Caught <- NSFW - Creampie - Penis In Vag - Breeding - Giving Zevlor All The Love - Begging - Masturbation - Big Dick Zevy
Knotted <- NSFW - Stretched So Good - Pussy Never Going To Be The Same - Tiefling Cock Has Your Tongue Dangling Out - Tip Of Their Cocks Kissing Your Cervix - Begging - Tummy Bulge - Spread Wide
Commander <- NSFW - Big Dick Zevy - Creampie - Comfort - You Ride The Hellrider - You Make Zevlor Feel Loved - Dirty Talk
Training <- NSFW - Big Dick Zevy - Creampie - Bed Breaking
Pretty Little Squirter <- NSFW - Squirting - Creampie - Begging - Ridged Cock - Big Dick Zevy - Horn Grabbing - Zevlor Makes You Make A Mess
Pathetically Beautiful <- NSFW - Creampie - Breeding - Zevlor Doesn’t Last Long & Neither Do you
Fatherhood <- Zevlor Being A Dad - Comfort - Soft - Kawaii
Sweet Zevlor <- NSFW - Period Sex - Major Comfort - This Man Loves You
Scream His Name <- NSFW - Rough - Hair Pulling - Bite Mark - Zevlor Empties Himself Inside You
Tender Care <- NSFW - Tender Love - Love Making - Romantic - Lactation - THIS SHIT IS SO SOFT AND ROMANTIC!!! - Creampie
Commander or Daddy <- NSFW - Lap Riding - Creampie - Tiny Angst??
Always <- NSFW - Romance - Love Confessions - Tender Moments - Zevlor Is So Good And Gentle With You - His Tail Wrapped Around You
Please <- NSFW - Hurt/Comfort - Fingering - Making Out - Zevlor Hates What He Is - Creampie
Betrayal <- Major Angst - Angst - Injuries - Blood - Zevlor Harms You - Hurt/ Comfort - There's A Major Twist - Happy Ending? Maybe? Sad Ending? Possibly?
Pleasing Him <- NSWF - Your Mouth Wrapped Around Zevlor’s Beautiful Cock - Mention Of Creampie - On Your Knees For Him - His Hand Tangled In Your Hair - Cuddles
On His Knees <- NSFW - Zevlor Gives You The Best Head - Drooling Pussy - Sweet - Comfrot - Adorable Kawaii Ending xoxo
Big Dick Zevy <- NSFW - Stomach Bulge - Creampie - Delicious Smut
‧₊˚✧୨୧ [ Haarlep ] ୨୧✧˚₊‧
An Incubus & His Little Dove <- NSFW - Comfort - Pregnancy - Soft Haarlep
An Incubus & His Dove <- NSFW - Hurt/Comfort - Breeding - Soft Haarlep - Cervix Penetration - Angst - Love
His Personal Cocksleve <- NSFW - Belly Bulge - Monster Fucking
‧₊˚✧୨୧ [ Halsin ] ୨୧✧˚₊‧
Honeypot <- NSFW - Bear Halsin - Bear Halsin Eats You Out - Normal Halsin Makes An Appearance
Your Protector <- Comfort - Protection - Halsin Has Naughty Thoughts
Their Girl For The Night <- NSFW - Cunnilingus - Halsin Eats You Out So Well - Zevlor Holds You In Place - Anal - Vaginal Sex - Squirting - Big Dick Halsin & Zevlor
‧₊˚✧୨୧ [ Rolan ] ୨୧✧˚₊‧
Knotted <- NSFW - Stretched So Good - Pussy Never Going To Be The Same - Tiefling Cock Has Your Tongue Dangling Out - Tip Of Their Cocks Kissing Your Cervix - Begging - Tummy Bulge - Spread Wide
Addicted To The Puss <- NSFW - Pussy Drunk - He Can't Get Enough
Tail Grinding <- NSFW - Tail Play - Wiener In Vagina - Teasing
Little Kitten <- Teasing - Tail Play - Asphyxiation - Deep Throat - Creampies - Pet Names - They Stretch Your Cunt Nicely - Oc Kieran - Breeding
Take <- NSFW - Deep Throat - Pet Names - Kieran Teases and Touches Rolan - Penis is Vag
How about the boys and their reaction to us throwing a towel at them when they’re busy, and surprising them naky? ;)
Hehehehehe I love this !
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Gale:
Gale was deep in thought, perusing a spellbook in the dim light of the tent when a wet towel landed on his head, breaking his concentration. He blinked, somewhat perplexed, pulling the damp cloth away.
“What on earth…?” he began, looking up just in time to see you standing there, completely naked.
His eyes widened, and his book fell from his hands as he took in the sight before him. For a moment, he was speechless, his mind racing to catch up with what was happening.
You sauntered closer, a playful smirk on your lips. “You seemed like you could use a distraction,” you purred. Gale's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, a boyish grin spreading across his face.
“Well, this is certainly a… delightful diversion,” he stammered, his voice husky with desire. He stood up, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you. His hands gently cupped your face, his touch warm and tender.
“You’re a vision,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly. The kiss deepened quickly, your bodies pressing against each other, the warmth of your skin sending shivers down his spine. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you even closer as the world outside the tent seemed to disappear.
“This,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your lips, “is precisely the kind of magic I needed.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Astarion:
Astarion was lounging on a bedroll, meticulously cleaning one of his daggers when a wet towel smacked him right in the face. He peeled it off, looking utterly affronted, but his expression shifted to one of pure mischief as he saw you standing there, completely naked.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, tossing the towel aside with a flourish. “What do we have here? Have you decided to grace me with the pleasure of your company in the most… tantalizing way?”
You walked towards him, your hips swaying, a playful glint in your eyes. “Thought you might appreciate the view,” you teased, stopping just in front of him.
Astarion’s eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and detail with an appreciative hum. “Oh, I more than appreciate it,” he said, his voice low and full of desire.
He reached out, his fingers trailing over your arm, sending a shiver through you. “You’re exquisite,” he murmured, pulling you down onto the bedroll with a gentle tug.
You straddled his lap, your bodies pressed together, his hands exploring your skin with a combination of reverence and hunger.
“You do know how to make an entrance,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of light kisses that made you gasp. His kisses grew more fervent, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer.
You smiled, leaning into him, ready to let the night unfold in a whirlwind of passion and pleasure, knowing that with Astarion, it would indeed be a night to remember.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Wyll:
The wet towel hit Wyll squarely in the back, and he let out a small huff of annoyance, his posture straightening as he turned around.
"Really? A wet towel?" His voice held a note of playful irritation, but as his eyes settled on you, his expression shifted dramatically.
There you stood, unabashedly naked, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Wyll's annoyance evaporated, replaced by a mix of surprise and amusement. He blinked, taking a moment to fully register the sight before him.
“Well, this is certainly one way to get my attention,” he said as he cleared his throat, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone as his eyes roamed appreciatively over your body. You took a step closer, your gaze locked onto his.
"I thought we could use a little… distraction," you said, your voice soft and inviting.
Wyll's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. He let the towel fall to the floor, his irritation completely forgotten. In two swift steps, he closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close.
"You always know how to keep things interesting," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. The touch of his hands sent shivers down your spine, and you chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"It's one of my many talents," you replied, your voice laced with playful confidence.
Wyll's lips met yours in a deep, lingering kiss, his hands exploring your body with a gentle urgency. The playful moment turned into something far more passionate, and you both eagerly embraced the intimacy that followed, losing yourselves in the warmth and closeness of the moment.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Halsin:
The wet towel landed on Halsin’s broad shoulder with a wet slap, and he turned around, a frown of mild irritation creasing his forehead.
"Must you be so careless, my love? I was-" he started, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. But then his eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, standing there naked and utterly unashamed.
Halsin's frown vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and interest. He blinked once, then twice, as if to ensure he wasn't imagining things.
"Well, this is… unexpected," he said, his voice softening, a twinkle of amusement and desire flickering in his eyes. You stepped towards him, a mischievous smile on your lips.
"I thought we could have some fun," you said, your voice low and sultry.
Halsin's gaze roamed over your body, and you could see the spark of desire in his eyes. His lips curved into a slow smile, and he let out a low, appreciative hum.
"You certainly know how to change the mood," he said, his voice rich with affection and growing desire. You moved closer, your hands resting on his broad chest.
"I aim to please," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles.
Halsin's strong arms encircled you, pulling you gently against him. He tilted your chin up with gentle fingers and kissed you deeply, the connection between you igniting a fire that banished any irritation he had felt. His touch was tender yet insistent, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your heart race.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Rolan:
The wet towel smacked against Rolan's back, and he spun around, ready to deliver a scolding.
"What in the Hells do you think you're—" His voice cut off abruptly as his eyes landed on you. Standing there, naked, with a mischievous smile curling your lips.
Rolan blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. His initial irritation melted away, replaced by a mix of surprise and amusement.
"Well," he finally said, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, "this certainly wasn't what I expected."
You took a step closer, your gaze locked onto his. "I thought we could use a little… distraction," you said, your voice soft and inviting. "You've just been working so hard lately.."
Rolan's lips curved into a slow, appreciative smile. The wet towel fell forgotten to the floor as he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides.
"Mm I guess a little break is warranted,," he murmured, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close. His touch sent shivers down your spine, and you chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You always know exactly what I need."
"It's one of my many talents," you replied, your voice laced with playful confidence.
"Well, we should explore more of your talents then.." Rolan's lips met yours in a deep, lingering kiss, his hands exploring your body with a gentle urgency. The playful moment had turned into something far more passionate, and you both eagerly embraced the intimacy that followed, losing yourselves in the warmth and closeness of the moment.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Raphael:
The wet towel hit Raphael's back, and he turned slowly, a dark cloud of irritation shadowing his features. His eyes narrowed as he fixed you with a penetrating stare. You saw the flicker of something more primal, more demonic, in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, you thought he might ascend into his devilish form. But then froze, his gaze locking onto your naked form. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, a dangerous glint appeared in them. His expression shifted, the initial anger melting into a blend of amusement and desire. He let out a low, almost purring chuckle.
"Well, well, well," Raphael drawled, his voice dripping with seductive menace. "This is certainly an intriguing surprise."
You stepped closer, a mix of anticipation and a touch of nervousness. "I thought we could… have some fun," you said, your voice softer now.
Raphael's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze lingering in a way that made your heart race. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you, his presence both intimidating and intoxicating.
"You, my darling, are lucky I have such a soft spot for you, anyone else would be descending into the deepest pit of hell for such an affront." he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper. His hand reached out, trailing a finger down your arm, sending shivers through you. "But at leas there was a vallant purpose."
You met his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. "I only aim to please," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
Raphael's lips twisted into a predatory smile. He pulled you close, his touch firm and possessive. "Then please me," he commanded softly, his mouth descending to capture yours in a kiss that was both domineering and intoxicating.
Desperate for HCs for the men with a "crybaby" SO (in the nsfw sense)
Okay this prompt turned out to be way harder than I thought it would be, so I tried my best! Thank you so much to @savriea for your help with the Gale part! What you wrote for him was the best and I am so grateful for your help! I hope you enjoy!
Rolan, Raphael, Halsin, Astarion, Wyll, and Gale!
Rolan
Rolan isn't quick to warm up to strangers, so of course, he kept his distance, but something about you did make him curious. Strong, heroic, pretty, and stoic compared to the others in your group. For the first time in a long time, was Rolan taking an interest in someone? Of course, he didn't want to make it obvious, but he found that when you were in the grove, his eyes were on you, trying to learn about you from afar. However, on the inside, it was gnawing at him to get to know you better and talk to you. It was the day of the grove party, and even though you were the night's hero, you still insisted on helping carry supplies for the party. As Rolan was in the storage shed, he was trying to find food that would be decently tolerable when he heard a loud crash. Quickly, Rolan turns the corner to see what had happened when he locked eyes with you holding a crate with no bottom, and bottles of fine wine crashed and staining the ground. Rolan goes to say something to you when he finally notices your face, red and streaming with tears. Looking back at his shocked face, all you could do was tremble out that you were sorry. Shocked was an understatement; he thought you were the tough badass, but you are crying over a simple mistake. You felt like a complete failure; you ruined the good wine, and now we're expecting a verbal thrashing from Rolan, who, based on what you observed, was not afraid to speak his mind. Then, he starts to laugh… Rolan couldn't help it, and it made you tear up more. With a snap of his fingers and a mutter of a spell, Rolan cleans up the mess you had made. Rolan gently touches your shoulder, "You shouldn't cry, and I don't mean to laugh. I'm just…surprised by you. I thought you were emotionless, but you're actually secretly a crybaby. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Then he flashed you his sharp-toothed smile, and you couldn't help but smile back. You didn't realize he had such a pretty smile. Later at the party, as people grimaced while they drank the cheap wine, Rolan and you shared a look and a smile as he pressed a finger to his lips.
It happened again; a simple mistake had you in tears behind the inn, away from prying eyes. When Rolan sees you, he is quick to kneel by your side. According to you, there was a blunder at camp, and you managed to burn a hole in Lae'zel's tent; they would be returning soon, and she is not one you want to make angry. As you explain your story, you feel yourself getting worked up again; your chest starts to feel tight, the lump in your throat returning, and fresh tears threatening to spill; but before you can, you feel a comfortable warmth wrapping around your leg. Then, a calm hand on your shoulder; you're unsure why, but you feel more at ease already. "If you like, I can help you fix the tent; you won't believe how many times I've had to mend burned clothes. There is a reason why Lia isn't allowed to cook anymore." you two share a quick laugh, and you find yourself leaning into him. "Thank you for offering to help me…" Rolan laughs, "Considering everything you have done for me, it's the least I can do. "You two stay there for a while longer, neither of you ready to leave the comfort of this moment. You hope that if you both make it to the city, you two can continue to help each other, even in small ways.
The more time you spend with Rolan, the more you learn about him. Not only is he intelligent and a bit cocky, but he's also a bit of a tease. Of course, this fact about him didn't appear until you two started dating. You had been helping him in the shop, and for some reason, it must have just been the god's cruel joke to have everything that could go wrong at work happen to you today. Trying to avoid crying on the floor, you hid away in the storage room in the back. Rolan, busy with demanding customers all day, was ready to slip away for a break; as he goes into the dark storage room, he runs into you. Thanks to his dark vision, he sees you all ready and on the verge of tears. Rolan grabs you close and asks what he can do for you; imagine his surprise when you tell him you want a kiss. Of course, he agrees eagerly, though he did not expect your kiss to be so hungry and your hands to cling so desperately. You feel Rolan smile through the kiss, causing you to break away and look into his glowing eyes. Though he is a faceless shadow to you, he can perfectly make out your flushed cheeks and tightening thighs. Rolan grabs one of your hands and drags it down his body as he whispers in your ear, "Want me to help you, Tav…Make you feel good…" Your hand touches his hard length, and it takes everything in you not to whine out your yes. Rolan licks your neck, making you moan as you both eagerly start to undo your bottoms. "Poor thing is messing up all day… all because your feeling so fucking needy… don't deny it, I can smell on you." The best thing about Rolan is that he always follows through when he teases.
He's completely overwhelming, and you just can't get enough…His smell, warmth, his breath cascading over your sweating skin, his hand holding your hips so tightly you feel his nails digging into your skin. All this you can handle, but when his rich voice coos in your ear… that sets your nerves on fire. You feel Rolans forked tongue slide against your ear as he shoves you down on his cock deeper, The full feeling making your body tremble. "You're taking me so well. I'm proud of you…" Rolan purs in your ear that addictive praise that always makes your stomach flip. It was only a matter of time before he found out about your kink, but you didn't expect him to abuse it as much as he does. Rolan arches your hips up, pushing his length to hit your G stop, nonstop ramming into it, making you clench on him with a moan of his name. Rolan rubs his hand on your ass before squeezing to cause more moans to fall from your kiss-bitten lips. Rolan relishes in the noise, rolling his hips deeper, watching your blissed-out face with a lazy smirk, "Those are such pretty sounds. Keep them up for me." his voice is a mixture of sweet and mocking. You can't help how the intensity always makes your eyes tear up in the pleasure of all he's giving you; it's just too fucking good…
Raphael
You are an adorable sight that Raphael can not help but lick his lips at. You have been a delight since the first moment he saw you. Your body trembling from his true form, hopefully look in your wide eyes as you take in his words, then the delish tears that fell when you took his deal to give him the crown. So innocent and eager to please all you meet, the best part? That sweet innocence, any bickering, teasing, bullying, and your face was welling up in hiccuping tears. It takes everything for him to not break his regale physode and lick up your tears as they fall. Raphael can't, not yet, at least. He needs to have your trust, and then once he is sure he has you where he wants you, he will be sure to take what he wants. You, on the other hand, can't help but fall for his charm. He's a devil, sure, and maybe you're just hopeful and naive, but something about him makes you trust him… You have seen his house…heard the tortured souls, and shed tears from what you witnessed, but when his hot breath caresses your skin as he thanks you for his crown, you're flooded with things you have never felt stir in you before. Tears can't help cascade from your eyes as you flush from the welling of tears… Raphael's golden eyes take in the delicious sight. He feels something pring in his chest as your trembling hand softly touches his face. "will…I ever see you again…" your voice shakes. That feeling of devouring you changes to one of protection. Raphael wraps his arms around you, letting you cry into his tunic as a smile stretches to his lips. Innocent little mouse… you're his now, forever.
You're crying again…why the hell are you crying again…you had shown up here sad and down-headed, muttering something about you and your companions getting into an argument or something. At the time, you insisted you just need time to calm down, but now, as he is trying to review contracts, all that he can focus on is your cries ringing in his ears. However, Raphael is shaken up by something…he thought that he would be here growing annoyed with you, but he has just grown concerned. Instead of wanting to stop your cries because he doesn't want to hear you sad…he can't stand it. Before he knows it, he is standing up and marching over to your slumped, sniffling form. As you open your mouth to apologize, you're being silenced by a tight embrace and kisses to your temple, "I, you're crying… I'm sorry," Raphael rubs his hand softly on your back, slowly settling you…" Tell me what happened; let me help you." Raphael, usually selfish and arrogant…until it comes to you…maybe it's just a phase of something different that will blow over, or perhaps it's love…
You swear you have never been so embarrassed, but you missed Raphael and couldn't help yourself anymore….Tears threaten to fall, and the tightening in your stomach gets tighter and tighter. You move your hand faster, but then a disapproving tsk makes you pause, "Slowly…move your hand slowly, mouse…" You flick your eyes over to Raphael, where he sits watching you with a smirk, "I want you to build it slowly…till you can hardly bear it.." with a trembling sigh, you slow your hand, the feeling in your stomach feeling like it burns as your mind clouds. Raphael had caught you touching yourself while you waited for him to get back from a meeting. Instead of taking over for you or letting you finish, he pulled up a chair, and instead of instructing you, he told you it would feel so good…and it does…Raphael taunting and teasing controlling everything you do to yourself. It feels like you have been edging yourself for hours, your hot tears slipping down your face, and he was relishing in it, at his innocent mouse being so naughty… Raphael leans back, watching your quivering sex, licking his lips. "Does it hurt mouse?" You can hardly contain your quivering sob, "Y-yes…" his eyes clouded as he licks his lips, "What do you want…" you hesitate to answer, being too shy to say, it is so embarrassing… "Mouse?" His stern voice shoots a shiver through you, "To cum…" "Oh, that's very naughty…do it, make a mess on my sheets…let it wash over you…let the ecstasy take over." You start to move faster, moaning louder, the feeling reaching a mind-numbing peak. A blissful tear falls as you get closer and closer. A finger wipes away the tear, and you look up at him as he stands next to you now, a cocky smile still on his handsome face, "I wanted a closer view…"
"Raph-Raphael-" a careful hush eases your hiccuping. Raphael brings his large hand to rub up and down your waist as the other digs into your hip, making you let out a whiny gasp. Raphael's hand comes up to tweak your nipple, making your body jump and a sharp cry fall from your swollen lips. His hands are mind-numbingly hot as they overwhelm you. "So sensitive mouse… you have only taken the tip." Raphael sinks his cock in deeper, your entrance stretched taught from his devil-form cock, your insides trying so desperately to accommodate to his textured girth, hot and throbbing as it drags across your insides. "It's too much!" another moan rips through you as he bullies in deeper, sinking in with more force than slowing up for you to accommodate and catch your breath. You can't help the tears that start to fall from your burning cheeks. "Shh… you're doing so well for me, mouse, crying so beautifully…" Raphael leans down, dragging the tip of his hot tongue over your tear-soaked cheek, then a sweet, chaste kiss to still your trembling begs. Right as you start to adjust, he pushes in roughly again, the pain swirling with pleasure as he overwhelms you. "You're so close to taking it all, my pet…are you ready?" He chuckles. "Might hurt for a moment, but then it will be pure bliss…" His sultry words are a sweet promise. You look at his beautiful face, which is slightly shining from sweat, the fires making him look like he glows. "Yes…" Raphael smiles and cups your cheek…it feels so tender…Then he snaps his hips, hitting that spot within you that rips out a scream…" Oh mouse, your cries are delicious." his pace quickens, "Give me more…"
Halsin
It's incredible the kinds of people you will encounter in a lifetime, especially 350 years of life, but none of them have stirred anything in him like you have. Halsin doesn't know if he wants to hold you close and smother you in kisses or take you over his knee and give you a firm spanking. You're a brat, and the cherry on top is a crybaby, too, one that pouts and huffs with irritated tears when you don't get your way. Most couldn't handle someone like that, but Halsin isn't like most. Typically, Halsin is one to bow at a person's whims, but he likes to challenge you and work you up to a tissy. You're willing to go round and round with him, sometimes going against him to just get a reaction from the patient druid. Halain knows your game and is unwilling to give in to you so easily. Finally, after you're in irritated tears and groaning, you nest your head into his chest as he gently rubs his hand along your back. "Halsin, I thought you liked me…" you say through sniffles, "I completely adore you…but you lost the bet, and I can't just let you go back on your word." You pout at him with a huff, tears pooling in your eyes. "You're just going to let Astarion take my favorite ring." Halsin chuckles and pinches your cheek. "You lost the bet, and fair is fair, my brat, now stop pouting…or else…" he teases, and you bite your lip, looking up at him with mischief…" is that so…" such a brat.
Sure, considering how much your always throwing fits, you would think that Halsin would be desensitized to your crap, but without waiting every time you're upset, there he is right next to your crying side, letting you cry it all out. It's best to not bottle up your emotions. He is always so charitable and calm, and you… you're a crybaby brat… you know deep down he deserves better than you, but you're too selfish to let him go. It was another one of those days where you let your emotions get out of hand, and instead of being an adult and dealing with it, you're lurking in your tent. Halsin comes in and sees you facing the corner; he knows not to lecture you. You hear him sigh and rummage around; before you know it, he's sitting next to your crying form with his wood carving stuff laid out, ready to be at your side till you're ready. Halsin pats his large hand on your head and places a quick kiss. He whispers something in elvish you now know means, 'I will wait for you.' He's just too perfect… its not an hour later you two are wrapped up in a tight embrace as you give him a thousand sorrys with a thousand kisses.
It's torture, complete and utter torture when he does this to you. Halsin has fooled everyone except for you… and that's exactly why he does this to you… Adjusting yourself, you can't help but shudder at the feeling, your mind sparks, and all you can muster is a whimper. Halsin chuckles as you squeeze his shoulder, your face a contortion of pleasure and desperation…His large hand pats your back as the other keeps busy with the letter he has been writing for what feels like hours now. "Try not to stir my heart…it only makes it worse…" his husky voice makes you dig your nails into his muscle, "Hal-H-Ah-Halsin, please!" your whining makes his cock throb within you…the sensation makes you move up and down impatiently, wanting to feel the friction against your walls. You have been cock warming Halsin, it was the only way he could convince you to let him finish his work, but you know deep down he just likes to make you whine. That bratty crybaby nature, he loves to fuck out of you to submission, only for you to keep acting up for him to do it more. Right as your body is feeling some relief from your grinding on him, Halsin brings his hands to still you; the tears can't help but start to pour from your frustration. "Damnit Halsin! Why?!" Halsin places a finger on your quivering lip to silence you, "Don't be so quick to anger…I promise once I'm done, I will reward your patience…" As he says, he rolls his hips, making you throw your head back at the feeling of his mass so deep, "Now quit being a brat…"
You had been acting up all day, and despite his warnings, you just wouldn't stop with your attitude…well, now you're in for it. The first chance he got, he was dragging you away from camp and bending you over, your hands braced on the tree in front of you, and a wide smile on your face…Halsins hands roam over your ass, teasing you further, "I told you to stop being a brat…You ready?" With an excited yes, you're being spanked by a powerful hand. It stings as he punishes your ass over and over again; your hands tighten against the bark as that pain mixes into pleasure. For someone trying to teach you not to be a brat, he sure does reward you for it. After the nth time, Halsin hears a shuddering gasp, giving him pause. Halsin is quick to gently turn you around and is horrified to see your face red with tears cascading down your cheeks. Halsin is a slew of apologies as he holds you close. You hold him closely, then using surprise to your advantage, push him down to the forest floor. Halsin looks at you in surprise as you straddle yourself over his strained cock, "Is that all you got, druid? I was expecting…more." oh, now you're really in for it. In a few more moments, you cry out to every deity you know as Halsin as you ride his cock at a bruising pace. When will he learn you are a glutton for punishment?
Astarion
Astarion is not a man known for his patience, especially when it comes to crybabies. In Astarions' opinion, he is the only one who gets to whine and cry about anything. It's not that he would actually be sad; he's mainly just irritated. What was the point of wasting tears on things someone can't control? Then you joined their merry band, and he started to figure it out. You, the dazzling hero of the day who would do anything to help, hells Astarion, were sure you would give the armor on your back if you thought it would help someone. How irritating… You have always been a compassionate soul, and when you would see anyone in need or when others cried, you found that you felt it deeply, and then the tears would fall. Never bumbling or hiccuping, just tears that would glisten from your eyes to streak your cheeks. Astarion remembers when he first saw this from you; at the grove, as the refugees lamented their troubles to you, he saw that you started to cry from their pain. Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at you, but then you swore to help them with an unbreakable resolve in your eyes, and something in him stirred. Your tears became a regular thing on your adventure together, and though he would never say it out loud, he found something beautiful about it. As you two grew closer and he told you about his past, he saw those shimmering tears again, Astarion hadn't shed a tear, but it was like you felt his pain…someone saw his hurt and wanted to cry for him. Astarion couldn't help himself, his cold hand whipping gently at your tear-stained cheeks, "I wish I could take away that pain…" Your voice quivered, and then his lips kissed you sweetly. Just being there and trying to understand him helped ease his pain.
Today, you had seemed quieter than usual, and Astarion couldn't help but take notice; he found that lately, he started to take notice of you more and more. Your routines, your attitude. It was late, and everyone else had turned in for the night. You stayed up watching the dancing fire. Clearing his throat to get your attention, he finally saw those glittering streams running down your cheeks. Shit… Astarion, not exactly the best at consoling people, did the only thing he could think of, "Would you care for a walk?" with a slight nod, you and Astarion took a walk through the quiet wood. The crisp air and the sounds of the whispering animals were soothing. Then there was Astarion just silently walking beside you. Though he didn't say it, you knew that he would listen to you should you decide to speak…but talking about it wasn't what you needed. All you needed was his calm presence next to you, there just in case. When you two finally return to camp before Astarion can slip back to his tent after your silent walk, you grab his hand suddenly; he looks at you confused before you smile and thank him. Him just being close always makes you feel better.
It's no surprise that though you might be more sensitive than most, Astarion never passes on the chance to tease and taunt you. You know, this is just how Astarion shows his affection for people. Sure, it's a little unorthodox, but that's Astarion, and you can't bring yourself to mind it. Today, he was taunting you and your bleeding heart. You yet again find yourself helping another helpless soul. So, while you are packing up his things to join you, "I swear you will just say yes to anything a person asks of you now." Astarion says with a smirk. "Well, Astarion, have you ever thought I might like getting myself in trouble." Astarion looks at you confused, "You? Enjoying trouble?" it was just too easy…you walked over, placing a hand softly on his chest, "I do enjoy being around you…and you're definitely trouble. In more ways than one…" Astarion looks at you confused before he smiles, "Are you trying to act like me right now?" you smile and pat his chest, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Thought I should tease you more, Wada think?" Astarion pinches your nose, "I think you need practice, but I'm more than willing to give you some tips."
Could it always be this soft…this gentle… your lips meet his in a slow, controlled kiss. Your warm hands cupped his face, telling him you're here, not leaving, that you care. Your tongue is slow and timid as it asks for his lips to part. Astarion almost wants to laugh at the timidness of it; here he is naked with you, rutting slowly in between your legs, and you're scared that your tongue in his mouth will be too much. Astarion loves that about you; you're so caring and soft, even to someone like him. Astarion sinks in deeper, and you let out a groan from the stretch, your body covered in a light sheen of sweat, your body covered in a light sheen of sweat that Astarion just can't stop kissing. Your hands carefully holding onto him tighter, but nothing to mark him…he's been marked enough for a lifetime. Softly, you coo his name breathlessly, and he never loved the sound of his own name so much; you're just… everything to him. Astarion brings his lips to your ear, gently easing you till he can't help himself anymore, "I-I love you." he feels you stop moving, and for a second, he thinks he might have been wrong, but before the doubt can manifest in him, he hears a sniffle. Leaning back, he sees your eyes shining in tears and a wide smile; you look beautiful…" A-astarion, I love you too. He leans to kiss away your tears, so this is true intimacy.
Wyll
Sometimes, you seem unreal; you're the kind to take on a whole goblin camp and fight for justice, but the simple sight of a meowing kitten or an old couple holding hands and sharing a tender moment will have you blubbering in tears. You're a complete sweetheart and a bit of a crybaby, but Wyll can't help but find it endearing. You're like a breath of fresh air after being on the road for so long. On the road, people act so tough and hard, never giving away any emotion, but not you; you're so honest about how you're feeling, willing to shed tears at anything that pulls at your heartstrings and that pulls at his. Cute and sad things were not the only things to make you cry. Wyll found that any sweet romantic gesture would make your eyes well up in happy tears. First, Wyll started out by giving you a flower; it was a casual gesture of affection for your relationship getting stronger, but the way you started to shed tears, it was like you received bad news. Through your sobs and hiccuping Wyll asked if you didn't like flowers, his consideration of your feelings made you cry more and fling yourself into his arms. "I love flowers; it's just so sweet of you to offer me one." You hug him tighter, feeling his heartbeat racing in his chest. "Thank you, Wyll. For being so sweet to me." Wyll wraps his arms around you tighter, already planning his next sweet gestures. Asking you to dance, making you a meal, working up to sharing a kiss… and one day bringing you home a kitten.
Most people would find this annoying, but Wyll can't help himself. Your kindness and soft heart know no bounds, and Wyll feels that by the day, he is falling more and more enamored with you. You smile through your tears as you watch the celebration; everyone seems so happy and relaxed that they can finally continue their journey. Lost in the rejoining of the party, you fail to see Wyll come to your side; how he learned to be so quiet to sneak up on you, you will never know. Wyll gently brushes his finger to wipe away your tears. This instantly makes you apologize for crying again when it is not justified, but Wyll just wraps an arm around you, letting you lean into his surprisingly comfortable body; you would think for his physic, he would be uncomfortable to lay against, but… he's so warm, and comfortable… "Don't ever apologize about who you are." you let out a laugh, "so you don't mind being around a crybaby?" Wyll just shakes his head, "No, I don't mind drying your tears; it's nice being around someone so in tune with their emotions." Wyll squeezes you tighter, "Maybe if I'm around you, it will show me how to be more honest with mine." The rest of the night was spent with you two sharing small talk, curling further into each other's embrace.
Wyll tries his best not to tease you. He is a gentleman, but sometimes he just can't help himself from a little playfulness, and yes, you will admit that it makes you pout (but you love this side of him). Wyll knows to be careful not to push you too hard because of your soft nature, so he got creative on how to get you to adorably pout. As you're sitting by the river trying to scrub the blood out of your clothes from today's battle, your mind wanders to Wyll and how he hasn't flirted with you today (how dare he!). Quietly, Wyll makes his way to you; he decides to play, which he thinks is a funny trick. He taps on your left shoulder as he gets close before quickly darting to the right. It never fails that you look to the tapped shoulder to then audibly groan his name, trying to hit him. Today, though, you take the chance to splash water on him, causing the start of an impromptu fight. Of course, Wyll is winning by having you laugh to the point of tears as he avoids your hits. Then you both pause… he looks down at your face, smiling gently as he wipes away a tear from your cheek. Wyll leans in, and you close your eyes, ready for this to finally happen…" Tsk, could you two resist procreating in the middle of camp. Disgusting…” You and Wyll quickly separate with a sigh… Lae'zel strikes again, but she's not wrong; maybe you can ask him to come to your tent tonight…
The tears couldn't help but flow out of you. Everything is so sensitive. Everything feels like, at any moment, you could burst into flames or burst into more tears. Your only saving grace is the soft kisses Wyll leaves on your body. "Just a little more; hang on a little longer, my love." His words drive you to hold on through the overstimulation about to reach your third mind-melting orgasm. Wyll is constantly pushing your body to its limits. You two had waited to be intimate, and Wyll assured you it would be well worth the wait. Of course, he was right about it. Now every night since Wyll has fucked you to incoherent whimpering and blissed-out tears as his length drives deeper in you, making that tight coil in your stomach snap for the fourth time now. His stamina is unrelenting as you coat him in your arousal. The crying of his name from your swollen lips drives him for one more, "One more, one last one, for me, baby…"
Gale
(This first bullet point was written by the amazing @savriea they are truly amazing and this snippet inspired me so much! huge thank you to them!)
Gale was captivated by your bravery at the grove. You stood tall against the druids, your determination making a difference for the tiefling child. It was a rare sight to see someone so unyielding yet so compassionate, and it had left a profound impression on him. He decided that he wanted to share a piece of his world with you, so that night he set up a small area away from camp and invited you over. He watched you intently, admiration in his eyes as you prepared to learn the basics of magic. Your initial attempts were clumsy, your fingers fumbling over the components, and your words stumbling over the syllables. Gale instructed you patiently, demonstrating the precise motions and enunciating each word clearly. But despite his guidance, the spell fizzled out for the fifth time, leaving a faint shimmer in the air before dissipating entirely. Frustration welled up inside you, the weight of repeated failure pressing down on your shoulders. The dam finally burst, tears spilling from your eyes as sobs wracked your body. Gale's eyes widened in panic, his usual composed demeanor faltering as he scrambled to salvage the moment. "No, no, no... hey, it's okay," he murmured, quickly moving to your side. His hands gently grasped yours from behind, his comforting warmth seeping into your back as he pressed his cheek against yours. "We'll do it together." With Gale guiding you, your hands moved through the motions again. He spoke the incantation softly in your ear, his voice a soothing melody that calmed your racing heart. You repeated the words, feeling the magic flow through you, unable to hold back a smile. The weave opened up to you, and for the first time, you felt its power caressing your skin. You laughed, a wet sound through your tears, your cheeks streaked and eyes glassy. Gale smiled, a mix of relief and pride shining in his eyes. "See? You did it," he said softly, his voice filled with admiration as he wiped your tears with his hand.
You felt ridiculous... you had decided to buy this outfit as a sexy surprise for Gale, but now your nerves are getting the better of you. Right as your about to change scraping your idea entirely Gale is walking through your tent, right on time as usually. Gales eyes widen not only from seeing your beautiful body on display but he also is feeling concern seeing your eyes starting to well up. Gale is quick to come to your side and hold your tightly, his large hands rubbing slowly up and down your back gently. Waiting till your calm Gale finally decides to ask you what's wrong. you explain how you wanted to wear something sexier for him and you started to second guess yourself, Gale can't help but smile. "You look completely beautiful not matter what my love, though I can't say I am not flattered..." Gales hands start to wonder making you laugh as he buries his nose in your hair taking in your sent that only spurs him on more... "Why don't we give you an actual reason to cry?" Of course you couldn't deny him. Gale knows exactly how you like it, he has made studying how to get you off his top priority these days. Gales lips caress your hips as his hands squeeze gently against you ass, coxing you to wrap your legs around his head so he can start tasting you. His tongue licking long strokes playing with your most sensitive parts before he is wrapping his lips around is and sucking softly. Gale drinks in your cyprine as your hands grip onto his soft locks. This only fuels him to drive into you more as hot tears of pleasure fall from your eyes and you moan and roll your hip against his face, not at all minding the beard.
Reactions to Durge getting lost in the sauce during a battle
Warnings : Dark Urge storyline spoilers !! visceral descriptions of gore, blood, just general human suffering and pain. Minsc and Jaheira being added is purely platonic.
A/n : I still haven't finished my durge playthrough but I'm loving it so much. Astarion being romanced by durge is just canon like the interactions are amazingly written. I love Orin so much more now she's really just irredeemable but in a way where you feel so horrible for her because of her backstory. UGHH I LOVE THIS GAME
Astarion watches as you just completely desecrate a corpse with an almost scholarly fascination. Limbs flying, skin tearing, blood everywhere, and you’re just staring on with a sharpness to your eyes, watching every shiver of pain, every twist of agony you elicit from your victi- enemies. Enemies.
Subtly, a smile of pleasure curls to your lips as you twist a guy’s head in a way it definitely shouldn’t twist.
"My dear, you really do know how to put on a show!" He claps, a ruby red of just pure and utter delught swirling in his eyes, "The way that spine cracked? Exquisite. And the scream? A bit drawn-out, but it had character."
He leans in, lowering his voice with a smirk. "All that to protect little old me?" He reached out, smearing a drop of blood that landed on your cheek and licking it off his thumb with a little hum of delight," Darling, I'm honoured."
He's kind of turned on. But only kind of.
Not that he'd admit it to your cute face.
▢ shadowheart
Shadowheart watches, aghast, as you brutalize some poor fool—ripping off limbs, carving symbols into their chest for fun. She's even more horrified when she hears the light chuckle that falls from your lips as you do it, pinching the bridge of her nose as yet another body part hits the ground with a sickening thump.
"Do you… have to do all of that?" she asks, pretty green eyes squeezed shut like she’s trying to erase the image from her mind. "Like, really. Was any of that necessary?"
When you shrug and tell her, "It’s art, Shadowheart," she lets out the longest, most exhausted sigh known to mortals. One would think she's dealing with a child and not the person she unfortunately, foolishly fell in love with.
"Thank the Gods that you love me. I don't think I would appreciate you using my intestines as a necklace." she mutters, stepping over a severed head with a grimace and ignoring when you laugh out an amused 'but that sounds romantic!'
▢ gale
Gale barely has time to process what just happened. One moment, you’re fighting. The next? There’s viscera everywhere. He watches as you rip a man’s jaw clean off before beating another guy to death with it.
His face goes pale. "Oh my gods."
He swallows, looking from the carnage to you, who are just beaming with satisfaction, like a cat who had brought a bird to their owner.
You were cute, at least. He'd admit that much. But also... what the fuck?
"You know, there’s a certain… efficiency to combat. A finesse. A subtlety." He gestures vaguely to the massacred corpses, a displeased frown etched to his lips. "This? This is not that."
When you ask if he’s impressed, he clears his throat, "I’m... something." he mutters, deciding he’s just not going to look at the rivers of blood pooling at your feet.
▢ karlach
Karlach was cheering you on at first—because, hey, battle’s fun! But then you start sculpting with intestines and rearranging body parts like a twisted art piece, crushing heads with your bare hands like it was nothing, and she slowly lowers her weapons.
"Holy fuck."
You turn to her, absolutely dripping in blood, eyes gleaming with an unhinged joy, "Did you see that?! The way his head popped like a zit?!" You cackle," funniest shit I've ever seen!"
Karlach forces a grin. "Haha… Hells yeah! That was… a thing you did!"
She pats your shoulder (hesitantly, because wow, that’s a lot of organs just... covering you), "Uh… y’know, if you ever wanna, like, talk about stuff—just saying! No judgment! Totally normal to, uh… enjoy your work no matter how bloody it gets!"
She loves you with all her mechanical heart but she's definitely gonna have a few nightmares.
At least you'll be there to scare them away!
▢ lae'zel
Lae’zel stands there, arms crossed, watching you brutalize an enemy into an unrecognizable pulp. You rip a guy’s throat out with your teeth, and she just nods approvingly.
"Efficient," she comments.
You stab a man so many times that it’s unclear where his torso ends and his legs begin. She raises an eyebrow. "A bit excessive."
Finally, you tear out someone’s heart and crush it in your bare hands, laughing as their blood splatters across your face. Lae’zel blinks.
"... I want you." she says simply.
▢ wyll
Wyll watches in abject horror as you pulverize a man into paste. There’s nothing left. Just chunks.
"Gods above!" he yells, visibly shaken. "What in the Nine Hells was that?"
You wipe some stray blood from your cheek and raise a brow at him like he was overreacting, "Just some creative problem-solving."
"Creative—?!" He rubs his temples, taking a deep breath. "Look, I know you’ve got… impulses… but we could try, I don’t know, leaving people with their limbs attached?"
When you respond with, "Why? They weren’t using them well enough," he just walks away, shaking his head and muttering 'how am I in love with you.'
He needs a drink. Maybe a godsdamned priest.
Preferably not a Bhaalist priest.
▢ minthara
Minthara watches as you brutalize an enemy beyond recognition, her expression unreadable. The slimy sounds of organs being played with. The gross thuds of limbs dropping from being torn off. You finish your grotesque display, turning to her expectantly.
She steps forward, her voice dangerously low. "That," she murmurs, "was magnificent."
A smirk tugs at her lips as she looks over the carnage. "A true artist," she purrs. Then, she leans in, lowering her voice so only you can hear:
"Next time, let me join in. I love a good partnered project."
▢ halsin
Halsin is visibly struggling. He’s seen nature’s brutality—seen beasts devour their prey, seen the circle of life in all its rawness. But this? This is excessive.
You stand proudly amid the wreckage of what were once people, now just a pathetic meat pile of limbs and organs, wiping the blood off your hands like it’s just another day. Halsin exhales, rubbing his temples.
"Violence is sometimes necessary," he says, "but must you… revel in it?"
You just grin. "It’s fun."
He gives you the most disapproving dad stare possible, "You and I," he mutters, "are going to have a long talk about balance."
▢ raphael
Raphael watches with rapt attention as you utterly annihilate your enemies. Like it was some grotesque stageplay.
Blood fountains, bones splinter, and you don’t just kill—you obliterate.
As the last body falls, you look over and see him giving you a slow, deliberate golf clap.
"My, my," he purrs, stepping closer. "You, my dear, are a symphony of destruction." His grin is all teeth. "Have you considered putting such… passion to better use?"
You raise an eyebrow," You offering me a job?"
He chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I’m saying, my sweet, that I do so love a person who enjoys their work." He winks. "Offering a job? No. A place next to me on a vastly comfortable throne? Yes."
▢ rolan
Rolan was ready to be impressed. But then you turned a fight into a goddamn horror show, and now he’s just staring.
"What in the name of Mystra’s left tit was that?!" he exclaims, gesturing wildly at the pile of human confetti you just created.
You shrug. "Enthusiasm."
He rubs his face. "That was not enthusiasm. That was anatomical experimentation. That was gleeful carnage."
A pause. Then he crosses his arms, eyes narrowing in scholarly thought, "why in the hells do I find it so hot??"
▢ gortash
Gortash observes, arms crossed, as you pulverize an enemy into an unrecognizable pile of gore. Blood drips from your fingertips as you step back to admire your handiwork—organs strewn about, bones shattered, a severed head still twitching.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, he exhales sharply through his nose, a chuckle.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," he muses, sounding almost… fond. His eyes flicker over the carnage before returning to you, sharp and calculating,"No hesitation. No mercy. Just raw, brutal efficiency."
He steps forward, voice lowering, amusement curling at the edges, "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me."
When you give him an irratted expression—blood still smeared across your lips—he grins slyly, slow and knowing. "Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t even have to try."
He looks over the battlefield, a mixture of admiration and something else lurking beneath the surface—nostalgia, maybe? Pride?
"This? This is the monster I remember." His smirk widens and he leaned close to your face, thumb brushing over the blood splattered on your bottom lip, "And oh, how I have missed them."
▢ minsc
The man watches as you annihilate an enemy in the most grotesque, unnecessarily brutal way possible. Limbs flying, blood everywhere, a head soaring through the air like it’s auditioning for a circus act. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then looks down at Boo.
"Boo, avert your tiny eyes!" He quickly cups the little hamster in his massive hands.
When the carnage finally settles, he peers at you with an expression torn between admiration and slight concern,"You fight with the strength of a berserker and the creativity of a very enthusiastic butcher!" He pats you on the back—hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of you, "It is good! But maybe… less good for keeping friends with weak stomachs!"
Then he grins. "But do not worry! Boo and I have seen worse. Probably." he frowns," Maybe." Then he shakes his head, giving you an apologetic look," Actually, no, we have not, but that is what makes adventure exciting!"
▢ jaheira
Watches you rip through an enemy like a rabid beast. There’s nothing left intact by the time you’re finished—just bits and pieces, flung in every direction like you got bored and decided to redecorate with viscera.
She slowly raises an eyebrow, scolding and preparing herself to lecture you, arms crossed, waiting for you to be done. When you finally turn to her, grinning, she sighs.
"Are you finished, or do you need to desecrate the remains a little longer?" She gestures to the raining blood, "Perhaps a little interpretive dance in the entrails?"
You just shrug. "They deserved it."
Jaheira pinches the bridge of her nose. "I am far too old for this." Then she mutters something about "damn bloodthirsty children" and starts walking away—because if she stands there any longer, she might have to tell you off for battlefield inefficiency.
But as she leaves, she throws one last glance over her shoulder and smirks,"Next time? Try to at least leave a body for looting. Otherwise, what’s the point?"
The battle had devolved into the kind of messy, sprawling chaos that made strategy feel like a distant memory. Mud clung to your boots, smoke stung your eyes, and the clash of weapons rang endlessly in your ears as you pushed forward through the press of enemies with stubborn determination. You were tired, bruised, and running purely on adrenaline, but the sight of the enemy captain retreating toward the far side of the field lit a spark of reckless resolve in your chest.
If you could just reach them—just land one decisive blow— oh, the rush to your ego was just too sweet, so you surged ahead. Blissfully unaware that, behind you, somewhere in the shifting haze of battle, Astarion had noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He had been watching you for the last several minutes with mounting irritation, tracking your movements with sharp, predatory focus as you edged farther and farther away from the relative safety of your formation. He knew that look on your face—the tight jaw, the narrowed eyes, the absolute refusal to back down even when the odds tilted dangerously out of your favor.
It was, in his professional opinion, one of your most infuriating traits and one of the most terrifyingly attractive.
“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, already moving. You didn’t hear him. You were too busy chasing the fleeing captain, weaving between clashing bodies, breath burning in your lungs as you closed the distance step by step. Victory felt tantalisingly close, just within reach.
Then the world shifted. A second enemy stepped into your path and another moved behind you. Before you could react, the careful rhythm of the fight collapsed into sudden danger, the space around you tightening like a trap snapping shut.
Astarion saw it all unfold in an instant and his stomach dropped.
“Oh, you absolute fool,” he hissed and instead of retreating back to safety, to make this someone else's problem, likely karlach's, he did something that surprised even himself, he ran towards the ugly fray.
Not with his usual lazy elegance, not with the theatrical grace he cultivated so carefully, but with raw, urgent speed that cut through the battlefield like a blade. He shoved past an opponent without breaking stride, ducked under a swinging mace, and closed the distance between you just as one of the enemies lunged. You barely had time to register the movement before something slammed into you from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as Astarion’s shoulder drove into your ribs, sending both of you stumbling sideways through the mud. The enemy’s strike whistled through empty air where your head had been a heartbeat earlier.
You gasped, disoriented. “What—”
His hand clamped around your arm like a vice. “-What,” he snapped, voice tight with fury, “do you think you are doing?”
You blinked up at him, still catching your breath. “I almost had them—”
“-You almost had a sword through your spine,” he shot back.
Before you could protest, he yanked you sharply backward, dragging you out of the fray with startling strength. His grip was unyielding, fingers digging into your sleeve as he hauled you step by step through the chaos. You resisted immediately, you were so close to winning.
“I can still fight—”
“No.”
“Astarion, let go—”
“Absolutely not!”
You twisted, trying to wrench free, but he anticipated the movement instantly. With a sharp, irritated sound, he shifted his hold—one arm sliding around your waist—and physically lifted you just enough to disrupt your footing. Your boots left the ground for a split second and you let out a startled noise. “Astarion!”
“You are coming with me,” he said through clenched teeth, dragging you behind the shattered remains of a stone barricade. You squirmed, like a child being dragged in for dinner, by their parent who had not had enough wine to deal with you.
“I was fine—”
“You were being spectacularly stupid. You reached new levels of stupidity that not even I was aware of. You-” You opened your mouth to interject in his ranting and twisted as you did. That was when it happened.
There was a tiny, horrifying sound. A faint, delicate crack. Everything stopped. Astarion froze mid-step and dropped you onto the ground with the ceremony of a sack of potatoes. Then slowly—very slowly—he looked down at his hand.
You followed his gaze from the floor, heart wrenching as the tragedy came into focuse.
One of his long, immaculately groomed nails had split clean across the tip, the smooth edge now jagged and uneven. For a moment, the battlefield noise seemed to fade into the background entirely. Astarion stared at the damage as if the world had personally betrayed him.
“…No,” he whispered.
You blinked.“…Is that—”
“-My nail,” he said faintly with the echoes of lament.
You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to laugh. He turned his hand slightly, inspecting the break from every possible angle, his expression shifting from shock to genuine outrage.
“I just finished shaping these this morning,” he said, voice tight with disbelief. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain standards in the wilderness?”
A laugh bubbled up in your chest despite yourself. You tried to swallow it. Failed tremedously.
Astarion’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You think this is amusing?”
You bit your lip, shoulders shaking. “A little.”
His expression darkened instantly, indignation flaring like a spark catching dry tinder.
“Oh, splendid. I risk life, limb, and manicure to rescue you from your own suicidal impulses, and you find it entertaining.”
You wiped at your eyes, still trying not to grin. “You broke a nail saving me.”
“Yes,” he snapped.
You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s rather heroic. We should be sure to tell Volo when we return to camp.”
He scoffed sharply, turning away as if the word 'heroic' physically offended him.
“Hardly." Astarion scoffed, eyes narrowing at his brutalised nail. "It was an act of self-preservation. If you insist on throwing yourself into danger at every opportunity, someone has to intervene before you ruin everything."
You watched him closely, warmth stirring quietly in your chest despite the lingering adrenaline. You picked yourself up off the floor and smiled at him. “You came after me.”
“Of course I did,” he said immediately. The words slipped out before he could stop them. He froze.
You raised an eyebrow and his jaw tightened. Then, almost violently, he pivoted away from the moment, anger rushing in to fill the space where something softer had threatened to surface.
“This,” he said sharply, gesturing accusingly at you with his uninjured hand, “is precisely why I cannot allow you any independence whatsoever. You are reckless, impulsive, and clearly determined to die in the most inconvenient manner possible and bring my own innocent hands down with you.”
You crossed your arms. “I had it under control.”
“You had nothing under control.”
You took a step toward him and he stepped back immediately, still glaring, still clutching his injured nail with exaggerated offense as if shielding it from you, so not to allow further damage.
“And now look,” he continued, voice dripping with dramatic despair. “Permanent damage. A tragedy. A catastrophe. Truly, history will remember this day.”
You laughed softly and he scowled harder.
“Stop smiling,” he muttered, trying to ignore the way it made his dead heart flutter.
“You’re worried about me.”
“I am worried about my manicure.” He emphasised by showing off his broken nail and pointing at it with flair. You took another step closer.
He held his ground this time, but his expression flickered—annoyance warring with something far more vulnerable that he clearly had no intention of acknowledging.
You reached out gently and took his hand, the one with the broken nail and he stiffened immediately. Looking at you like he was trying to understand what audacity had overcome you.
“You risked yourself for me,” you said quietly.
His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded. He scoffed, pulling his hand back just enough to reestablish distance, retreating behind irritation like a shield.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said briskly. “I simply refuse to let you die before I’ve had the opportunity to use you for all your apparent worth.”
You smiled again and he rolled his eyes dramatically, already turning away.
“Now stay here,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Try not to endanger yourself—or my grooming routine—again.”
Gale:
The deeper chambers of the Sharran temple possessed the sort of oppressive quiet that made every sound feel intrusive, as though the place itself disapproved of living things disturbing its long-abandoned halls. The stone underfoot was cold and worn smooth by centuries of passing feet, the walls etched with the dark, elegant iconography of Shar—crescent moons, shadowed figures, and carvings that seemed to drink in the dim torchlight rather than reflect it. The air was cool and carried a faint scent of damp stone, dust, and something else beneath it all, something sweet in a way that felt distinctly out of place among the gloom.
Gale walked beside you, his hands clasped loosely behind his back in the posture he adopted when his mind was particularly occupied, his eyes flicking over the architecture with scholarly interest while he murmured half-formed observations under his breath about Sharran religious symbolism and the lingering magical residue saturating the temple. Every so often he would gesture vaguely at a carving or faded mural, clearly itching to launch into a proper lecture but restraining himself in favor of focusing on the task at hand, scouting out for Raphael's enemy.
You, meanwhile, were only half listening. Because you had spotted something far more interesting.
You stopped walking abruptly, crouching down near one of the pillars where the stone floor dipped slightly in a shallow depression.
“Gale,” you said thoughtfully.
“Hm?” he replied absently, still scanning a row of carvings along the wall.
“Look at this.”
He glanced over with mild curiosity, then saw what you were looking at. His entire expression shifted instantly from idle interest to deep, immediate concern.
Lying on the stone floor between the pillars was a spider. Not a small one either, but a thick-bodied creature the size of a boulder, its legs curled tightly inward in the unmistakable posture of death. Its glossy amber abdomen reflected the faint light of Gale’s staff. You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand as you studied it with growing fascination.
Gale frowned.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “are you looking at it like that?”
You tilted your head. There was a scent drifting faintly from the thing—not the rot of decay, but something strangely sweet, almost honeyed, with an undercurrent that tickled the back of your mind in a way that was both intriguing and vaguely intoxicating.
“…Interesting,” you murmured.
Gale’s frown deepened. “Interesting how?”
You didn’t answer immediately; instead, you leaned forward slightly. And before Gale could process what you were about to do, you reached down and gave the spider a quick experimental lick.
There was a moment—long and terrible—of absolute silence.
Gale’s brain appeared to have completely stop functioning. Very slowly, as though afraid that moving too quickly might somehow make the moment more real, he turned his head to look at you.
“You,” he said faintly, “licked a dead spider.”
You blinked up at him.
“Yes.”
“Dead,” he repeated carefully. “Spider.”
“Correct.”
“You licked it.”
“That is also correct.”
Gale stared at you in the way one might stare at a catastrophic magical anomaly that had just appeared in the middle of the room.
“That,” he said after a long pause, “is something that happened.”
You shrugged lightly. He dragged a hand slowly down his face, exhaling in the deeply weary manner of someone whose day had just taken a deeply unexpected turn.
“I think,” he said carefully, “we need to get you some air… and perhaps have a long conversation about unresolved childhood issues.”
You snorted at that, clearly unrepentant. And then, because the thought had already taken root in your mind, you leaned forward again toward the spider.
Gale made a strangled sound. “Stop licking the damn thing!—”
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist just before your tongue could reach its intended target for a second time.
“What,” he demanded, his voice climbing an octave, “is wrong with you?”
You pouted immediately. “It tastes funny.”
“That is not a justification!”
You attempted to lean forward anyway. Gale tightened his grip instantly, hauling your arm back toward him.
“No!” Gale responded, his face twisted in absolute horror of your disposition.
“Just one more,” you insisted, pouting slightly
“For the love of Mystra, no.” Gale told you, his grip on you tightening.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I'm being dramatic?!" Gale's voice pitched up a few octaves at the accusation. "You licked a corpse!”
“It’s barely a corpse.”
“It is very much a corpse!” Gale stressed as he pulled you further away from it by your arm, and you couldn't help but giggle. And that was when Gale realized something else was wrong.
Your laughter was slightly too loose, your expression flushed in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment, and when you looked up at him your pupils were blown wide, swallowing nearly all the color of your irises.
Your breathing had quickened and there was a strange, restless energy humming through your movements that definitely had not been there moments earlier.
Gale’s stomach dropped.
“…Oh dear,” he murmured. You were still trying to lean toward the spider. He grabbed your shoulders this time and physically pulled you backwards. “No more licking mysterious temple wildlife!”
You laughed again, clearly delighted by his distress.
“Why not?”
“Because it is deeply disturbing behavior!”
But now that strange warmth was spreading through your limbs, a buzzing heat that made the air feel thick and your thoughts pleasantly fuzzy. Everything around you seemed sharper somehow—brighter, more vivid.
And Gale was holding you very tightly and standing very close.
Very close indeed.
You looked at him slowly, your gaze drifting over the lines of his face, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the soft curl of his hair falling slightly into his eyes. Gale shifted uneasily under the scrutiny.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked cautiously.
You leaned more into his touch, relaxing in his hold of you. He froze, as if suddenly realising he was manhandling you and an awkwardness settled in his chest as he suppressed his own feelings for you. Luckily, he did not have time to dwell on it as you spoke again.
“You’re very pretty,” you said sincerely.
His brain short-circuited.
“I—what?”
Then, without further warning, you leaned forward to kiss him. Gale reacted purely on instinct. He released you only for his hand to come up immediately, pressing gently but firmly against your face and pushing it to the side before your lips could reach him.
“No!”
You blinked in surprise. “…Rude.”
“You are not in your right mind,” he said softly but firmly, now holding you at arm’s length. Which did not stop you from trying again.
He caught both your shoulders.
“Stop that.”
You giggled again, clearly unbothered.
Gale’s concern was rapidly turning into full-blown alarm. The sweet scent from the spider drifted through the air once more and the pieces clicked together in his mind with horrifying clarity.
“…Succubus enchantment,” he muttered. You were still attempting to lean toward him.
“Just one kiss.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You pouted dramatically and then abruptly attempted to dart past him—back toward the spider. Gale reacted immediately.
“Oh no you don’t.” He grabbed you around the waist and hauled you bodily away from it. You squirmed and protested loudly.
“Let me go!”
“You have already licked it twice!”
“It’s interesting!”
“It is cursed!”
You laughed helplessly, the entire situation clearly far more amusing to you than it was to him. Gale, meanwhile, was beginning to look like a man being slowly driven to madness.
“This,” he muttered under his breath, “is precisely the sort of situation wizard training does not prepare you for.”
You attempted to twist free again. So Gale did the only thing he could think of. He picked you up. Entirely.
You squeaked in shock as he hoisted you over his shoulder with surprising determination and strength.
“Gale!”
“You are coming with me.”
You kicked your legs indignantly.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
“This is kidnapping!”
“This is damage control!”
You wriggled and twisted the entire way out of the temple, attempting several times to lean down and kiss the back of his neck, which caused Gale to nearly trip more than once while he tried very hard not to think about the warmth of you against his shoulder. He had plans, a whole starry sky full of plans to woo you, you being horny from dead spider meat was not in those plans.
“Oh for the love of Mystra—stop that!”
You only laughed harder. By the time the distant glow of the campfire came into view through the trees, Gale looked like a man who had aged several years in the span of a single hour.
“You,” he declared breathlessly as he carried you toward camp, “are never allowed near enchanted wildlife again.”
You hummed happily, clearly unconvinced, and Gale sighed the long, exhausted sigh of someone who already knew, deep in his soul, that this was absolutely not the last time he would have to physically drag you away from something profoundly ill-advised.
Wyll:
The battle had turned into a storm of steel and shouting, the kind of chaos where dust hung thick in the air and every sound felt too loud, too close, too urgent.
You were in the middle of it—of course you were—boots sliding in the churned earth as you pressed forward with stubborn determination, blade flashing in the dim light. The enemy line wavered ahead of you, and you saw your chance, that tantalizing sliver of opportunity that whispered if you just pushed a little farther, just a little harder, you could turn the tide.
So you did. You pressed forward, heart pounding, ignoring the shouted warnings from behind you as adrenaline burned hot in your veins. The world narrowed to the swing of your weapon, the clash of metal, the rush of movement—
And then everything went wrong. A horn sounded somewhere to your left. Reinforcements.
More enemies poured into the fray, closing the gap around you with frightening speed, their weapons raised, their movements coordinated in a way that made your stomach drop as you realized—too late—that you had gone too far ahead.
You turned, searching for your allies but the distance between you and safety had grown. Fast.
Across the battlefield, Wyll Ravengard saw it happen in an instant.
He had been fighting with his usual flair—blade moving in clean, practiced arcs, posture straight even in the chaos—but the moment he spotted you surrounded, his focus snapped sharply into place. The easy confidence on his face hardened into something fierce and protective, his instincts screaming louder than reason.
You were in danger and that was all that mattered.
He moved, not cautiously, not hesitantly, but with the bold, sweeping urgency of a hero charging into the final act of a grand tale. He cut through the battlefield with powerful strides, parrying one blow, then another, his cloak snapping dramatically behind him as he forced his way toward you.
You didn’t see him coming. You were too busy fending off the attackers closing in around you, breath coming fast and uneven as you tried to hold your ground. Your muscles burned, your footing slipped, and for the first time, doubt flickered in the back of your mind.
Then suddenly— A strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
You barely had time to gasp before you were pulled sharply backward, lifted clean off your feet as the world spun in a blur of motion.
“What—!”
You collided against a solid chest, the scent of leather and smoke and something warm and familiar filling your senses as you were swept out of danger in one smooth, decisive movement.
“Easy,” Wyll’s voice said close to your ear, steady and reassuring even over the roar of battle.
You blinked, disoriented, as he carried you several long strides away from the press of enemies, his grip secure and unwavering. One arm held you firmly against him, the other wielded his blade with effortless precision, deflecting a strike that came too close for comfort.
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest.
“Wyll—!”
“I’ve got you,” he replied, calm but firm.
The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, warm and steadying in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t set you down immediately.
Instead, he continued moving, guiding you through the chaos with confident purpose, his hold protective without being rough, his posture straight and unyielding as he carried you toward safer ground. It felt—absurdly, impossibly—like something out of a storybook, like the kind of dramatic rescue sung about in taverns by bards who believed in happy endings and heroic gestures.
You finally found your voice.
“You can put me down,” you protested, breathless.
“In a moment,” he said smoothly. You glanced up at him, and the sight nearly stole your breath all over again.
Dust streaked across his cheek, his braids slightly dishevelled from the fight, but his expression remained composed, focused, utterly determined. There was a spark of concern in his eyes, softened by something warmer, something gentler that made your pulse stutter.
He looked like a knight straight from a romance novel. Strong. Dashing. Completely unflappable. You swallowed and you could feel your preteen self practically swooning.
“I was handling it,” you insisted weakly, if not to him, to yourself.
His mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.
“I have no doubt,” he replied, voice rich with reassurance. “But even the bravest heroes deserve a rescue now and then.”
Heat rushed to your face. He finally slowed, reaching the relative safety behind a line of fallen stone where the rest of your companions were regrouping. Only then did he lower you carefully back onto your feet, his hands lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary to make sure you were steady.
You swayed slightly. His hands tightened instinctively at your waist.
“Are you hurt?” he asked immediately, concern sharpening his tone. You are breathing quite heavily-"
"I'm fine!" You said a bit too quickly, and you took a deep breath in to steady yourself. “No. Just—startled.”
His gaze softened. “Good,” he said quietly.
For a brief moment, neither of you moved. The battle still raged in the distance, steel clashing and voices shouting, but here, in the small pocket of safety he had carved out, everything felt strangely still.
You became suddenly aware of how close he was—how warm his hands felt where they rested at your sides, how steady his presence was, how easily he had carried you as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You didn’t have to be so dramatic about it,” you said, attempting to sound casual.
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his expression.
“Dramatic?” he echoed lightly.
You nodded, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your chest.
“Yes. Very heroic. Very… theatrical.”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
“Well,” he said, releasing you at last, though his gaze lingered warmly on your face, “if I’m to be accused of anything, I would much rather it be heroism than negligence.”
You felt your lips tug into an involuntary smile.
He stepped back then, drawing his sword again as his attention returned to the battlefield—but not before giving you one last steady look, equal parts reassurance and quiet promise.
“Stay close this time,” he said gently.
And somehow, after being swept off your feet like that, you found yourself very willing to listen.
Halsin:
The forest had turned against you.
What had begun as a routine skirmish along the edge of the wilderness had spiraled into something far more dangerous, the undergrowth thick and uncooperative beneath your boots, branches clawing at your armor as you pressed forward with stubborn determination. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves, heavy with the sharp tang of sap and the distant metallic scent of blood, and somewhere above the canopy the wind howled through the treetops like a warning you had chosen, perhaps unwisely, to ignore.
You refused to retreat.
Even as the situation shifted—enemies closing in from multiple directions, the terrain growing treacherous, the ground slick with mud and scattered debris—you dug in your heels and fought harder, your breath coming fast and hot in your lungs, your muscles burning with the effort of holding your position. You could hear your companions calling out behind you, voices strained with urgency, but you blocked them out, focused entirely on the opponent in front of you and the stubborn, unyielding conviction that you could handle this on your own.
Then the ground gave way.
It happened in a heartbeat—a sudden collapse of loose earth beneath your feet, the edge of a concealed drop crumbling under your weight as you stepped forward to strike. The world lurched violently, your balance disappearing as the soil slid out from under you, sending rocks and dirt tumbling into the steep ravine below. For one terrifying instant, your stomach dropped and your arms flailed for purchase, fingers grasping at empty air as gravity threatened to drag you over the edge.
And then—
You were seized.
A massive hand clamped around your upper arm with crushing strength, halting your fall so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could even gasp, a second arm wrapped securely around your waist, hauling you backward with irresistible force. Your boots skidded across the unstable ground as you were dragged away from the crumbling ledge, your body lifted clear off your feet as though you weighed nothing at all.
You barely had time to register what was happening before you were pulled firmly against a broad, solid chest, your back colliding with something warm, immovable, and undeniably powerful.
“Enough.”
The word landed like a thunderclap. You froze. There was no mistaking that voice—deep, resonant, and usually so calm it carried the steady reassurance of ancient stone—but now it was edged with something sharper, something fierce and unmistakably angry.
Halsin.
He did not release you. If anything, his grip tightened, one arm locked securely around your middle while the other steadied you by the shoulder, holding you firmly in place as the last of the loose earth tumbled into the ravine below. You could feel the tension in him, the coiled strength beneath his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with controlled, measured breaths that spoke of restraint rather than calm.
You twisted slightly, still disoriented, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
“I had it,” you protested weakly, though the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then he turned you. Not gently. Not carefully. But firmly—hands gripping your shoulders, guiding you around until you were forced to face him directly. His expression stopped you cold. You had never seen him like this before.
Gone was the patient warmth, the soft kindness that usually lived in his eyes. In its place burned something fierce and protective, his jaw set tight, his brow drawn low, the quiet authority he carried every day sharpened into something far more intimidating.
“You had it?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate.
Your mouth opened and quickly closed again. Because the look on his face made it very clear that this was not a conversation you were going to win.
“You nearly fell,” he continued, his tone rising slightly, frustration bleeding through the calm he usually wore so effortlessly. “You ignored every warning, every signal, every call to retreat, and you placed yourself in needless danger.”
The reprimand hit harder than any blow. You blinked at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the sheer force of emotion behind them.
He was angry. Not irritated or mildly concerned. Truly, deeply angry.
“I was trying to hold the line,” you said, your voice quieter now, defensive but uncertain.
“And you would have held it from the bottom of that ravine?” he shot back immediately.
The sharpness of the retort caught you off guard. He had never spoken to you like this before. Never raised his voice. Never allowed his frustration to show so openly. And yet here he was, towering over you, his hands still planted firmly on your shoulders, his grip strong enough to keep you steady but impossible to ignore.
“You are not expendable,” he said, the words landing with heavy finality. “Not to this battle. Not to this cause. And certainly not to me.”
Your breath caught. The forest seemed to go very still around you, the distant sounds of combat fading into the background as the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.
You should have felt chastened. Embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. Instead—Something warm and unexpected unfurled low in your chest.
Because there was something undeniably compelling about this side of him—the fierce protectiveness, the unyielding authority, the raw intensity of his concern. The way his deep voice rumbled with restrained anger, the way his broad shoulders squared as he held his ground, the way his presence filled the space around you like an unmovable force of nature.
It did something to you.
Your lips twitched. Then, despite every ounce of common sense you possessed— You smiled. Just a little. The reaction was immediate.
“Do you find this amusing?” he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.
You tried—truly tried—to school your expression into something more appropriate.
“I—no,” you said quickly, though the warmth lingering in your gaze betrayed you. His jaw tightened.
“You are smiling,” he pointed out, clearly unimpressed.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
There was a beat of silence. Then your smile widened despite yourself, a faint flush creeping up your neck as the realization settled in.
Gods. You liked this.
You liked the firmness in his voice, the way his hands remained steady and grounding on your shoulders, the protective anger burning in his expression. You liked the way he refused to back down, the way he held you accountable, the way he looked at you as though your safety mattered more than anything else in the world.
It was incredibly attractive. And he saw it.
The exact moment he realized what was happening flickered across his face—confusion first, then dawning recognition, followed swiftly by a fresh surge of exasperation.
“Incredible,” he muttered under his breath.
Your smile didn’t fade. If anything, it grew softer, more open, your eyes lingering on his face in a way that made his frustration deepen rather than ease.
“You frightened me,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out rougher than before. The honesty in them made your chest tighten.
But still— You couldn’t stop looking at him like that.
Couldn’t stop the small, stubborn warmth curling in your stomach. His hands tightened slightly on your shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to emphasize the seriousness of his next words.
“This is not a game,” he said firmly. “You will listen when I tell you to fall back. You will trust that I am acting to protect you. And you will not throw yourself into danger simply because your pride refuses to yield.”
You nodded slowly.
“Yes,” you said trying to sound convincing, but the soft smile remained.
His eyes narrowed again, frustration simmering dangerously close to the surface.
“You are still doing it,” he said.
“Doing what?” you asked innocently.
“Looking at me like that.”
You tilted your head slightly, feigning confusion, though the warmth in your expression gave you away completely. He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to say something more.
Something harsher. Something he would likely regret.
Instead, he released you at last, though his gaze lingered, heavy and watchful, as though he fully expected you to charge back toward the danger the moment his hands left you.
“Stay close,” he ordered.
The command was firm. Uncompromising. And, to your own quiet surprise— You found yourself smiling again.
Rolan:
The explosion of magic came out of nowhere.
One moment you were locked in a tense standoff, trading careful strikes and measured spells with the enemy forces pressing in from the edges of the ruined courtyard. The air was thick with dust and the sharp tang of ozone, the ground beneath your boots trembling faintly from the force of arcane power being hurled back and forth. You had been focused—intensely so—tracking movements, calculating distance, preparing your next strike.
Then a fireball detonated against the far wall.
The blast sent a shockwave tearing through the courtyard, rattling loose stones from the crumbling masonry and filling the air with choking smoke and swirling debris. The force knocked several fighters off their feet, and for a brief, disorienting moment, everything dissolved into noise and confusion.
You staggered but kept your footing, pushing forward through the haze, squinting against the smoke, determined to regain control of the situation before the enemy could capitalize on the chaos. Your instincts screamed to keep moving, to stay aggressive, to hold the line no matter what.
Behind you, unnoticed in the turmoil, Rolan saw exactly what you were doing and he did not hesitate. The tiefling had been stationed near the rear, hands glowing faintly with residual magic, mind racing as he assessed the battlefield with sharp, anxious precision. Normally, he preferred distance, control, and careful calculation.
Normally. But then he saw the enemy preparing another spell and he saw your foolish beautiful self walking straight into its path and something inside him snapped into place with sudden, startling clarity.
You took another step forward, coughing lightly as smoke burned in your lungs, your vision still blurred from the blast. Shapes moved in the haze ahead—enemies regrouping, weapons raised—but you pressed on stubbornly, determined to finish what you had started.
You never saw the spellcaster lift their hand. Never saw the gathering surge of arcane energy coiling into a tight, deadly sphere. Rolan did, however, and his heart lurched into his throat.
“Move!” he shouted. You half-turned at the sound of his voice, confusion flickering across your face.
“What—?”
The spell was released. There was no time. No room for careful planning. No chance to think about dignity or appearances or the fact that this was very much not the sort of dramatic heroics he wanted to display for you of all people.
Rolan ran fast—faster than you had ever seen him move—boots pounding against the stone as he sprinted straight into the heart of the danger without a second thought.
You barely had time to register the blur of motion before something slammed into you from the side. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as arms wrapped tightly around your torso, hauling you off balance and dragging you bodily out of the path of the incoming blast.
The spell struck the ground where you had been standing an instant later, exploding in a violent burst of light and heat. You stumbled, disoriented, your ears ringing as the world tilted sideways.
“What the—?”
“Gods, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Rolan snapped. You blinked. Your vision cleared just enough to focus on the face inches from yours—flushed, breathless, eyes wide with a mixture of panic and irritation. But you recognised that voice of worried distain anywhere
Rolan. You stared at him. “Rolan?”
“Yes, Rolan,” he shot back, still gripping your arm with surprising strength. “Who else would be foolish enough to sprint into a blast zone after you?”
You opened your mouth and promptly closed it again. Because you were still trying to process the fact that he was holding you—firmly, decisively—dragging you backward through the chaos with a grip that brooked absolutely no argument.
You stumbled slightly as he pulled you behind a half-collapsed stone pillar, his hand tightening instinctively to steady you.
“I had it handled,” you protested weakly.
He stopped abruptly. Turned to face you. His expression was incredulous, similar to the look he had given to you back at the Last Light Inn when you said you would be the one to help him bring his sibling back.
“You were about to be incinerated.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were!” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the sharp edge of fear slipping through despite his best efforts to maintain composure. You blinked at him, caught off guard.
Before you could respond, another distant explosion rattled the courtyard, sending a fresh cascade of dust drifting down from the broken walls. Without hesitation, Rolan grabbed your wrist again and pulled you farther into cover, positioning himself squarely between you and the open battlefield.
The movement was instinctive. Protective. You couldn't help but stare.
“Since when,” you managed, still breathless, “do you charge into danger like that for someone you despise like me?”
He froze for half a second, clearly realizing what he had just done. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
“I—well—someone had to,” he said stiffly.
You raised an eyebrow. “You tackled me.”
“I did not tackle you.”
“You absolutely tackled me.”
He bristled immediately. “I rescued you,” he corrected, drawing himself up with wounded dignity. “There is a distinction.”
You couldn’t help the small, incredulous laugh that escaped your throat. It was still surreal—being manhandled to safety by Rolan of all people, and yet here he was.
Standing close. Still holding your arm. Still breathing a little too fast. Still watching you with unmistakable concern.
“You ran straight into that,” you said quietly. His gaze flicked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
“Well,” he muttered, “you were being reckless.”
The words were defensive, but the tremor beneath them gave him away. You studied him, something warm and unexpected stirring in your chest.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
He blinked. The simple sincerity of it seemed to throw him completely off balance.
“I—yes—well,” he stammered, color creeping up his neck. “Try not to require such dramatic interventions in the future.”
You smiled faintly. “I’ll do my best.”
Raphael:
The fight had begun as so many of yours did—loud, messy, and entirely under your control, or so you believed.
Steel clashed in sharp, ringing bursts that echoed through the ruined hall, each strike reverberating up your arms and settling deep into your bones as you pushed forward with relentless determination. Dust drifted lazily from the fractured ceiling overhead, disturbed by the force of spells detonating against stone pillars and shattered walls, while the air itself seemed to hum with tension, thick with heat, smoke, and the lingering bite of magic that prickled unpleasantly across your skin. It was chaos, yes—but it was a chaos you understood, one you had learned to navigate with stubborn confidence and an almost reckless refusal to yield.
You advanced another step, breath coming hard but steady, your focus narrowing to the enemy directly in front of you. Their guard faltered under the pressure of your assault, their footing slipping slightly across the debris-strewn floor as you drove them backward with a sharp, decisive strike. Victory felt close—so close you could practically taste it—and the familiar surge of adrenaline pushed you onward, urging you to finish the fight before anyone else could interfere.
That was when the battle shifted.
It was subtle at first—a flicker of movement at the edge of your vision, the faint whisper of leather against stone behind you, the quiet repositioning of an opponent you had momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment. But you were too focused, too determined to press your advantage, and the warning signs slipped past your notice like shadows in the dark.
Someone else noticed.
From the far side of the hall, just beyond the immediate clash of weapons and magic, Raphael watched with an expression that hovered somewhere between mild amusement and growing irritation. He stood perfectly composed amidst the chaos, doublet untouched by dust or blood, as though the violence unfolding around him were nothing more than an elaborate performance staged for his personal entertainment. His sharp gaze tracked your movements with unsettling precision, lingering not on the enemies themselves but on you—on the way you pressed too far ahead of the others, on the way your attention locked forward while danger gathered quietly behind your back.
He saw the blade rise. Saw the intent behind it. Saw how little time remained. A soft, exasperated sigh escaped him, barely audible beneath the din of battle.
“Oh, dear,” he murmured, voice smooth and low, threaded with something that sounded suspiciously like concern despite the dry humor lacing his tone. “You truly do make a habit of this and it simply will not do.”
You never saw the attack coming.
The enemy behind you moved with sudden, lethal speed, their weapon arcing downward in a clean, deadly line aimed squarely for the space between your shoulders. Your focus remained fixed on the opponent in front of you, your muscles already coiled to deliver the next strike, completely unaware of the danger closing in from behind.
Then the world shifted.
Without warning, a powerful arm wrapped around your waist, firm and unyielding, hauling you backward with startling force. Your feet left the ground entirely, the momentum of your forward motion abruptly stolen as you were yanked out of the path of the descending blade. The weapon sliced through empty air where you had been standing an instant earlier, its edge biting uselessly into the stone floor with a harsh, grating screech.
The sudden movement knocked the breath from your lungs.
“What in the hells—?!”
Your protest dissolved into confusion as you found yourself pressed against a solid, immovable chest, your back colliding with a figure who smelled faintly of musk, cherries, and unmistakable sulfur. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your armor, unsettlingly warm, and before you could fully process what had happened, a familiar voice drifted down beside your ear—silky, amused, and entirely too composed given the circumstances.
“Really,” Raphael murmured, his tone equal parts dry reproach and quiet satisfaction, “must you insist on turning every minor skirmish into a near-death experience?”
Your stomach dropped as recognition slammed into you.
You twisted immediately, bracing your hands against his chest in an attempt to push yourself free, indignation flaring hot and sharp in your chest. But his hold did not loosen. If anything, his grip tightened just enough to steady you, his arm locked securely around your middle in a way that made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of releasing you anytime soon.
“Let go of me,” you snapped, breath still uneven from the abrupt rescue.
“Mmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, as though considering the request with polite interest rather than immediate compliance. “I don’t believe I shall.”
Before you could argue further, he moved again—smoothly, effortlessly, as though the chaos of the battlefield meant nothing at all. The air around you seemed to twist and fold in on itself, reality bending subtly at the edges as he guided—no, dragged—you several paces away from the thickest part of the fighting. The shift was disorienting, the world blurring for a heartbeat before snapping back into focus as your boots touched solid ground once more.
You staggered slightly, caught off balance by the sudden displacement.
His arm was still around you. Still holding you firmly in place and entirely too close to you.
“I said let go,” you repeated, sharper this time, irritation bleeding into your voice as you struggled against his grip.
“And I heard you,” he replied calmly, unmoved. “I simply chose not to comply.”
Your temper flared. “I was handling that!”
Raphael finally released you then—but only enough for you to turn and face him fully. His hand remained on your arm, fingers curled securely around your sleeve, as though he expected you to bolt straight back into danger the moment he loosened his hold.
He regarded you with a faintly raised brow, his expression composed yet unmistakably skeptical.
“Handling it?” he echoed, voice smooth as polished glass. “My dear, you were moments away from being carved open like an overripe fruit.”
“I was not—”
“You were,” he interrupted, more firmly this time, the humor in his voice thinning just enough to reveal the steel beneath. “And while I admire your enthusiasm for dramatic heroics, I would prefer not to witness your untimely demise today.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. You crossed your arms, bristling.
“I don’t need you stepping in every time things get difficult,” you shot back, frustration bubbling over. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your—”
“Pet?” he supplied smoothly, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a knowing smile.
Your jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
For a brief moment, the teasing expression faded, replaced by something quieter—something more deliberate and unexpectedly sincere.
“No,” he said softly. “You are not.”
The simple acknowledgment caught you off guard, stealing the sharp edge from your anger for just a heartbeat.
But before you could respond, another blast of magic struck nearby, sending shards of stone skittering across the floor. Instinctively, Raphael stepped forward again, one hand settling against your shoulder to guide you back out of harm’s way. The motion was swift, decisive, and maddeningly protective.
You jerked away, irritation returning in full force. “I can stand on my own,” you insisted. His fingers tightened briefly, steadying you as you shifted your footing.
“Then stand somewhere less likely to get yourself killed,” he replied sharply.
For a moment, the usual theatrical arrogance slipped away entirely, revealing a flash of something deeper beneath the surface—an edge of genuine concern that unsettled you far more than his teasing ever could. The faint smile returned to his lips, smooth and composed, as though the brief crack in his mask had never existed at all.
“There we are,” he said lightly, stepping back at last and releasing you completely. “Safe and sound. A much more agreeable outcome, don’t you think?”
You straightened, brushing dust from your armor with more force than necessary, your pride still smarting from the unwanted intervention.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” you muttered.
“No,” he agreed easily, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded you with quiet amusement. “You rarely do.”
A beat passed between you, the tension lingering in the air like the fading echo of thunder.
“I had it under control,” you insisted again, stubborn to the end.
Raphael tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same unsettling intensity. “Of course you did,”
You narrowed your eyes.“I mean it.”
“And I believe you,” he replied smoothly, his voice lowering just enough to carry a hint of something more earnest beneath the polished charm. A pause. Then, softer— “I simply chose not to risk being wrong.”
The words settled heavily in your chest, unwelcome and difficult to ignore. You exhaled slowly, frustration still simmering—but now tangled with something far more complicated, something you weren’t ready to name. You shot him one last glare.
“Next time,” you said firmly, “stay out of it.”
His smile deepened, slow and knowing, as though he had already made his decision long before you spoke.
“Of course, pet."
I simply could not resist doing the spider scene for gale, I know everyone else's was during battle but I just could not pass up the opportunity.
I really hope you guys enjoyed these! I have a similar concept to this in mind, but dithering on whether or not to do it for the dark!BG3 lot or the regular companions. Decisions, decisions. Anyway hope everyone is doing well 💜- Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
In which I write a little bit of filth each day for October about BG3 characters because why not? I’ll add links to this list every day as I post. These will be shorter than my average oneshots just so I can stay persistent. Every post will have its own warnings/tags so be sure to read those. These are all reader inserts. Also this is my first time writing for Kinktober so I can't guarantee that I'll finish all of this on time BUT I will finish it, even if it bleeds into November lol.
Also some of these ideas came from @mrfancyfoot ‘s BG3 Kinktober 2025 prompts. I wanted to do some of their prompts because they gave me such good ideas.
I hope you all enjoy! Happy reading, first post is on Oct. 1st (unless I cave and post the first one early)! Links will appear below the cut along with summaries of each day.
Oct 1st. mutual masturbation + tadpole link (Gale/Reader)
You and Gale masturbate at the same time in your respective tents. You accidentally connect your minds via the tadpole.
Oct 2. double penetration (Gale/Reader/Astarion)
You and your partner Astarion catch up with an old friend.
Oct 3. pegging (Rolan/Reader)
Taming a bratty wizard turns out to be more fun than you expected.
Oct 4. breeding (Halsin/Reader)
The Druid wants to claim you as his. You happily oblige.
Oct 5. praise (Wyll/Reader)
Wyll is feeling down about his new hellish appearance. You want to uplift his spirits.
Oct 6. hate sex (Wulbren Bongle/Reader)
You have nothing nice to say about Wulbren and he definitely has nothing nice to say about you. Alas, despite your shared hatred, the two of you fuck because if you don’t you might just kill each other.
Oct 7. monsterfucking (Yurgir/Reader)
With Raphael dead, his contract null and void, and his blood running as hot as ever, the orthon wants to celebrate with the one who brought him freedom.
Oct 8. bath sex (Haarlep/Reader)
The incubus likes to take care of you. They like to have fun. The location never really matters.
Oct 9. voyeurism (Sorn Orlith/Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge/Reader)
You and Sorn are hired for a night of your services by none other than Lord Enver Gortash and his Dragonborn companion. While his companion wants to join in, Gortash happily sits back and enjoys the show.
Oct 10. edging (Karlach/Reader)
Now that you can touch Karlach you give her something she has wanted for a while: prolonged pleasure.
Oct 11. Improper use of scrolls + genital swap (Astarion/Reader)
Gale gifts Astarion an entire box of scrolls. One day while going through them he finds a rather interesting one at the bottom of the pile. And now he’s proposing that you two use it.
Oct 12. thigh riding (Raphael/Reader)
Raphael doesn’t think you deserve to have him fully. He wants his little mouse to prove him wrong and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get something more.
Oct 13. first time (Dammon/Reader)
You run into a rather handsome tiefling refugee in the grove, a blacksmith named Dammon. At the party celebrating the victory against the goblins, you ask to celebrate with him.
Oct 14. sex pollen (Halsin/Reader)
There were thousands of species of mushrooms in the Underdark, lots of which you were unfamiliar with. The spores from one has seemingly gotten into your system and Halsin’s. The two of you ache for relief.
Oct 15. lingerie (Lorroakkan/Reader)
The Wizard of Sorcerous Sundries has a secret he’s keeping from you. One of the pink, lacy variety.
Oct 16. one night stand (Barcus Wroot/Reader)
“I’d kiss you, but neither of us deserve that.” But little did you know that deep down Barcus thinks you deserve more than that.
Oct 17. tentacles (Omeluum/Reader)
Omeluum comes to you with a peculiar request. You decide to humor it.
Oct 18. quiet sex (Astarion/Reader)
Astarion hasn’t felt this drawn to someone in centuries. When he comes to your tent to feed the two of you indulge in your desires, as quietly as possible.
Oct 19. dry humping (Minsc/Reader)
You find yourself seducing the Stone Lord who is surprisingly shyer than you imagined when it comes to this type of thing.
Oct 20. mating cycles (Zevlor/Reader/Halsin)
You and Halsin give Zevlor some release during his mating cycle.
Oct 21. Improper use of potions + size difference (Gale/Reader)
Gale drinks a mislabeled potion that turns out to be elixir of the colossus. You have a devious idea while he waits for the effects to wear off.
Oct 22. blood kink/menstration (Astarion/Reader)
Astarion can’t stand to see you in pain. What he can stand is the sight of blood…and the taste of it. Why not kill two birds with one stone?
Oct 23. aftercare (Abdirak/Reader)
After a brutal penance, Abdirak takes care of you in more than one way.
Oct 24. sleepy sex (Shadowheart/Reader)
Shadowheart crawls into your tent early in the morning. The two of you enjoy each other as the sun rises.
Oct 25. only one bed (Kith’rak Voss/Reader)
You and the githyanki knight share a bed at Sharess’ Caress. The two of you are beyond stressed and tired. Maybe sharing a bed won’t be too bad.
Oct 26. gags + restraints (Rolan/Reader)
Rolan has a knack for running his mouth. You plan to stop him.
Oct 27. facesitting (Minsc/Reader)
When blood runs hot you find your body being guided to the face of one enthusiastic Stone Lord.
Oct 28. caught in the act (Zevlor/Reader/Halsin)
Zevlor accidentally interrupts you and Halsin. He isn’t prepared for your suggestion that he joins in.
Oct 29. touch starved (Haarlep/Reader/Raphael)
Haarlep and Raphael have purposely not touched you in weeks. Now they toy with you.
Oct 30. Begging (Wyll/Reader)
You never imagined the Blade of Frontiers as the type to beg, but now he’s begging for you to touch him.
Oct 31. Orgy (Astarion/Gale/Halsin/Rolan/Zevlor/Reader)
KINKTOBER DAY 29 - TOUCH STARVED (Raphael/Haarlep/Reader)
Summary: Haarlep and Raphael have purposely not touched you in weeks. Now they toy with you.
Author’s Note: Sorry this is late! We’re almost done with Kinktober and thank goodness because I’m running out of steam lol. But I’m so determined to finish this month.
Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, reader has a vagina, no gendered pronouns for reader, he/they pronouns for Haarlep, reader is in a relationship with Raphael and he occasionally lets Haarlep have fun with you (with his permission), you don’t get permission one time, punishments (Haarlep gets off easy, you don’t), touch starved reader, teasing, orgasm denial, threesome, oral, vaginal fingering, missionary sex, not beta read
It had been three weeks since Raphael or Haarlep touched you. Besides the occasional quick hug or a kiss on the forehead, the two had purposely gone out of their way to keep you at arm's length.
You were being punished. Punished for sleeping with Haarlep while Raphael was absent, gone to the material plane to fetch more souls.
You and Haarlep had been together numerous times before with Raphael's permission. But you slept with them while Raphael was gone. And no permission was granted.
It was a stupid decision. A lapse of judgment, blinded by neediness and the incubus’s relentless teasing. Haarlep, being their ever most lustful and devious self, encouraged it all the way through. Of course, the incubus knew you were going to get in trouble, they were counting on it. And instead of being punished as well, Haarlep was rewarded for revealing the tryst, getting to pick your punishment per the request of Raphael.
Your punishment was simple. No touching Raphael or Haarlep. And no touching yourself either. The only time you were allowed to touch them was when they initiated the touch first.
It was easy at first but then a week passed, and Raphael hadn’t even kissed you. He looked at you, he acknowledged you, and he talked to you. But he didn’t touch you. No holding your hand, no kissing your lips, no cuddling up to him on the sofa, or when you were in bed. It wasn’t until the end of the second week that he touched you, kissing your forehead before he left the House of Hope for the day.
The third week was torture. Raphael hadn’t even kissed obviously loosened his incubus’s leash, letting Haarlep tease you every now and then. They’d get so close, whispering filthy things in your ear as they let their hand sink down over the top of your pants before pulling away completely, leaving you flustered and upset. It didn’t help that Haarlep was constantly prancing around in Raphael’s form. It was the ultimate form of teasing.
Everything comes to a head when you go to lie down, tired and overwhelmingly pent up. Raphael is lounging on the opposite side of the bed reading when Haarlep enters the boudoir. A devilish smirk is plastered on their face as they saunter over to the edge bed, looking down at you with a false sympathetic pout before looking over to Raphael.
“You summoned me?” Haarlep asks, putting his hands on his scantily clad hips.
“Yes. It’s time,” Raphael says.
You don’t know what he’s referring to but it becomes clear that you’re the center of whatever it is. Haarlep grabs the covers, lifting them from your body and tossing them aside. Raphael sets his book down and focuses his attention on the scene before him.
Haarlep crawls on top of you, straddling you as they pin your hands down above your head.
“Tell me, sweetness. Did you touch yourself during your punishment?” Haarlep questions.
“No,” you say, shaking your head.
Haarlep grinds his hips down, dragging their growing erection across the fabric of your pants.
“You’re not lying, are you?” they ask.
You shake your head once again. Haarlep takes a moment, staring into your eyes as if they were looking for something. Your hands are released and Haarlep gets off of you, moving to your side.
“It’s the truth,” Haarlep says to Raphael who hums in content.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” you question.
“Your punishment, dear. I think it’s about time it ended. You’ve behaved yourself and shown restraint. Now you just have to show a little more,” Raphael says.
“More?” you ask.
Haarlep nestles their head in the crook of your neck, peppering the skin with kisses.
“Yes, more,” the incubus says before their mouth latches on, sucking at the sensitive flesh. A small gasp leaves your lips as you try to focus on Raphael.
“Haarlep and I want to test you a little more. You don’t finish until I tell you can. Your hands stay at your side unless I tell you to use them. Do you understand?” Raphael speaks, tone as serious as ever.
You knew this was going to be difficult. You are already fighting the urge to grip Haarlep by the horn as he licks at your skin. You want to hold him there but you resist the temptation.
“Yes,” you say, voice weak as Haarlep nips at your skin.
“I can’t hear you, love,” Raphael says.
“Yes, I understand,” you speak, louder than before.
“Good.”
Raphael snaps his fingers and seemingly on command, Haarlep moves to lift up your shirt, pulling the fabric off to expose your chest. The incubus moves down, licking at your nipple. Their mouth latches on, sucking the skin into their lips. Your hand twitches and Raphael notices.
“Behave yourself,” he says as he crawls on the bed, occupying the side of you opposite to Haarlep. He leans down, kissing you slowly as his hand snakes down your skin. It rests between your legs, fingers pressing against the thin fabric of your pants.
You’re not wearing anything underneath, per the request of Raphael. He always liked to have easy access.
His digits move ever so slightly, pushing until he can feel your warmth through your pants. He grazes at your clit against the fabric, using his middle finger to gently prod at you as he kisses you. You whine when he pulls away, hand and lips slipping from you in the blink of an eye. You fight the urge to grab his collar and yank him back.
“Please, Raphael. Please don’t tease,” you beg.
“Oh, my sweet. That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he says with a chuckle.
Haarlep’s hand moves down as well, pushing past your waistband until his hand slides against the wetness of your cunt. You’ve been aching from the lack of contact for weeks and when the incubus’s fingers find your clit, you moan, your body instinctively grinding back into their hand. Their fingers barely move but the little bit of direct contact has you whimpering.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Haarlep teased after letting your nipple leave his mouth.
“Yeah, and it’s your fault,” you groan, pushing your hips into his hand as his fingers explore you.
“No, pet. It’s yours,” Raphael says, placing his hands on your hips to prevent you from moving. You whine as you lose the delicious friction your movements were providing.
“Please, please…I need more,” you whine.
“Tsk, tsk. Beggars can’t be choosers, dear. Haarlep, do you think they deserve more yet?” Raphael asks.
“Maybe a little more. But just a little,” Haarlep grins, pulling his hands from you completely. They move between your legs, pulling your pants off completely.
Haarlep then reaches for Raphael, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs.
“Just a little,” Haarlep says with a wink.
Raphael’s fingers enter you, slowly pumping in and out of you. Your hands grip the sheets, forming into balls as you moan. The cambion’s nails were filed down, seemingly for this very occasion. His digits are long and just thick enough to stir something inside you, slowly building up pleasure. A sound leaves your chest, something along the lines of a garbled moan as your brain becomes fried.
“Aw, how sweet. You’re damn near purring,” Haarlep says.
“Raphael…” you moan.
“What is it my, darling?” he asks, keeping his pace deliberately slow.
“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior from now on. Just…please. Please, I need you. I can’t stand it,” you plead.
“But you already have me, dear,” he says, curling his fingers inside you as he speaks.
“I need more. I need you.”
Both Raphael and Haarlep are silent, looking between each other as Raphael takes a moment to think. His fingers never stop moving, dragging inside you as he slowly makes up his mind.
“I suppose you have learned your lesson,” Raphael says.
He removes his fingers from you and then looks at Haarlep, who is hungrily eyeing your cunt.
“Take their mouth. You’ve lost privileges, remember?” Raphael snaps. The incubus sulks for a fleeting moment before moving towards your head.
Raphael unbuckles his pants, revealing his cock, already hard. He pushes your legs further apart before slowly guiding his cock inside you, sliding into the warm depths of your pussy. He groans, biting down on his lip as his hips meet your own.
“I’ve missed this,” he says, quietly. His hands move to your hips as his hips snap against yours.
When you moan, Haarlep takes the opportunity to fill your mouth, pushing their cock into the open hole. You moan around it as the incubus’s hips begin to move.
Neither of them waste any time taking you. They fuck you rough and hard, all while you desperately fight back your natural urge to cum. Your pleasure had built up so quickly, the warm feeling going from your head straight down to your core. Every thrust of Raphael’s hips brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tenses up as it threatens to let you lose yourself.
You distract yourself the best you can, trying to focus more on Haarlep in your mouth than the growing ecstasy from down below.
But it doesn’t work. Raphael is doing his best to make you cum. He wants you to slip. His fingers find your clit as his cock works inside you. The devil’s thumb slides over the bud, rubbing circles until you ultimately cum, moaning around Haarlep’s cock as your body arches off the bed.
Haarlep pulls from your mouth without cumming, gleaming as they look over to Raphael.
“Someone didn’t follow the rules,” the incubus says.
“Such a shame,” Raphael says, slightly clicking his tongue in his mouth. His thrusts slow but don’t stop.
“Maybe we should start over,” Haarlep suggests.
“No, please,” you whine, moving your hips against Raphael.
The devil smirks before slowly pulling out his cock.
A tribute to the last patch of bg3 and in honour of starting my 12th playthrough (I haven’t finished a single one so far)
Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Gortash, Raphael (+Haarlep) x gn!reader
Summary: How do they express their love for you, their love language and a bonus scenario.
Genre: Fluff, slightly suggestive in parts
Words: 4.1k
Note: this is kinda popping off soo if you’re interested in receiving a written letter by your favourite character, I’m hosting a small event on my blog and anyone can participate!
(Not ascended)
Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf
Words — 1k
Nibbling and biting.
This one is quite obvious. Although Astarion sinks his fangs into your neck every now and then to enjoy a treat, he also enjoys nibbling on you just because. His favourite areas to do so are your hands and fingers, shoulder and cheek. Biting your fingers in boredom when you are in bed with him, in his arms, you not paying attention to him while flipping pages through a book.
What else is he supposed to do other than take your free hand and nibble on your finger while silently brooding about you being oh so busy. Your hand is also a pleasant alternative.
Your shoulder feels like the perfect place to trail featherlight kisses followed by small nibbles here and there, firm enough for you to arch into them but soft enough to not make you bleed. He doesn’t always have the need to chomp down and suck your blood out, you know.
That’s why Astarion sometimes leans down, bites and pull on your cheek a little instead of placing a small kiss. It’s silly, but it makes you giggle and wince in surprise so that’s perfect reason to keep doing it, especially when you expect a kiss and not him to bite you.
“I can’t help myself dear. You are too delicious for me to resist, with or without blood, although a little snack would be a good bonus. If you’ll let me…”
Words of affirmation and/or sweet nothings.
You are used to Astarion flirting with you all day and night, but you notice how they slowly became less and less shameless and more sincere, in a way. Not that they weren’t sincere before.
His eyes soften as they glaze over your face, his hands hesitating to reach out and run through your hair while your head rests on his chest, his lip quivering as he hesitates to speak his mind. Astarion’s brain is foggy from all the warmth and fuzziness pooling in his stomach and his heart racing uncontrollably from you simply being here. His mouth begins to talk without him having control over it.
His words may be flirty and sultry but you can tell that they aren’t just flattery. He rambles about how incomprehensibly gorgeous you are, how your info dumping and intelligence is unbearably attractive and how he could listen to you all day, how your eyes resemble the starry night sky, your grin that could make him fold over in an instant and so many other things he cannot get out of his damn brain about you.
Damn you for making him utterly weak and stupid for you.
“I cannot stop my damn mouth around you. It’s— Stop grinning at me like that! I can’t concentrate when you do that, darling.”
Physical touch.
At first, Astarion forced himself to constantly touch you. It felt good for you and for him, sure, but he mostly pushed himself to touch and feel you in order to make you feel seen and loved by him. He did it in order to get protection and support from you against Cazador and whatever other horrors come across your way. But after unfortunately falling head over heels for you, touching you is something he cannot go without.
His hand always lingers on your back for support, your waist to pull you closer and show to everyone with that you are his and he is yours, holding your hand while strolling the streets and roads and almost childishly swinging your arms back and forth like a happy-giddy couple. Letting himself get pulled into your arms after a long day in the privacy of his closed off tent and cuddling closely against you is probably the closest Astarion ever got and will get to pure bliss.
His cheek getting squished by being pressed up against your chest, his hands tightly gripping your waist as if fearing you might disappear on him. There is a soft, giddy grin spreading on his face.
Bonus scenario.
You thought he did it on purpose at first— After all, he is a vampire spawn and you can tell that his bloodlust overpowers him every now and then, but Astarion genuinely looks panicked as the flesh of your hand begins to bleed slightly, two holes buried into the skin right below your thumb. You watch as your boyfriend rushed around his tent to grab a cloth and wipe the blood.
“Astarion, I’m fine—“ He shushed you by holding his finger up while facing your back before finally spinning around on his heel and presenting the hand-embroidered handkerchief he had been worming on during the quiet evenings in camp. Immediately and without hesitation, he pressed the delicate cloth against your wound.
His face was etched in guilt and worry. “I’m so sorry darling, I didn’t mean the bite to be so…” You noticed how his eyes drifted away from how the blood began to soak the handkerchief. “It was meant to be harmless, I swear!”
“I know, I know.” Your free hand cupped his cheek and your lover immediately leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as his features softened slightly. You can tell how much it ripped him apart in the inside despite it being such a little injury, you know how Astarion always is careful with his biting when doing it on you, respecting your boundaries and always asking for consent beforehand. He would never, ever hurt you in any way. And yet he just did.
“It happens, it’s okay. I’m not seriously hurt.”
Lifting the cloth off your wound yourself and revealed how the blood already began to dry. His eyes drifted back to the puncture wound in your hand. His lip quivered. “I…”
“I’m still sorry. I should’ve been more careful.” Astarion watched your face, expecting some kind of negative reaction. Fear, anger, anything really. Instead, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
A wave of affection hit him the same way the club of an angry orc would, but it was much more pleasant. He huffed and angled your face for him to kiss you properly.
(Mortal)
Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep
Words — 1.1k
Info-dumping and rambling.
If there is a new topic Gale has been exploring and reading about, you will definitely hear all about. Probably more than once, too.
Before you Tara was the victim of his endless info-dumping, him gesturing around and doing his eureka! pose every now and then while proudly explaining how he already inhaled every piece of literature there is about this new topic. Now you are his victim.
Gale feels a little insecure about it though, afraid he might be boring or annoying you. So, you’ll have to assure and encourage him and make it known that you do want to know how you can reason and communicate with some mimics to the point of making them non-hostile. He adores to have his head rest on your lap while your hand fiddle with some loose strands of hair, him rambling on and on about something he happened to come across in the library today.
Since you tolerate his rambling so well, he’ll of course listen to yours with eagerness. Gale’s eyes twinkle slightly as he watches you talk, noting every movement in your face and hand, how the edges of your eyes crease a little when you explain a particularly fun fact to him. His heart flutters to see you being so passionate about something, sometimes he can’t help himself but let that affection out and give you a cheeky little kiss while you are distracted by talking, causing you to be completely thrown off and now confused on where you left on.
Gale also loves debating with you. The topics could range from when does a powerful wizard begin to live off cheese and wine to if eating a tressym’s wings be considered as fried bird, fried cat or fried tressym (although Tara was quite offended by that debate you held). He likes talking about nothing and everything about you and might just seek excuses to hear your voice. Getting the opportunity to info-dump about his interests is a mere bonus.
Gifts and trinkets.
Whenever he stops by the library or market, you have to physically withhold him from wandering off and going after that shiny twinkle he just saw from the edge of his eyes, in his mind already having hundreds of ideas on what it might be and if you would like it.
Gale has a habit of hoarding things in his wizard tower, but after getting his orb and getting rid of most the weave infused artefacts, he now had space for more trinkets: things that remind him of you.
Your wizard begins bringing you something every time he comes back from somewhere. Sometimes it’s a book from the library he thought might interest you, sometimes it’s jewerly Gale thought might fit most your outfits, but every now and then it’s a shiny rock he found in the corner of a street. He thought the colour resembled your eye colour and the way it shone in the sun almost blinded him, just how you blind him with love every time you’re near.
It’s silly but at least half the shelves are now filled with shiny rocks, books and a newly acquired wooden figure of a goat he found at the market. Gale said your stubbornness and persistence reminded him of one and didn’t get why you found it a little offensive to get compared to one.
“Whatever are you talking about? Goats are very graceful creatures and so are you! I find it quite the accurate comparison on my part.”
Physical touch and cuddles.
There is nothing better in the world than melting against your warm body after a good glass of wine and being surrounded by tombs, scrolls and books all day and Tara being curled up by your feet. His hand lazily tracing your waist and sneakily finding their way between your legs. Not for any improper reason, just to warm his hands up.
Speaking of your thighs, Gale is this close to begging on his hands and knees for a chance to have his rest between your plush flesh. The feeling of gently being squished while his fingers busy themselves by drawing intricate patterns across your skin or simply interlock with yours. Your wizard considers cuddling as some way of recharging his energy, both arcane and bodily.
He needs his morning cuddles before starting his day, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck while you brew some coffee or him refusing to let you leave the bed by positioning himself on top of you. He sneaks himself into your daily routine and tries not to interrupt whatever you are doing right while scooting himself right next to you, his chin on your shoulder while Gale watches you do whatever.
Also, thanks to you, this man can’t ever sleep without having you in his arms ever again. You spoiled him too much, he complains. Your body perfectly fitting together against his like it was always meant to be. But that also means whenever you get up in the middle of the night for some water, Gale is right behind you, sleepily following your steps.
“I can’t sleep without you, might’ve as well follow, right?”
Bonus scenario.
You did insist that your boyfriend should’ve stayed in bed while you dragged yourself to the kitchen for a glas of water. It’s not even early morning and the sun was still well below the horizon and yet Gale followed close behind. It kind of reminded you a cat that followed you into the bathroom in the middle of the night for no reason other than making sure you don’t get attacked by mice or something.
“Mhh. What time is it?” Gale scratched his chin sleepily as he leaned against the counter next to you. You shrugged and sipped your glass of water. He opened his eyes and glanced over to you, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his oh so warm body.
You melted right into him, a groan escaping your throat as you buried your face in his hot neck, allowing yourself to take a deep breath. His scent was familiar.
Your eyes slowly drooped close and you felt yourself almost let the glass slip out of your hand but before it could, you placed it on the counter behind your very sleepy wizard.
As you did, your hands began to wander and trace the warm muscles of his back. You noticed how they have softened over time. After everything that had happened you and him began to live a more comfortable life without the need to lift a sword, or rather, a wizard staff.
Before you could point the softening muscles, how much you appreciate your life with him, how silly it is to think about what you went through together mere months ago, a snore interrupted your thoughts.
Did Gale fall asleep leaning against the cabin with you in arms? Seriously? And snoring like that as well?
And he is always the one that complained about your snoring.
Enver Gortash // Chosen of Bane
Words — 1k
Gift giving.
He literally cannot help himself for the love of the gods. Enver, as he ordered you to call him, swears he is not actively seeking for gifts to shower you in, they just come to him. Or are being brought to him by his Steel Watch and others.
Whatever had your attention for more than a fraction of a second you can expect to stare back at you in an instant, now presented on your nightstand or bed instead of the boutique you saw it in or the catalogue you flipped through. Somehow he always knows what you fancy without even needing to speak to him.
Enver also tends to send you little handmade trinkets during especially long and stressful periods of him being away. Despite what he likes to think himself, he doesn’t always work on papers in his office. When the files pile up and glare at him disapprovingly, Enver turns to the mini broken machinery tucked away in his desk and begins tinkering with it, working and trying new things out until it finally functions again.
Or he makes it look prettier and that it was before and lets it be delivered to you. Little reminder that he always thinks of you. He totally didn’t squeeze a miniature scrying eye into at least one of the trinkets to spy on you.
“Oh, it is nothing. Mere small tokens of my affection, no need to dwell on them.
Inserting himself into everything you do and annoying you.
Like a toddler, Enver follows you around and tries to insert himself into everything you do to try and stay close to you.
Cooking yourself a snack in the kitchen? You’ll feel his chin on your shoulder as he stared down at what you are cooking. “Give me a piece of that.”
In the bathroom to take a quick shower? He is already behind the curtain and turning the water on, filling the room with steam.
God forbid you are in bed, alone without anyone to cuddle onto? Yeah, you best believe he immediately sneaks up on you and makes sure you won’t be able to physically leave this bed, not until you pry his arms off your body. Enver is like a cat, he doesn’t openly ask for affection most of the time but invades your personal space whenever he wants to silently ask for it.
Besides acting a little child when wanting your attention and affections, Enver also enjoys showing you how much he loves you by purposefully annoying you a a little. He pokes your cheek over and over when you’re busy and watches you get more and more upset with his teasing until you finally slap his finger away. How unfairly you are treating him— Enver has been nothing but good to you!
“I’m simply making my presence known to you since you failed to acknowledge it until now. You shouldn’t be annoyed, rather happy to see me, love.”
Physical touch.
You know well that your lover is sleep deprived, dehydrated, touch starved, affection starved and whatever else you can be physically deprived off. You seem to fix all of these problems by simply slipping into his arms and using his soft chest as comfortable pillows and your legs tucked between his warm legs. Enver can’t suppress the blissful grin spreading on his face and couldn’t fight his eyelids slowly drooping close, his chin resting on your head.
He could remain like this for hours, days, in some form of hibernation. But he can’t. His duties are calling.
So, he’ll take you with to his office to continue the cuddles. You’ll be comfortably seated on his lap as he writes and flips through papers. The situation isn’t even sexually charged as in you are perfectly seated on his lap in a way that could make him moan and thighs shiver, rather you are there so he can take little breaks by hiding his face in your neck and groaning in frustration every now and then.
Sometimes he’ll be too tired to cuddle, so Enver’ll rind where you are currently resting and just laying down on top of you, letting his weight slightly crush you beneath him. He is a selfish man and needs his daily (hourly, really) head pats, hair strokes and back scratches.
Bonus scenario.
You felt Enver’s stare drill itself into your skull. You were just brushing your teeth and examining yourself in the bathroom mirror and getting ready for bed. You tried to ignore the looming presence behind you as much as you tried to avoid looking directly at him in the mirror.
“Are you ignoring me?” You heard the amusement in his voice. Yes you are trying to ignore him because of how much he has been getting on your nerves today, purposefully interrupting your doings, asking you to meet him in private and pulling you away from duties just for him to ask you to kiss him. A child is what he is.
“My love.” Enver called out again, now moving to stand beside you. His eyes never left your face. You didn’t spare him a single glance.
“Darling.” He started again. “Or do you want me to call you kitten?”
That one made you shoot him a glare. Aha! A reaction. Enver smirked at himself and lifted his hand, his index finger now reaching out to pole your cheek but before he could touch you, you gently pushed his hand away. But not backing down, he reached out again.
“Gortash.” You scolded and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yes? That is my name.” Completely unbothered, he mirrored your pose to mock you almost. There was that shit-eating smirk on his face you are all too familiar with and the one you can’t help but let it get to you. You couldn’t fight your own grin that was fighting itself to appear on your face.
“Aha. A reaction. I was looking for that.” He grinned and lifted your chin with a small nudge beneath your chin before leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips.
Raphael // The Devil (cambion)
Words — 1k
Quality time.
Raphael’s time is valuable and choosing it to spend it with you should make you happy enough.
But alas, merely basking in your presence and getting drunk of your affections sometimes isn’t enough, so Raphael takes you out to fancy restaurants in different cities all across Faerûn and spoils you with a colourful, expensive cuisine. Afterwards he’d suggest to get some wine and enjoy it somewhere else together, maybe go back to the House of Hope and play some rounds of Lanceboard together.
He would never admit it to you but being adorably domestic with you and sipping some wine while talking about nothing important is one of his favourite things to do, ever.
Besides restaurants and wine, your cambion will ask if you’d be interest in going out to watch theatre plays. How can you possibly deny him when Raphael keeps reciting quotes and scenes, trying to sway you into finally giving in. It’s kind of endearing watching Raphael’s eyes light up once you finally agree.
Raphael enjoys spending his time outside of his House of Hope, partly because he knows that you, as a mortal, probably don’t want to spend all your time down in Avernus, so he’ll prefer to take you out on dates on the surface.
“If you’ll have me, I would love to take you out on a lovely play being held in Baldur’s Gate. I believe you could enjoy it as much as I will.”
Acts of service.
Raphael may spoil you with acts of service but those are not without strings— He’ll expect something back in return, things like a kiss on his cheek, a compliment or your time to spend on him.
His “services” consist of him hand-tailoring infernal contracts for people that have mildly annoyed you in the past, people you may not even remember. Raphael will make sure they will work as slaves in his house personally serving you for the rest of eternity.
He maybe is enjoying eliminating and enslaving your ex-lovers, people you mildly dislike, people you despite and whoever else he can get his fingers on a little too much, don’t you think?
Also, Raphael tends to be very theatrical when hosting future contractees and souls he might strike a contract with. But with you, he is actually sincerely caring. He pulls out a chair for you, he pours you a beverage before even needing to ask, he remembers every single detail on foods you like and dislike and just the way you like it. Raphael will always serve you like you are royalty.
“Sit. Eat. Drink. Let the world and everyone in it kneel for you, my love. You deserve nothing lesser.”
Physical affection.
Raphael enjoys your touch the most. Simple things like holding your hand and prying it off whatever you are holding when they are not available, having his hand rest on your waist during outings and his tail subconsciously wrapping around your ankles when he is not even paying any mind to you. He craves your closeness, no matter if he wants to or not.
If he can’t provide with his own body and cuddle you up, he’ll send Haarlep to do his bidding.
Haarlep more than willingly curls up in your lap and shields you with their wings as their arms snake around you. They might let their hands wander and get a little touchy with you, but after putting the incubus in their place and giving them a piece of your mind, Harleep will obey and simply serve as a cuddle pillow and replacement for his master. Almost a little too enthusiastically, one could think.
But at the end of the day only Raphael will banish the incubus from your shared bedroom and will affectionately-force you to satiate his need for your touch. He is never the little spoon though, the devil would never give up his position as the big spoon and loose the opportunity to create a make-shift cocoon with his leathery wings trapping you against him.
It was your biggest mistake to not go and use the bathroom beforehand, Raphael will never let you go now, not unless you sprinkle holy water on him or something.
“Where did you— No! Put that flask down you harlot! How did you smuggle holy water into my home?!-“
Bonus scenario.
You felt squished. Sandwiched. A little crushed but kind of pleasantly so.
Raphael had his arms wrapped around your your stomach as you snuggly fit into his hold, against his chest. You felt the infernal heat radiating off his body and his tail having its tight hold on your ankle. Does he even know that his tail was clinging itself onto you?
You weren’t really paying attention to that though with Haarlep clinging against your front. It was comfortably pressing itself against your torso, its race snuggled against your chest. Their eyes were closed in bliss while their hands gently massaged your thighs. Now, how did you manage to convince Raphael to allow his incubus to snuggle up against you like you are theirs and theirs only?
Then again you could sense how the owner of the House of Hope silently brooding behind you and having his face nuzzled into your shoulder while Haarlep happily purred against your supple skin.
“Oh, I have been missing out on this. I didn’t think he’d be so lenient with me.” Haarlep was clearly testing the waters on how far he can go before his master strikes him down and throws his body into the Styx. Raphael lifted his head slightly and raised his brow, shooting him a warning glare.
“Both of you better behave.” You sighed, one hand leaning back to cup Raphael’s cheek while the other was busy running fingers through Haarlep’s hair. Again, the incubus purred and smirked against your skin.
This is something you could get used to.
💠
Author’s note. Thank you for reading!
Ngl I’ve also been in the mood for some Cyberpunk again. Also I’m also trying my very hardest to do a Durge run but I always end up starting another playthrough after the goblin camp 😭😭 I’m trying to stay strong for the extra voicelines and scenarios and stuff for Gortash but I’ve never been strong enough so far 😔 also I was this close to including ketheric throm on this list
Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough.
Tame care of yourselves! Happy late Easter if you celebrate.
Could I request smut headcanons for astarion, gale, halsin, kar'niss, raphael, haarlep, rolan, and wyll being teased by his female s/o that he came in his pants/underwear please?
omg im so sorry this took so long but arcane has a grip on me that is just SO tight. also, i'm sorry but i couldn't think of a way to make this prompt work for kar'niss, thus he won't be present in this sorryyy
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : smut, reader being a dom if you squint for some of the men in this, teasing, reader being a teasing shit, fem!reader, no use of y/n
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 2,2k (~ 300 words per characters)
( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ astarion :
After a long day in camp, Astarion was on duty sewing up the few clothes that had been torn during the day. It was a relaxing activity that he didn't see as an inconvenience when it came to the tasks everyone had in the camp.
It was his turn on guard duty, his elven assets obviously allowing him to be awake for longer. And, as luck would have it, you were sharing this shift.
Sitting by the campfire for better light, he was concentrating on drawing and sticking his needle continuously.
"What a tear it was," you confirmed, coming to sit just behind him and lacing your hands around his waist.
He chuckled softly, the sensation of your warmth against him quite different from that of the flames facing him. "Should my mind wonder, I think you get your clothes torn on purpose." He said, his face turning away from his task to meet your eyes, a flash of mischief crossing them.
"Really?" You smiled, your eyes lowering gradually to his lips as one of your hands moved slowly down his stomach to brush against his crotch. "I think you'd prefer me with no clothes at all."
His eyes were half-closed, a sigh of relief expelled from his lungs as your fingers slipped past the thickness of his trousers to press against him.
"Do you like it when you see my clothes torn apart?" you whispered against the back of his neck as you placed a kiss on it, your hot breath sending shivers down the vampire's spine.
His head fell back against your shoulder, moans rising from his throat as the feel of your breasts, barely covered by your shirt, pressed against his back. The pleasure was building fast, the feel of your lips against his skin, your divine fingers pumping his length to perfection, and your words pushing him towards ecstasy.
"Would you want to tear them yourself?" you questioned as your wrist increased the pace, your teeth grazing his skin for a moment before you bit down gently.
It almost took his breath away, the knot of pleasure bursting as you gently kissed his skin in encouragement.
You pulled your hand out of his trousers, watching the spectacle in the firelight with a satisfied smile. His eyes returned to yours, and you could be sure that your shirt was going to be ripped to shreds in the next few seconds.
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ gale :
Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, trying as best he could to integrate the complex workings of a new spell he wanted to learn.
"You look tense," you remarked as you sat down beside him, placing your hand on his thigh in an attempt of reassuring him.
"Somehow these engravings are giving me quite a hard time," he replied, giving you a frustrated little smile as his eyes returned to the paper.
"Maybe..." Your hand slid to his crotch, his eyes drifting slowly from the parchment to yours. "You need to relax a bit to learn it better?"
His nose brushed yours gently, his lips grazing yours and inhaling heavily as your hands moved past the waistband of his trousers and onto his warm skin.
His lips sought yours relentlessly, but you always found a way to turn away and smile against his cheek when he twitched at your meticulous and delicious movements.
"Why don't you try and read it for me?" you purred.
He tried to return to his parchment, but your hand against him simply made him press his forehead against the spell lines as you brought him to climax.
With a gasp, he regained his composure and you kissed his jaw.
"Can you focus better on it now?" you suggested slyly.
How could he concentrate on anything after what you'd just put him through? He chuckled, almost throwing his parchment away as he grabbed your chin.
"My dear, I think it's time for me to practice some different spells on you."
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ halsin :
halsin was, as usual when he was staying at camp and the others had gone elsewhere for one reason or another, sitting by his tent carving a new wooden duck that he couldn't wait to add to his collection
You rested your head on his thigh, watching him as he gave you a gentle look, refocusing on his task.
What could be disturbing his serenity, his concentration and his control? When even was the last time you'd seen halsin flustered?
You placed your hand tentatively on his second thigh, letting your thumb caress his bulging muscle beneath the fabric of his trousers. He glanced at you for a moment, continuing his task more gently already, his attention gradually drifting to you as your finger ventured to his crotch, caressing it.
He inhaled harshly, his hands tightening on the knife and the piece of wood as his breath caught, his eyes now completely on you.
"My heart?" he asked, his breath catching as your hand cupped his cock.
"Just keep going," you said simply, not taking your eyes off him as your hand continued its little game.
You felt him harden under the caress of your fingers as, in your semi-innocence, he continued his task with some difficulty.
On several occasions, he smiled, a low laugh of air rising from his chest as your fingers touched a particularly sensitive spot or you stopped your movements to his surprise, saying, "If you don't continue carving, I will stop."
However, as time progressed, he forgot all about his sculpture, your fingers a delight on him as you picked up the pace until he relaxed completely with a few spasms under your hands, ruining his trousers.
Breathing hard, he watched you, cheek still resting on his thigh as you indicated as if nothing had happened "the next sculpture you make should be of me."
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ raphael :
It had been hours already since Raphael had been sitting at his desk, and boredom mixed with envy had led you to him.
It didn't take you long to settle into his lap, embracing him and resting your head on his shoulder.
"Do you miss me that much, my pearl?" he asked, a dark chuckle echoing in his chest.
"You've been doing this paperwork for hours already," you mumbled, your eyes facing the corner of his jaw.
"Be a bit more patient," he assured you as he continued reading yet another sheet. "It won't take me long."
But you had been patient enough already. Still, you sighed, simply resting your cheek on his shoulder.
Maybe there was a way for you to get him out of this boring situation with something more enticing.
You rolled your hips, a low hum coming from his throat. You repeated the movement, feeling his breath heavier already.
"You're up to something," he murmured, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips brushed your ear.
"Am I?" you questioned without waiting for an answer, your hips rolling against his as you felt him harden beneath you.
"You're being a distraction." His breath became heavier as his hands left the papers to rest on your hips.
"I'm your favourite distraction." you whispered in his ear, smiling playfully as you nibbled his lobe.
His hips reacted of their own accord, grinding against you as you kept up an ever-accelerating rhythm. His breath quickened as he whispered your name, your lips kissing and biting his neck until, with a groan, he came.
He rested his forehead on your shoulder, smiling against your skin as you straightened, leaving him with a stain in his trousers and looking surprised.
"Now you know the fun that you're missing." you say, moving away from the desk before he catches up with you, placing you on your shoulder and carrying you to the nearest bed.
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ haarlep :
catching haarlep off guard in terms of teasing is no easy feat, so you'd offered him a challenge.
"you want to make me cum without touching me, little dove?" he sneered, the idea probably seeming ridiculous and insane to him, but above all: impossible.
But you weren't going to be deterred, advancing towards him in the most beautiful lingerie you owned - his favourite. his eyes, burning with desire, roamed over your body as though they were starving.
"you truly think this is impossible for me to achieve this?" you asked, coming to sit right on top of him without your thighs touching his hips or any part of your skin coming into contact with him.
"you're making me reconsider my own words," Haarlep remarked, his eyes at the same level as your breasts.
you lowered yourself towards him, your hand barely brushing his already hard length as your lips parted near his ears, whispering words that would shock any paladin.
of their own accord, his hips began to move, finding friction against the fabric of his black underwear as your hand continued to move just above him, the distance driving him mad.
The friction intensified, his movements becoming more erratic and repetitive as your words lifted him beyond the clouds of hell.
"Come for me, Haarlep," you whispered as his breath hitched. "Come for me."
He came as if on command, his hips jerking against nothing as you laughed close to his ear before kissing him, pulling back to admire the sight of his half-closed eyelids.
He smiled, his canine teeth glistening in the light as he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you under him onto the bed, "I think it's my turn to achieve the impossible."
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ rolan :
Rolan, eternally busy in the library, was sincerely starting to make you wait.
You sat next to him, waiting tirelessly as he turned another page. There was no fun in sight for any of you if he continued like that for long.
You rested your head on your hand, watching him for a moment as an idea popped into your head.
"Read for me," you said, as he turned to you in surprise.
"You want me to read this to you?" he repeated, pointing to a book that seemed immeasurably boring.
"Mhm," you simply hummed, shrugging your shoulders as your hand came to rest on his thigh and you moved closer to him, pretending to be interested.
He cleared his throat, the simple sensation of your hand on his thigh making him all a-twit as he began his technical reading.
Gradually, though, your hand moved closer to his crotch, caressing his thigh with your thumb as you felt his voice tremble at times and his jaw tense.
When you placed your hand down on him, however, he couldn't help but let out a moan, turning to you.
"What are you-" he began, but you cut him off.
"Just keep reading," you said simply, a flash of slyness still in your eyes.
He breathed in, understanding your little game as he returned to his reading with some difficulty and you resumed your slow, precise movements.
Sometimes you felt his hips twitch, or enjoyed his sentences punctuated by sighs and moans as he stopped reading, unable to concentrate as you urged him to continue unless you'd stop.
"I'm..." his breath quickened, your hands doing the same as he couldn't even put two coherent words together under your touch.
"Mhm?" you hummed, your movements as precise and fast as ever.
"Fuck," he swore as he clamped his hand over his mouth and his hips bucked against your hand, the warm sensation of his release pressing against your palm.
You watched the result of your work, Rolan huffing and puffing and his head thrown back, covering the blush darkening his cheeks.
"You're never going to get me out of this library alive," he sighed, hiding his eyes as you laughed softly.
─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ wyll :
He was spending such a tremendous time making sure his sword was clean and efficient that you wondered if you'd end up envying rapiers and other sabres.
You came up behind him and wrapped your hands around his waist.
"You've sharpened it enough," you breathed, resting your chin on his shoulder as your own reflection watched you in his blade.
He raised it in front of him, straight into the sunlight. "What's a blade of frontier without a proper sword?"
He laid the blade on his knee again, running his file over the metal with precision, much to your frustration. He could have put that determination into something else, like you for example.
You sighed, your hands wandering mischievously to his groin. "Maybe the blade himself needs to loosen up a bit..."
A dull moan spread through his chest, vibrating against your own as you cupped him through his pants.
You massaged him gently, caressing him as his concentration on his sword weakened and he hardened.
"Do you prefer your sword to me?" you asked as you reached past the edge of his trousers and ran your hand down his shorts, a hiss escaping his lips as your hand came in contact with his skin.
His hips bucked messily against your palm, his breath getting heavier and heavier.
You pressed your mouth to his ear, whispering "Can your sword make you come like I do?"
Without further ado, he came against your hand with a long moan of pleasure, his head falling on your shoulder as he breathed softly, turning his head to look at you.
But you stood up, leaving him like that.
"Who will you choose tonight?" you said playfully, "your sword, or me?"
it must have been a hot minute (aka before patch 5) since the last time i played a dark urge character that chose not to ally with gortash, because the way these screenshots just took me right out at the kneecaps
for context, this is his reaction to selecting "for what it's worth, i think i always liked you too. but this is how it has to be"
(and actually just before this, too, when durge shows up after having destroyed the steel watch foundry, he is visibly hurt by what he perceives as a betrayal!!)
then archcunt mode activates and he's so much more brutal than he is with vanilla tav 😬 babygirl is so mad that they skipped the fuck around phase and went straight to find out
"your bones will be a souvenir of what could've been" anyway he's not taking rejection well
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snowghoul
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