your blanket.

Wyll’s brow furrowed in concern, and he quickly stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You can’t stay out here in this. Come, share my tent. It’s dry, and there’s enough room for both of us.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“I insist,” Wyll interrupted, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’d never leave a friend out in this storm.”

Wyll’s tent was cozy, far better maintained than yours. The interior was neat and organized, his bedroll lined with extra blankets that gave it an almost luxurious appearance. A small lantern cast a warm glow, the storm muffled by the sturdy canvas walls.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to the bedroll. “You take the left side.”

You hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious as you stepped inside. Your clothes clung to you, damp and uncomfortable, and you were acutely aware of the unspoken tension between the two of you. Wyll had always been kind, always so composed, but there was something about the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long that made your heart race.

“You’re shivering,” he observed, pulling a dry blanket from his pack. “Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

You flushed, your mind immediately racing to places it shouldn’t. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your teeth were chattering.

Wyll raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Fine, is it? If you fall ill, it’s on my conscience. Here.” He turned his back, giving you privacy as he busied himself with the lantern. “I promise I won’t peek.”

Reluctantly, you stripped out of your wet clothes, replacing them with the spare shirt and pants Wyll handed you. The fabric was soft and warm, and it smelled of him—a subtle mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like freshly turned soil.

When you finally settled onto the bedroll, Wyll joined you, keeping a respectful distance. But the space was tight, and no matter how you tried to position yourself, you couldn’t avoid brushing against him.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The storm raged on outside, but inside the tent, the air was thick with an entirely different kind of tension. You were hyper-aware of every little movement, every rustle of the blankets, every time his arm brushed against yours.

“You’re still shivering,” Wyll said after a moment.

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “Here.” Before you could protest, he shifted closer, draping the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Body heat. It’s the fastest way to warm up.”

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. He was so close, his scent enveloping you, his touch sending shivers down your spine for an entirely different reason now. You were just glad you were facing away from him for less than gentlemanly reasons.

“Better?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

The minutes stretched on, the storm outside fading into the background as the tension between you grew. Every time his hand shifted against your shoulder, every time his breath brushed against your temple, it sent your thoughts spiraling.

At one point, you turned your head slightly, only to find his face inches from yours. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, every unspoken feeling hovering just out of reach. Wyll was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat and pulling back slightly.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice a little too even, as though he were trying to mask his own thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely audible. “Good idea.”

But sleep didn’t come easily. Not with the way his arm stayed draped over your shoulders, his warmth seeping into you, his presence so close it was almost overwhelming.

As the storm began to wane, the tension in the tent softened, replaced by a quiet comfort. And though neither of you said anything more, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wyll felt the same way you did—that unspoken pull, the lingering desire that neither of you dared to yet acknowledge.

For now, though, it was enough to simply be near him, the storm outside forgotten as you drifted off to the sound of his steady breathing, wrapped in his warm, strong arms.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The storm that swept through camp hit with an intensity no one had anticipated. Rain lashed against the tents, and your own—already a little worse for wear—didn’t stand a chance. You woke to water pooling around you, your belongings soaked, and your blankets utterly useless. Grumbling, you gathered what you could and sloshed through the camp to find somewhere dry.

Halsin’s tent stood out, sturdy and secure against the storm, its entrance softly illuminated by a warm glow. You hesitated for a moment before calling out.

“Halsin? You awake?”

The flap of the tent opened, revealing the towering figure of the druid, his expression immediately softening when he saw your drenched form. “Your tent couldn’t withstand the storm?”

“No,” you admitted, shivering slightly. “Do you mind if I...?”

“Of course,” he said with a reassuring smile, stepping aside to let you in.

Halsin’s tent was everything yours wasn’t: dry, spacious, and undeniably cozy. The thick pelts lining the floor and the earthy, woodsy scent made it feel like a sanctuary. The warmth inside hit you immediately, and you realized it wasn’t just from the well-insulated tent—it was Halsin himself. He radiated heat like a furnace, the air around him almost stiflingly warm.

“You can set your things over there,” he said, gesturing to a corner before kneeling to adjust the blankets on his bedroll. “And don’t worry, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

You tried not to overthink that last part as you settled in, draping a dry blanket over your shoulders. But as the rain continued to hammer against the tent, the unspoken tension between you became almost palpable. You’d always felt a certain pull toward Halsin—his kindness, his strength, the way he carried himself with such quiet confidence. Sharing a space with him now, so close, was enough to make your heart race.

“Warm enough?” he asked, his voice low and soothing as he settled onto the bedroll beside you.

“More than enough,” you said, trying to sound casual, though the heat radiating from him felt almost overwhelming.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable at first but quickly giving way to that same tension. You couldn’t help but notice the way Halsin shifted slightly, as though trying to find a position that didn’t discomfort him. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked almost... uneasy.

“Is everything okay?” you asked softly, turning to face him. “If this is too much, I can—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, chuckling quietly. “It’s not that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. I just...” He hesitated, his cheeks darkening slightly, which was rare for someone so self-assured.

“What is it?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued. Halsin exhaled a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not used to sleeping with clothes on,” he admitted, his voice laced with amusement but also honesty. “It’s a little... restrictive.”

You blinked, his words sinking in as your mind instantly spiraled into dangerous territory.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched with a voice crack that could rival teenage you.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t...” he started, but you quickly shook your head.

“No, it’s fine! I mean, you should be comfortable,” you said, your words tumbling over each other in your attempt to sound unaffected.

Halsin gave you a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with that same warmth that seemed to envelop the entire tent. “You’re kind to say so, but I think I’ll manage for one night.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you’d regret. The unspoken tension thickened as the storm continued to rage outside, the sound of the rain mingling with the steady rhythm of Halsin’s breathing.

The heat he radiated wasn’t just physical—it was in the way his presence seemed to fill the space, in the way his voice lingered in the air, deep and comforting. You found yourself hyper-aware of every movement, every shift of the blankets, every time his arm brushed against yours.

“Try to rest,” Halsin murmured, his voice low and velvety. “The storm will pass by morning.”

You nodded again, lying back and trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his body so close to yours, or the way your heart seemed to pound louder with each passing second.

And though sleep didn’t come easily, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude for the storm that had brought you here, to this moment, even if it left you feeling like you were on the edge of something both thrilling and terrifying.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so fun to write, it came out more gn, but i did my best to do allusions that it was a male tav. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

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elfyelation · 2 years ago

Text

𝐢'𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | oneshot

pairing—astarion x m!tav summary—when tav falls ill, everyone at camp is surprised to find that astarion is intent on staying by his side until he’s better warnings—illness, mention of poison, soft astarion, worried astarion, worried party, hurt/comfort, extensive use of pet names, super soft, extreme fluff word count—754 rating—teen note—this is entirely self-indulgent because i’ve been really ill this past week (thanks covid) and the whole time i was thinking about how astarion would comfort tav if he was hurt/sick so i came up with the idea for this

“How is he?” he asks and for what might be the first time, she can hear sincerity in his voice.

“Better,” the cleric sighed, “He’s getting better but he’ll still need some time to recover. You can sit with him but if I see those fangs of yours anywhere near him—”

Astarion rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "I assure you, Shadowheart, my intentions are far from what you seem to believe. I would never harm Tav. Surely that much has become clear to you by now?"

The sceptical half-elf hummed, “I suppose he will be safe enough for now. Even if your concern for him was a lie I doubt you’d want to risk sucking up any poison that might still be loitering in his veins.”

He knew she had every right to be distrusting of him, especially when it came to Tav’s safety. He only hoped one day they would all finally see just how much Tav really meant to him. That his feelings weren’t a lie. Until then, he’d have to make do with their concern over their friend and his questionable taste in partners.

“A… Astarion?” His weak voice croaked out the moment the vampire spawn ducked inside the tent.

Tav was laying on the blankets, his body completely sweat-ridden as his face contorted with discomfort. He was in still pain, still so vulnerable.

Astarion was by his side in an instant, his cold hands reaching out to gently touch his lover’s forehead. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m here. I’m right here.”

The cool touch of his hand was welcome as it immediately began to cool Tav’s fever. Gale had already expressed his suspicion that it would do as much. There certainly were at least a few perks of being undead.

“Let’s cool you down, shall we?” He wasted no time removing his shirt before crawling down beside his lover. One strong arm gently wrapped around Tav and pulled him closer, hoping that the coldness of his skin would help ease at least some of the pain.

Tav's laboured breaths finally began to slow as he nestled into the embrace, finding solace in the chill of Astarion's body. His fingers wrapped themselves around the cool arm around him, pulling it closer to his chest.

The vampire spawn chuckled against his ear. “Easy, little love, I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers traced delicate patterns on Tav's forehead, willing the fever to subside.

Outside the tent, Shadowheart kept a close eye on the pair and, in doing so, her initial scepticism gradually gave way to a begrudging acceptance of the vampire's genuine concern. She couldn't deny the tenderness she saw in Astarion's eyes as he cared for their companion. It was a side of him she hadn't seen before. A side of him she hadn’t even known was there.

Maybe it wasn’t just about self preservation or sexual desire. Just maybe he truly did care for Tav. She never thought love was something he was capable of but the longer she watched them, the more she realised just how wrong she had been.

Soon enough, his lover was sound asleep in his arms. Sleeping without a sign of pain or discomfort. It was the first time he’d slept properly since his affliction which meant Shadowheart was right, he was getting better.

“You know, you really scared me for a moment there. I… I thought I was going to lose you. I don’t want to go through that again.”

He spoke despite knowing there was no one to hear him. Speaking to a sleeping lover who, as if on instinct, rolled over to snuggle closer into him.

"I'll protect you with everything I have, my love," Astarion murmured, "I promise you that. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible." He knew that Tav couldn't hear him, but the words were as much for himself as they were for his lover.

Astarion had always been a creature of darkness, bound by instinct and desire. Forced to do his cynical master’s bidding. Yet, in Tav's presence, he had found a glimmer of something different, something more profound. It was a love he never thought he deserved, but now that he had it, he would do anything to defend it.

And so, beneath the starlit sky, Astarion held Tav close, vowing silently to cherish every moment they had together, determined to prove that his love was not just words but a promise to protect and endure, no matter the cost.

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 2 years ago

Text

Requests are closed.

Astarion Fic Masterlist Under Cut!

Bold italics = nsfw Normal lettering = sfw

Original Ideas/Headcanons

Soft Astarion Jealousy Part 1 and Part 2

Astarion Happy Ending Part 1 and Part 2

Ascended Astarion Headcanons

Kidnapped Astarion

Past Astarion Meets the Present

Ascended Astarion Manipulation

Ask Fics

Mirror Mirror

Actually Remembering Your Vampire BF needs protection from the Sun

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

Astarion Teaching You How to Sew

Artist Tav and Subject Astarion

Not Interested in Sex Tav and Clueless Astarion

Ascended Astarion & Tav wandering away at a ball

Astarion Child Panic

Astarion Calming down Druid Tav

Chill Tav and Slightly Pissed Astarion (Blood related pissiness)

Bard Tav Singing Astarion to Sleep

Prankster Astarion who is Happy to Make Everyone Briefly Uncomfrotable

Ascended Astarion Honeymoon

Cuddly Tav and Whipped Astarion

Astarion Meeting the Family

Hot Powerful Man blowing Smoke into your Mouth, more at 11

A Night All About Him

Lady Ancunin

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #ascended astarion #a mix of m/f and gender neutral #fic masterlist #fic masterpost

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chaoticbardlady99 · 1 year ago

Text

CW: descriptions of violence, angst (I think)

Astarion holds your face, your now ruby red eyes shedding tears as you stare back at him. He wishes this blasted gate wasn’t keeping you away from him.

You had disappeared suddenly while exploring the Sewers- all of you had split up to look for parts of Dribbles the Clown.

You, unfortunately, stumbled upon Cazador’s dungeon and he changed you.

Astarion wouldn’t have known you were down here if Violet hadn’t goaded him earlier that night- sneering at him when he said he would “ascend them all”.

“Oh really,” she smiled maliciously at him, “even though it means sacrificing that ‘Darling’ of yours?”

Astarion swallows the thick dread in his throat as he follows the freshly carved runes into your chin and neck. This was not what Astarion had meant when he wanted eternity with you. He assumed it would be with him changing you- it would have been a gentle start to your new life as a Vampire Spawn- it shouldn’t have happened like this.

The rest of the sacrifices weighed on the more moral part of him heavily, but you? Losing you would be all consuming.

“Star,” you whisper, “Star, please look at me.”

Astarion can barely get himself to look back into your eyes. You are still the most beautiful person he has ever seen, met, or even been allowed to be in the presence of. Gods, he loves you. Sometimes he looks at you and thinks maybe they did answer his prayers.

“I understand,” you say with a soft smile, “do what will make you happy.”

When the sentence clicks in his head- it stuns him. How could he ever be happy without you? How is that even a question?

But what other choices does he have? The only way he’ll be able to free you is if he releases all 7,000 vampire spawn- that sounds like a horrible idea for multiple reasons. He can’t see through his own tears.

“Darling-“

“I love you, Astarion,” you say through a choked smile, “I am eternally yours- in any plane- and I am so so so proud of you.”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart warns, “we need to go, there are more creatures showing up.”

You place a kiss on the palm of your hand before placing it back to his cheek- your tears are even stronger now, but you keep smiling at him. Reassuring him that it’s okay- you only want him to be happy.

The fight with Cazador barely registers to Astarion. The man started by saying terrible things to him, but not even that mattered anymore.

Astarion is so infuriated, enraged, numb that he tackles Cazador while the man won’t stop getting high off his own fumes.

Astarion stabs the man over and over and over again- his own screams getting lost in the chaos of the others killing the Undead Creatures surrounding them.

His unbeating heart feels like it’s been sliced into a million bits. Astarion’s entire world has been undone by this horrible, wretched, piece of shit man.

First, he took Astarion’s life.

Second, he took his autonomy.

Third, Cazador took you away from Astarion.

You- the first person in the entire world to show him kindness and support. You have saved him from himself and the world over and over again. You stayed even when he tricked you. You’ve been patient with him and you love him for him- not just his body- and Cazador took that away from him.

The first person he has ever fallen in love with.

Cazador is barely recognizable by the time Astarion allows him to go back to his coffin.

It’s the longest moment of Astarion’s life- he says everything he wants to say, he even tells Cazador he is ascending in his place. Astarion is so full of adrenaline and rage he isn’t even thinking.

“Ha! You are no better than me, boy,” Cazador goads, “you would sacrifice that stupid fool who supposedly loves you? The only reason they are even in there- even a lowly Spawn- is because they refused to tell me where you were.

“What a horrible way to die, but what a fitting ending for your only love, you pathetic runt.”

No it isn’t.

It’s not a fitting ending.

You deserve to live more of your life and- if he’s being honest with himself- Astarion never wants to live without you. He had to do that for 239 years and he’s not about to do that for an eternity more.

So he kills Cazador and then releases the spawn, but he’s quickly pushing past all 7,000 spawn and right to you- you barely made it to the threshold of your prison when he’s tackling you to the ground.

“I love you too,” Astarion whispers into the crook of your neck, “and I am eternally yours.”

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loulouhattie · 1 year ago

Text

The Vampire’s Violin

Pairing: m!Tav x Astarion

Summary:

In my playthrough, Astarion multiclasses as a bard. My HC is that he loved music once, and played it before Cazador took him. Now, with his taste first of freedom in 200 years, he indulges himself by trying again. But doesn't anticipate Finn watching him

Tav: Finn is a half drow fighter/paladin who puts up a front of being a too-cool, tough guy jock. In reality, its a mask for his sensitive and gentle nature

Rating: teen

Tags: fluff, romantic tension, little bit of enemies to lovers, but very light

This is a very self indulgent one-shot I wrote because I couldnt stop thinking about this story hc, and then I had to draw it to bring it to life and

Well

Bon appetit i guess

————————

‘Gods above!’

Astarion almost dropped the violin, swinging around to see the Finn staring through the bushes, eyes gleaming and his face split into a mischievous grin.

‘How bloody long were you standing there!’ he hissed.

Finn shrugged.

‘I only came out here to find a tree to piss on. Certainly didn’t expect to find you giving the squirrels a concert!’ Finn smirked at him.

Astarion's fingers curled around the bow. He hated this feeling that he’s been caught.

But there’s nothing wrong with what he was doing, is there?

Finn noticed the tension in his shoulders, and his sneer softened.

‘Can I listen?’

‘What? No. Fuck off,’ Astarion spat, ‘and if you tell the others, I’ll decorate your bedroll with your innards.’

Finn stepped out from the bushes, standing only a few feet from the pale elf in clearing. Astarion’s eyes narrowed, his hackles tense like a cornered cat.

‘I won’t breathe a word, honest. I guess I’m just surprised, you don’t strike me as...well, it’s nice to learn a little more about you,’ Finn explained earnestly.

His tone was sincere, but Astarion’s eyes remained narrow.

‘well, it’s not much to learn about. It was a long time ago. From before I was turned,'

He absently twirled the bow,

'I suppose I got curious. People have often said such skills never leave you, and, well, like I said. I got curious.’

‘Cazador not a music lover?’

The bow stopped twirling.

‘That had better be a joke.’ it came out in a snarl.

Finn raised his hands in apology. The silence in the clearing was cool and comforting, accented by the occasional chirp of insects.

Astarion’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned so that he faced Finn fully.

‘You’re not going to fuck off. Are you?’

‘Nope!’ the half drow’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any rounder as he plonked happily down on the ground, legs crossed and beaming like a child.

Astarion scoffed. He twirled the bow once more, chewing the inside of his cheek.

‘If you’re going to insist on staying here, just keep quiet. It won’t do to distract me.’ he snapped at Finn, raising the violin to his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn’s eyes sparkled as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

The pale elf exhaled, pressing the rest into the crook of his neck. With his bow hand, he plucked the string. He turned the peg for the corresponding string slowly, plucking steadily as the note sharpened.

A hot spot in his fingertip formed under the string’s friction. The note pinged clearly through the clearing, and he was satisfied. Onto the next 3 strings.

Finn watched the vampire intently. He couldn’t help but notice that his posture shifting. His brows were always so furrowed with malice, but now the focus on tuning the instrument had melted them.

There was a ghost of gentleness to his red eyes. Finn made sure not to move, careful not to disrupt this trancelike state.

Astarion plucked all 4 strings once more, their notes singing gently into the air. Shifting his stance, he raised the bow to the instrument. The insects were silent, waiting. Waiting for the performance to begin.

But the elf hesitated. His gaze clouded. Finn felt a sense of melancholy radiate from him.

‘Is…is something wrong?’ Finn probed gently. Astarion lowed the bow, dejected.

‘I don’t know what to play.’ he admitted.

200 years without so much as thinking of playing, and he was going to just give it a go?

Pathetic. What a stupid, foolish idiot he was! He wasn’t good for anything beyond manipulating and seducing pretty things-

‘I know!’

A sharp whistle sang through the clearing, making Astarion winced.

What was this idiot doing now? Astarion stared at him incredulously, about to snap at him.

Finn’s face scrunched with focus as he barely got a half cooked tune out between his lips. The only time he ever whistled was for Scratch, and this tone deaf fool couldn’t get a note out!

Then, he heard it. In between the very flat notes, he recognised that tune.

It was the song that Alfira sang in the Grove.

Astarion went still. He focused on the notes that wove together in a tapestry of melody.

Could he piece that melody together? Something he had only heard once?

He raised the bow, and passed it across the instrument. The strings squeaked in protest.

A grimace.

Finn continued to whistle... well, he continued to struggle.

Astarion repositioned the bow in his fingers. He pulled it across the violin again.

And this time, the note flowed forth. And melted into the next, flowing into a song.

It was as though mage hands were gently guiding him. The dust fell slowly from his memory as he recalled the forms for playing.

What started as rough squeaks began to form into a melody, a song. It filled the clearing, and he instinctively began to shift his weight from one foot to the other to keep his tempo.

Finn watched, transfixed. What he thought was a shift in demeanour before when he was tuning the violin was nothing compared to what was before him now.

Moonlight gleamed off Astarion’s pearlescent skin and snowy curls, dancing off him to the song he deftly coaxed from the instrument. He was a different being entirely - he was lost in the music.

His face creased in focus, not out of his usual snidenesss. He was transcendent, his brows and lips dancing to the rhythm as he bow flowed across the strings.

The song came to an end. And both men were still.

Neither said a word for a beat.

‘I won’t lie: you’re a bit shit.’ Finn broke the silence.

Astarion let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter. Finn snickered to himself. The air was light, and mild around them.

A blush crept up Finn’s ears.

Astarion lowered the violin, letting it hang at his side. The silence of the forest permeated the clearing. He was suddenly aware of how exposed he felt out here. The bliss of feeling the music vanished in an instant.

‘We should head back, before some goblin or beast comes calling for an encore.’

‘Wait,’ Finn stood up quickly, dusting off his trousers. ‘I really enjoyed that. Listening to you play. Do you…'

He shifted on his feet, scooting dust beneath his shoe,

'if you play again, could I come and listen?’

Astarion took in the half-drow before him. He hadn’t noticed before, but his ashen skin seemed to absorb the moon and starlight. A gift of the Underdark, perhaps.

His red eye sparkled, and he recognised the blush on his ears and cheeks. The faintest hint of desire.

This would be easier than he thought.

‘Darling. I suppose we could arrange a more intimate viewing.’ he stalked past Finn, taking care to breeze so closely by that he brushed delicately past Finn’s fingertips.

He heard the faintest trace of his breath catching, and he knew he had him in the palm of his hand. He gazed at him through lowered lashes, a smile etched across his face. Poor, pathetic boy.

‘Let’s head back to camp. Maybe tomorrow night, we can arrange another little…performance.’

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanart #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion m!reader #astarion fluff #soft astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fandom #astarion fanfic #astarion fanart #astarion x male tav

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justcallmefox89 · 1 year ago

Text

Submission: Chapter Four - Walking in the Moonlight

Rolan and Drakul get to know each other a little better.

TW: m/m sex acts, smutty shenanigans in the woods, dirty talk/teasing

Rolan glances over at Drakul as the pair meander through the woods, admiring the way moonlight strikes his profile as he turns his face up to admire stars. Drakul bounces on his toes and turns to face Rolan with a beaming smile on his face.

“I’m over 400 years old and I saw the moon and stars for the first time only a few days ago,” he says in a wondering tone. “The surface world is full of such glorious things.”

“You’ve spent your whole life in the Underdark?” Rolan asks, trying to suppress his shock.

“Of course. Why would I wish to be anywhere else?” Drakul reaches up and gently touches Rolan’s cheek. “But had I known your world contained such beauty I would have ventured to the surface earlier.”

“Do you miss it? Your home?” Rolan deflects his flirtation with a question.

The drow tilts his head to the side and purses his lips as he considers his answer. “Yes…” he says haltingly. “Of course I do. I miss my sisters, and in some strange, demented way I even miss my mother. But this…” He takes Rolan’s hand in his and softly smiles. “This type of freedom is intoxicating. Being able to use my magic for something other than K’tarai’s schemes. Not being forced to entertain whichever matriarch my mother wishes to align herself with in the moment. I haven’t had to kill anyone I didn’t wish to in days!”

Overwhelmed by these, quite frankly, odd admissions, Rolan grasps onto the safest topic of conversation. “May I ask about your magic?”

Drakul momentarily stiffens next to him but quickly recovers. “Of course, my beauty.”

Rolan mulls over his question, trying to think of a tactful way to phrase it. “When did you break your oath?”

Drakul peeks at the wizard out of the corner of his eye. “You’re an observant little kitten, aren’t you?”

“Your magic feels similar to Zevlor’s just…”

“Just?” Drakul arches one eyebrow at Rolan’s reticence.

“Darker. More… all-encompassing.”

“You make me sound positively dangerous, little wizard,” Drakul practically purrs, taking hold of the front of Rolan’s robes and tugging him closer.

Rolan stumbles a bit and throws him arms around the paladin’s shoulders to steady himself. “You are dangerous,” he gasps as Drakul leans down and nuzzles against his pulse point. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Drakul laugh and kisses the tender skin behind Rolan’s ear. “And what am I doing?”

“Attempting to distract me…”

“Attempting? Not succeeding?” Drakul murmurs, nipping at the shell of the tiefling’s ear.

Rolan shudders, a soft moan escaping his lips as he clutches Drakul tighter.

“Maybe I should elaborate on everything I wish to do with you, would you find that sufficiently distracting?”

Rolan whimpers faintly, one hand coming up to tangle in the drow’s hair.

“I wish to have your hands in my hair while my face is buried between your thighs, my mouth on your perfect cock,” Drakul growls, peppering the tiefling’s neck with kisses. “I want to hear you scream my name when you spill in my mouth.”

“Drakul…” Rolan timidly whines his name, grinding his hardening cock against the paladin’s thigh.

“Mmm, you can be louder than that lovely one,” the drow teases, gripping a handful of Rolan’s arse and sighing in pleasure. “I want to edge your pleasure with pain, showing you delights you never could have dreamed of. I want you to mark me with your teeth and claws, and then when your cock is hard again I want to ride you while your hands grip my thighs, guiding my pace, making sure I take every inch of you…”

Drakul grips the back of Rolan’s head, tearing loose the tie holding his hair up and claiming his mouth in a brutal kiss. Rolan’s lips part on a gasp and Drakul slips his tongue inside, groaning as he tastes Rolan for the first time. He tugs on Rolan’s hair, pulling the wizard’s head back, and kisses up the exposed column of his throat, licking and biting his skin with soft lips and sharp teeth. Drakul slots his leg between Rolan’s thighs and grips Rolan’s hips, urging him to grind down against him. Rolan whimpers at the contact, even with several layers of fabric between them.

“Gods, you are beautiful like this,” Drakul murmurs. “Wild and undone, just for me.”

“Drakul…” Rolan sighs out his name, gripping the paladin tight.

“Let me taste you, my lovely one,” Drakul begs, his voice broken and husky. “Let me feel the weight of you on my tongue.”

Rolan blushes and stammers at Drakul’s request. “I… I…”

The drow nips at Rolan’s earlobe. “Answer me, beauty.”

“Yes!” Rolan gasps.

Drakul gives Rolan one last, lingering kiss before backing him against the trunk of a large oak tree and dropping to his knees in front of the tiefling. He tears at the wizard’s robes, hurriedly bundling them out of the way so he can yank down his breeches. Rolan sighs as the cool evening air caresses his heated skin, and looks down at Drakul through slitted eyes.

Drakul takes a long moment to appreciate Rolan’s thick, ridged cock, hanging heavy between his thighs, before giving the head a teasing flick with the tip of his tongue. Rolan groans and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the tree trunk as Drakul caresses his thighs and presses warm, wet kisses along his length.

“You make such pretty noises, little wizard,” Drakul mumbles against Rolan’s hip. “But can I make you sing?”

Rolan shudders as the soft heat of Drakul’s mouth envelopes the entirety of his cock, slowly dragging up and then sliding back down. One weapon roughened hand cradles his balls, gently rolling them together. This sensation, in tandem with Drakul’s mouth, causes Rolan’s knees to buckle and his hips to thrust forward, shoving his cock even further into Drakul’s mouth.

“Drakul,” he whines as a tale-tell heat begins to climb up his spine and a familiar tightening begins low in his belly.

Drakul releases Rolan’s cock from his mouth and grins up at him wickedly. “Tell me what you need, Rolan.”

“More,” Rolan whines, grabbing the back of Drakul’s head and attempting to urge him forward.

With his free hand, Drakul gives Rolan’s cock a long, slow stroke. “More… what?”

Rolan grinds his teeth together as he realizes what it is that Drakul wants from him. He clamps his mouth closed as Drakul strokes him again, teasingly licking the tip of his aching cock.

“You… you… sadist,” Rolan hisses, his hand gripping the tree trunk so tightly splinters dig into his palm.

Drakul slowly draws Rolan’s tip back into his mouth and suckles gently, one hand stroking the base of his cock while the other continues to tease his balls. The sensations are somehow both too much and not enough, and Rolan finds himself crying out against his will.

“More! Please, Drakul, please! I need you…”

Drakul swallows his cock to the base, swirling his tongue around Rolan’s hardened length as his hands work in tandem to tease his balls and thighs. Heat licks up Rolan’s back and stars spark behind his closed eyelids as his orgasm washes over him. He’s faintly aware of Drakul groaning in pleasure as he spills in the paladin’s mouth, but everything else is lost to the heat of Drakul’s mouth and the rough touch of his hands. Each lick of Drakul’s tongue on his sensitive cock sends a shudder through him, and Rolan falls back limply against the tree, breathing hard.

“Such a good boy,” Drakul murmurs hoarsely, pressing one last kiss to Rolan’s bare hip before tucking him back into his breeches. After making sure Rolan’s laces are all done up and his robes are properly straightened, Drakul rises to his feet and smirks at the now blushing wizard.

Rolan fidgets under the drow’s crimson stare, unsure what to do.

Should I offer to reciprocate? That would be the polite thing to do, surely?

“Shall I… ?” Rolan hesitantly reaches out for the hem of Drakul’s tunic.

Drakul chuckles and stops the forward movement of his hands. “No, my pretty little wizard, this evening is about you. I can wait until next time.”

Next time?

Heat blooms over Rolan’s cheeks at Drakul’s insinuation.

“I think it’s time we got you back to Cal and Lia,” Drakul continues, dusting bits of bark and dried leaves from Rolan’s shoulders.

A pang of disappointment strikes Rolan at the realization that their time together is over.

“Don’t worry, lovely one,” Drakul murmurs, sensing the quick change in his mood. “There will be more time for us, I promise.”

Rolan had long ago quit trusting in the promises of others, but something about Drakul desperately makes him want to believe that what he says is true. That there will be more late night rendezvous in the woods, more stolen kisses and secret touches.

The pair walks back towards the camp in silence, each seemingly absorbed in their own thoughts. When the glow of the campfire becomes visible once again Drakul wraps his arms around Rolan’s waist and pulls the tiefling back against his chest.

“One final kiss before you leave me?” Drakul murmurs, his voice low and husky in Rolan’s ear.

Rolan turns to face him, not leaving the protective circle of Drakul’s arms, and tilts his face up to receive a gentle kiss from the paladin. Rolan wants to stay there, warm in Drakul’s embrace, but the voices of his brother and sister float on the evening breeze, reminding him of pending obligations and promises made.

The two create some distance between them and walk back into camp, to a chorus of knowing smiles and thinly veiled innuendos. The siblings quickly make their good-byes and make for the safety of the grove. Only once Drakul’s camp is out of sight do Cal and Lia turn to stare at Rolan, matching grins on their faces.

“So…” Cal says slowly, eyeing his older brother. “Did you have a nice walk?”

Rolan stiffens under their teasing attention, and attempts to school his face into some semblance of neutrality. “It was quite nice, yes. It turns out that Drakul is quite fascinating to speak to.”

“And how much talking did you two actually get done?” Lia asks, smirking as she leans forward and plucks a few twigs from Rolan’s unbound hair.

The wizard freezes, his hands flying to his hair as he suddenly remembers Drakul tearing out the leather thong that usually keeps his hair tied back. He blushes as his siblings stare at him expectantly, waiting for the salacious details. Rolan clamps his mouth shut and speedily marches away from him, determined to put as much distance between himself and his siblings as possible.

Cal laughs at his brothers retreating back and Lia calls out his name.

“Rolan, wait! We want to learn all about our new brother-in-law!”

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undercoveravenger · 2 months ago

Text

Doting

Pairing: Astarion x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Astarion is a little overwhelming when you’re injured.

-----

In your experience, there is almost nothing better than a good fight - the thrum of adrenaline, the pounding of your heart, the sweet sting of overworked muscles. Truly, there is little better, but this? This is torture.

You’re used to injury, it comes with the territory of being a melee fighter, but you’re not accustomed to taking it easy and letting yourself be doted on the way Astarion demands that you be.

He hadn’t seemed to care about your hesitance to settle down and allow yourself to heal when you started traveling together, but ever since the fight at Moonrise Towers he’s been much more… invested in your recovery. He’d been on you almost as soon as General Thorm’s body hit the ground, prying the blood-slicked handle of your axe from your fingers and shoving it at Karlach so he could start dragging you back up the passageways back toward camp, waving away Jaheira and her Harpers and anyone else that sought to speak to you.

Once you’d made it to camp, he was quick to unbuckle your armor and cast it aside, helping you clean off the blood in the river nearby before dumping you in your bedroll and demanding that you stay there. He’s been hovering since you got back, checking in near-constantly and always offering to bring things to you when you’re more than capable of fetching things yourself. You’d been the one to land the killing blow on the avatar of Myrkul, and now you’re barely allowed to lift your own canteen when you want a drink!

Even now, as you silently slip from your bedroll and move to take up your greataxe, you can hear him digging through the camp chest and muttering about the lack of medical supplies. He’ll be peeved when he figures out that you’ve snuck out, but you know you’ll be more helpful using your strength to clear what’s left of the battlefield than lying here counting the holes in your tent. Your fingers close around the haft of your axe and lift and there’s a flash of pain as the movement puts too much strain on your injured ribs. The stitches give as your skin tears and the wound pulses as it begins bleeding sluggishly again.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, free hand coming up to press over your wound like that’ll stop him from knowing.

Already you can hear the chest snap shut outside and swift footsteps approaching your tent.

“I know I haven’t done anything to draw blood,” Astarion pushes aside the door flap, unimpressed crimson eyes fixing on you almost immediately. “So care to tell me why you’re bleeding again?” He raises an eyebrow at you and nods pointedly back at your bedroll. A sigh escapes you but you relent, placing your axe back in its place against the tent support and moving to sprawl back out on your bedroll at Astarion’s feet.

He settles silently at your side, unraveling your bandages until he can get at the pulled stitches. He uses the sharp tip of one of his daggers to slice through the damaged thread and carefully removes the remnants from your flesh before setting about threading up a curved needle so he can replace the stitches you’d pulled.

“I don’t understand,” Astarion says softly, voice hardly above a whisper, “why you won’t just let yourself heal.”

Your breath catches as the needle pierces your skin for the first stitch. “Because I’m fine and my time would be better spent helping out there.” You tip your head back to look at him but he won’t meet your eyes. “It’s just one little stab wound - it’s not like this would kill me.”

His lips twist into a sharp frown and his eyes flash up to meet yours. You’re more than a little surprised by the anger you see in them. “It could have. Any number of things in that dreadful place could have and then you’d be gone and I’d be alone again and I can’t be alone again!”

You’re stunned, baffled, by his outrage. Sure, you’d warmed each other’s bedrolls before and he’d told you something of his past, but he’d never led you to believe he cared this much. His chest heaves with the weight of his admission and his eyes are bright, like he’s on the verge of tears, but you knew he’d rather die than shed a tear over the likes of you.

“Astarion,” you say and the sound of your voice seems to snap him back to the present. You take his hand in yours and guide it up to press over your heart so he can feel its steady beating under his palm. “I am fine. Really, I’m alright. I am not going anywhere.”

He nods, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. He nods again, and turns back to your stitches. He finishes them deftly, and then settles down at your side as soon as your bandages are tied back in place, lying next to you with his head on your shoulder and his hand firmly against your heart.

“Once Shadowheart or Halsin get back, we’ll have them heal you,” he says quietly, “but until then, let me stay? Just-” Astarion’s voice breaks off slightly and you’re not quite sure where the two of you stand anymore, whether this has pushed you past your playful bullying and comfortable acquaintanceship and into new territory or if you’re expected to just keep on as you always had. “Just let me make sure you’re alright until then.”

You’re still antsy, still itching to go back to Moonrise and help with the wounded, to help clear the wreckage, but Astarion is warm where he is curled close to your side and the weight of him is soothing enough that you’re content to stay where you are for the time being. Slowly Astarion’s breath starts to even out and you find sleep beginning to creep up on you as well.

You know that you’ll have to talk to him about what this means for the two of you when you wake, but for now, at least, you don’t mind his doting.

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zg0nuwa · 2 years ago

Text

some of my favorite ss of astarion from my gameplay (im obsessed with him)

and my babygirl sonya because she’s hot

#m. talk #baldur's gate spoilers #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate tav #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate iii

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actuallyevilgay · 2 years ago

Note

Hear me out, one of Tav’s parents went missing when he was very young. Later he finds out that the reason why his parent went missing was because Astarion lured them to Cazador.

I hope you read my about, Anon. This might go a little different than you expected. My first request :o I’m excited.

Oneshot: Daddy Issues

Astarion x male reader Content Warnings: Discussion of child abuse and child neglect. Mature language. Talk of Adultery. Notes: Tav gets a little unhinged from the doorframe. Tav is not a heroic person. Might not be lore friendly?

…..

The venture into Cazador’s palace was anything but easy, the smell of neglect radiated over the place. It made you wonder if the vampire lord even cared for keeping up appearances, but knowing how some vampires made their rule.. They probably cared more about causing fear than looking as good as they say in romance novels… There was nothing romantic about this place. The allure could’ve been a fantasy for the many victims Astarion was forced to lure into this damned place.

You wouldn’t lie, if this place was given a massive makeover.. It might actually make a nice home. Yet, it was better to keep that banter for after the upcoming battle. Astarion’s unease made your neck hairs stand on edge. You protectively placed yourself in front of Astarion whenever the party turned another corner. His undead lungs consistently caught a large breath at every stop. Like he was about to walk into another nightmare.

Certainly he would, and so would you. The dungeon’s elevator let in an air of absolute disgust. Not just the smell.. The sight of all the victims in cages.

After Sebastian lunged for Astarion in rage, you pulled him back. ‘’This is not your fault.’’ A part of you wanted to judge the poor noble for being stupid, on the other hand.. You didn’t have it in you to mentally process what this could mean. Being another one of Astarion’s victims? No.. No. Don’t you dare even think about it. This guy is already dead, walking into the trap was his own fault. You on the other hand, were here to help Astarion kill Cazador. He may have tried to seduce you under false pretences, but you fell for each other despite all that. You wanted to give him the world. You were not his victim.

‘’They’re all here.’’ He muttered. ‘’Gods. They’re all here.’’

You looked at him with a reassuring glance. ‘’Don’t think about it. Think about yourself.’’ The conflict in Astarion’s eyes remained briefly, pushing at the sides of his mind. He shook his head. ‘’..You’re right. There’s no use in lingering in the past.. Not now.’’

Confident, the party began to cross the room, ignoring the sights of all the vampire spawn in the cages. ‘’Maybe we should.. Free them?’’ Gale uttered, doubtful. ‘’And unleash a horde of ravenous vampire spawn?’’ Shadowheart spit back at the wizard. ‘’They look like they’ve never even fed!’’

Astarion shuddered, wanting to be out of here as soon as possible. He had to face this.

To your regret, as he turned to you once more for guidance, a familiar voice called out.

‘’Tav..? Son- Is that you?’’

You felt bile rise up in your stomach. You haven’t heard this voice since you were at least ten years old. ‘’My, so this is where you’ve been, after all this?’’ You started to laugh in amusement, making everyone around you raise their brows in confusion.

Astarion looked to you, then to the man speaking to you.. He blinked, unsure if this was one of his victims. You made eye contact with the vampire, your expression unreadable.

‘’Don’t worry, I’m not judging you.’’ You noted, before turning back to the man who had abandoned you. ‘’You.. On the other hand.’’

‘’Wait- Does that mean Astarion slept with your-’’ Shadowheart cut herself off as you glared at her. You did not want to envision that at all. Gross.

‘’Oh I remember that night..’’ Your father’s voice sounded as drunk and hazy as when he left. Maybe that was simply his natural state of being, but you did not care.

‘’..Do you have anything to say that isn’t an attempt to insult me?’’ Your response sounded as bitter as you felt. ‘’Poor dear old dad, seduced by one of his many conquests into damnation. Absolutely perfect. Congratulations.’’

Astarion eyed you, remembering how little you spoke of your past. Maybe.. To distract him, you might as well indulge your loved one. ‘’This man, this man.. Is why my mother left. It’s why I grew up eating moldy bread in the streets.’’ You shook your arms. ‘’This is.. Amazing. I can’t believe he’s here. No- I can. This is actually a good thing.’’ You felt the spiteful laughter tugging your throat. You wanted to laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

‘’Darling..’’ Astarion looked at you with some concern in his voice, unsure what to say.

‘’Damned little son of a bitch! Let me out of here!’’ Your father tried to reach for you through the bars, you looked at him with cold dead eyes. With one swift turn, you avoided his claws and grabbed him by the throat, smashing him against the prison bars. He coughed up whatever bit of congealed blood was left in his lungs. ‘’Ugh-’’

‘’Can you imagine? This pitiful man.’’ You sighed as you released him, he dropped to the floor. You turned to Astarion again, eyes softening.

‘’For as long as I can remember, this man abused me and my mother. He would leave her with very little, refusing to let her even get a job to provide for me.. Because all he did was drink, and drink, go out and sleep with strangers.’’ You sighed, looking back to the pathetic thing in the cage.

‘’I suppose he was handsome enough for your master to drink dry, maybe he just wanted to get drunk on his intoxicated blood.’’ You went quiet for a moment.

‘’One day, when he didn’t come back- My mother decided it was the perfect time to abandon me.’’ The spite and hatred in your eyes came flowing back. ‘’I had nothing but anger to survive on.’’

‘’You whoreson-’’ Your father once more spoke up, but you spit at him. ‘’SHUT UP!’’

‘’I should’ve beaten you more.’’

You decided to let him have his say, and thus the insults of decades came back around. You remembered them all, each little thing he knew would rile you up and cause you to run and hide. You wanted to slap the teeth out of his mouth, but patiently waited until he was finished.

‘’Have you nothing to say for yourself boy?’’ Your father held onto the prison bars again. ‘’Be a good little shit and do something right in your life for once. Let me out.’’

You stared at him, expression unreadable. Astarion grabbed your hand, he now too shared your rage. ‘’I don’t remember him, actually.. Pity.’’ He said, clicking his teeth.

‘’What? You don’t remember how you led me into this hell? You little-’’ He tried to lunge forward again, making pathetic attempts to claw his way out. ‘’You said all these little- recited lines! Sounded so dreamy. Corny. I was very into it. The sex wasn’t that great though.’’

He turned back to you, noticing you interlocking your fingers with Astarion. Your lover’s face contorted with disgust at your father. ‘’Don’t tell me- you’re into this man? Are you sleeping with him?’’ the deadbeat stopped and laughed at you. ‘’Oh.. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, boy. You’re just like me. Admit it.’’

For a moment, the childlike doubt overtook you again. Everything he said was designed to hurt you, to treat you like a punching bag. He would sometimes feign care for you, only to earn your trust and use it against you like a weapon. You were just a little kid.. This man, this man was a real monster.

‘’I don’t think so, Tav is nothing like you.’’ Astarion thought about it. ‘’If anything, it makes no sense for him to be related to you. Are you sure your wife didn’t sleep around? Hmm?’’ Astarion’s words clearly hit a nerve, because your father once more tried to claw his way out, screaming obscenities.

You didn’t care for either your parents, the idea of your mother sleeping with another man to conceive you wasn’t that far fetched. After all, as far as you were concerned.. You had no parents. You had to raise yourself.

‘’Don’t talk to me like that, you… You.. Manwhore!’’ Your father remarked, he started to look defeated, falling to the ground.

Both you and Astarion shared the same expression at the sight. Amusement. A little piece of justice had come from all this misery.

‘’There’s one little thing.. Just the thing. How do I put this?’’ Astarion thought for a moment. ‘’I think you slept with Petras, not me.’’ He then looked back at you, worried. ‘’I may have been horrible enough to seduce people for… Cazador. But I never went for the already drunk ones.’’ That confession seemed to hit both Gale and Shadowheart as well. It was genuine.

From all the different kinds of people held captive in this place.. The stories of drunk people falling victim to some of the worst crimes imaginable was one all too familiar.

When he mentioned Petras, you recalled running into him at the flophouse. He recited some of Astarion’s lines in the corniest way possible in an attempt to seduce you. ‘’My dad slept with that guy?’’ You nearly choked. Then your laughter became a storm.

‘’I can’t-’’ You wheezed. ‘’THAT’S-’’ You coughed. ‘’I can’t breathe!’’ You nearly fell to the floor. Then it turned from joyful, into sadistic laughter.

You could see your father peer his reddened eyes at Astarion, narrowing them, making sure he was right.. Then he slowly realised. ‘’You’re.. An elf.’’

You laughed again sadistically, and Astarion joined you.

Gale and Shadowheart awkwardly shifted around. ‘’It’s always like this with those two, huh?’’ Shadowheart mumbled. ‘’You know, I would laugh too if that was my father.’’ Gale shrugged. ‘’Let them, if anything.. The reprieve from the misery in this place is a good thing.’’ Neither the Wizard or the Cleric were as eager to run into a battle with a vampire lord. They were doing this for the sake of their friends. ‘’Well, my mother figure was terrible.’’ Shadowheart eventually added, accepting that this might as well be a good thing. ‘’I should’ve laughed at her downfall, perhaps it would have made things better..’’

You took one more look at your father in the cage as you came down from your high. Taking a deep breath, you examined his face clearly.

‘’Yes, gloat some more. Or are you actually pitying me now?’’ Your father remarked, his eyes begged for freedom. Surely you wouldn’t damn 7000 souls just because of him now, would you?

‘’No, I am simply burning this perfect picture of you into my mind.’’ You replied, causing the dread to sink into his form. ‘’No- No! Don’t let him do this! Please!’’ He turned to your allies, then to Astarion, putting on a different persona in an attempt to persuade him. ‘’I tried okay? He’s lying! I was drunk yes- But I’m not-’’

‘’Shhhh. Hush now, I think he likes it when you look so pathetic.’’ Astarion stared at him with a faked expression of empathy. ‘’Are you ready, my dear?’’ He turned back to you, seeing your smirk slowly fade. ‘’Oh, I’ve had my revenge. Are you ready to get yours?’’ You asked him back, he simply nodded.

Today was only just going to get better.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #ascended astarion x reader #ascended astarion x male reader #ascended astarion x m! reader #astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion x male tav #ascended astarion x m! tav #male tav #baldurs gate 3

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 10 months ago

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Fic Author Self Rec Game

When you get this, make a post with your favorite five fics you've written, then pass it on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love!

Thank you @jo-harrington for the tag. I'm so sorry I didn't get to it sooner!

Tagging: @leighsartworks216, @kittttycakes, @can-of-pringles, @16boyfriends-and-me and @a-libra-writes

I'm really curious at what you guys pick! (Also if you have any original stuff you want to share, now is the time!)

In no particular order:

I Want it All : Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav), Angst, Asexual Guilt, Happy Ending

A surprise to literally nobody who has followed me in the past year. I think this is some of my strongest work as well as my first dive into writing an explicitly asexual character. (You can probably read a lot into some of my other works, but that's neither here nor there). I still get comments on this one and it makes me happy to see it's at least made some impact on the fandom.

Welcome to Hellfire: Eddie Munson x Lucy Henderson (OC), Fluff, Awkwardness, First Meetings

I really need to get back to writing these two, specifically Lucy's first session, especially now that I've played a lot more D&D. Getting back to the fic at hand, I think I did a good job allow Eddie to still be kind of a dick while not making Lucy look like an idiot for accepting to still play with him. He's a deceptively hard character to balance and I think it's a solid introduction to Lucy as a character.

Shaking Hands: Hawkeye Pierce x Elizabeth "Doc" O'Neil (OC), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Typical Violence

Another couple of character I need to get back to writing. While "What's Up Doc: Part 1" would be the better entry to start with these two, I still haven't actually finished it and I feels wrong to recommend something that hasn't been touched in literal years. I've changed a lot as a writer and will likely go back to touch it up. This though feels more complete. I also think I captured Hawkeye's voice particularly well in his rant towards the end. I'd still want to expand this to pace it out to a full episode, but I'm happy with how it stands now.

More Than Sufficient: Thrawn x Captain!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Pining

Admittedly most of my earlier writing I low key cringe at, but this has held up well. It gave me an excuse to write more formal dialogue which is a rarity. I like the challenge of restraint and relying more of subtext. One of these days my obession will be stoked again. In the meantime, of all my Star Wars fics, the Thrawn ones in particular stand out to me as some of my best.

Rough Day: Doctor Strange & Ellie Jackson (OC), Mentor!Strange, Hurt/Comfort, Strange trying to understand a stressed out teenager

It was a toss up between this and another Astarion x Evie fic "For All I Care", but I ultimately decided this one needed more love. I needed some representation for the Marvel fandom, and Ellie really is one of my favorite OCs (even if I'm now thinking of converting her and Cassandra into an original work). I just like exploring Strange as a mentor/father figure if only because he's not very good at it, but he tries.

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moonselune · 10 months ago

Note

I have had a thought.

I was playing bg3, making a sorcerer tav and I saw one of the options was draconic bloodline and it gives your scales on your face.

I thought it was really cool and I was wondering if maybe you could write something about how companions (mainly astarion and halsin) would react to tav having scales. Like imagine when they first met tav covered their face and then boom! Handsome man with dragon scales.

What do you think about it? TOODLES

Draconic sorceror is literally one of my favourite classes and I love to think what the companions would think of the scales (they would all love them)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

When you first met Astarion, you were prepared for the usual reactions: curious stares, uneasy glances, or the rare, but always tiresome, gasp of surprise. After all, dragon scales covering your face were not something most people encountered in their daily lives. The faint, iridescent sheen that danced across your scales in the light often drew attention, and not always the good kind.

But Astarion’s reaction was different. When his eyes first landed on you, there was no trace of fear or discomfort—only fascination. His gaze lingered on your face, his lips curving into a sly smile as he approached you with that effortless grace of his.

“My, my,” he had murmured, his voice low and smooth as silk. “Aren’t you a sight to behold? I’ve seen many things in my time, but nothing quite like you.”

You remember the way he had reached out, as if asking for permission to touch, his fingers hovering just above your skin. When you had nodded, slightly surprised but intrigued, he had traced the contours of your scales with a delicate touch, as though they were made of the finest glass.

“Beautiful,” Astarion had whispered, almost to himself. His eyes had been filled with something akin to awe, and you had felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with your draconic blood. “Absolutely captivating.”

As your relationship deepened -and you became able to trust his honeyed words once more, you found that Astarion’s fascination with your scales only grew. He loved to explore them with his hands, his lips, and his words. On quiet nights, after the day’s battles and struggles were behind you, he would often lie beside you, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that made your heart race.

One such evening, you were lying together in your tent, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the walls. The camp was quiet, the others having settled in for the night, leaving you and Astarion in the comforting cocoon of each other’s company.

Astarion’s head rested on your chest, his fingers lazily tracing the lines of your scales. His touch was light, almost reverent, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips.

“Have I told you how much I adore these?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper as his fingers continued their journey across your face.

“Once or twice,” you replied with a smile, your own voice tinged with amusement. But the truth was, hearing him say it never got old. There was something deeply comforting in the way Astarion admired this part of you that others had often feared or found unsettling.

Astarion chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the edge of your jaw where the scales began. His lips were soft, cool against the warmth of your skin, and he took his time, moving slowly along the line of your scales, kissing each one with care.

You closed your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, a deep sense of peace settling in your chest. His kisses traveled up your cheek, his breath warm against your skin as he continued his slow exploration.

“You are truly magnificent,” he murmured against your temple, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Every time I look at you, I find something new to fall in love with.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to gently run your fingers through his silver hair, the strands slipping like silk between your fingers.

“I’m glad you think so,” you replied, your voice full of emotion. “Because I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Astarion pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes shining with a mixture of affection and something deeper, something almost possessive.

“You won’t have to,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I’m not going anywhere, my dearest dragon.”

He leaned in to kiss you fully on the lips, his mouth warm and insistent against yours. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a silent promise that echoed the words he had just spoken. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the tent.

“Now, let’s see if I can find any more scales to admire,” Astarion teased, his playful grin returning as his fingers resumed their exploration, trailing down your neck and across your shoulders. You laughed softly, the sound filled with both amusement and contentment.

“Take your time,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

When you first met Halsin, you could feel his gaze on you the moment you walked into the camp. As a draconic sorcerer, you were no stranger to stares—people often found your dragon scales captivating or intimidating. The scales that adorned your face were a visible mark of your draconic heritage, shimmering with an iridescent hue that caught the light in ways that made them almost seem alive. But Halsin’s gaze wasn’t one of fear or unease. No, his eyes were filled with something deeper, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

Halsin was a man of nature, someone who revered the natural world in all its forms. When he looked at you, it was as though he was seeing a rare and beautiful creature, something that had been crafted by the hands of the gods themselves. His brown eyes, warm and earthy, followed you with a mixture of admiration and a hint of something more—a longing that he tried to suppress, not wanting to come on too strong.

It wasn’t long before the two of you grew closer, your connection deepening with each passing day. Halsin’s reverence for nature extended to his reverence for you, and as your relationship became more established, he no longer held back his admiration for your unique features.

One evening, you were sitting together by the campfire, the warmth of the flames casting a soft glow across the camp. Halsin sat beside you, his large frame a comforting presence. He reached out, his hand hovering near your face, and you could see the hesitance in his eyes, as if he was still unsure whether you were comfortable with such an intimate gesture.

“May I?” he asked, his voice low and full of respect.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Of course, Halsin.”

His hand, large and calloused from years of working with the earth, gently cupped the side of your face. His thumb brushed against the scales that covered your cheek, and a shiver ran down your spine at the tenderness of his touch. Halsin’s eyes were locked onto yours, his expression one of pure adoration.

“Your scales,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe, “are truly magnificent. I’ve seen many wonders in nature, but none as captivating as you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart swelling with affection for the druid who had come to mean so much to you. Halsin’s hand moved slowly, his fingers tracing the contours of your scales as though he were mapping every detail, committing it to memory. There was something almost worshipful in the way he touched you, as if he believed you to be the finest creature nature had ever produced.

“Do you know,” Halsin continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, “that every time I look at you, I am reminded of the power and beauty of the natural world? Your scales are a testament to that—a blend of strength and grace, as all things in nature should be.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks, though you knew it would be barely noticeable against your scales. Halsin’s words had a way of cutting through any insecurities you might have had, filling you with a sense of pride in who you were and what you represented.

“I’ve always thought of my scales as a reminder of where I come from,” you admitted, your voice soft as you gazed into Halsin’s eyes. “But you make me feel like they’re something more, something to be proud of.”

Halsin smiled then, a warm and gentle expression that made your heart skip a beat. “They are a gift, as are you,” he said, his thumb stroking your cheek once more. “A gift from the dragons to the world, and I am honored to be in your presence.”

He leaned in then, his lips brushing against your scales in a series of soft, reverent kisses. Each one sent a thrill through you, a reminder of the deep connection you shared with this man who saw you not just as a sorcerer, but as something truly extraordinary.

As he continued to kiss along the line of your scales, you closed your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you. Halsin’s touch was grounding, his presence a balm to your soul. He treated you with a respect that went beyond mere affection—it was as though he truly believed you to be the embodiment of nature’s finest work.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes met yours, and you could see the depth of his feelings reflected in them.

“You are a wonder,” he said softly, his hand still resting on your cheek. “And I will never tire of telling you so.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch, your heart full to bursting with the love and admiration you felt for this man who had so completely captivated you in return. “And I will never tire of hearing it,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

Halsin’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss you on the lips, a tender, lingering kiss that spoke of all the things he couldn’t put into words. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the night.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice full of a quiet plea. “Always.”

“Always,” you echoed, your voice full of promise. And as you sat there together, the fire crackling softly beside you, you knew that there was nowhere else you would rather be.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Aww some wholesome stuff with Astarion and Halsin, love it. Hope you guys enjoyed it too! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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