#bg3 x reader

[witchymommy27]

A girls first heartbreak is her favorite fanfiction being deleted.

[moonselune]

The boys reacting to reader collapsing from exhaustion please?

Gale:

The stars had just begun to glimmer overhead, the velvet sky above the Shadow-Cursed Lands dimming into the kind of darkness that swallowed sound. The campfires crackled gently, casting flickering halos of warmth against the long stretch of gloom, but you were still going. Still walking. Still sorting. Still preparing.

You hadn’t rested. Not really. Not since that last fight, not since the argument with the goblins in the pass, not since the near ambush from twisted shadows. You’d kept your pace steady, your shoulders square, pushing through the weight in your limbs and the ache behind your eyes. You thought if you just did one more thing, the tension would stop building in your chest.

But your body had other plans.

You didn’t even remember falling. One moment you were standing, checking your gear, your fingertips trembling from fatigue, and the next—

Blackness.

A quiet thump. The faint scuffle of feet on earth.

Then a voice, fraying at the edges with fear: “Wait—wait! No, no, no—gods, please—!”

You came to slowly, like rising through molasses, every sound muffled by a distant ringing. The smell of lavender and parchment hit your senses before anything else—then warmth. Gale. He was crouched beside you, cradling your head with trembling fingers, his brow furrowed with frantic concentration.

His face was pale beneath the firelight, lips pressed in a tight line, panic storming behind his eyes like thunderclouds.

“There you are,” he breathed, voice rough, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until you stirred. “You—by Mystra’s grace, you scared the life out of me.”

You tried to sit up. “I’m fine—”

“No, you are not,” Gale snapped. The edge in his voice shocked you—it was so rare, so unlike his usual soft-spoken warmth. But it cracked with strain, with the sharp weight of helplessness. “You collapsed. Not tripped. Not stumbled. Collapsed. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and you think I wouldn’t notice?”

You blinked at him, throat dry. “I just—there was a lot to do. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to?” he echoed, his eyes going wide, almost wounded. “That somehow makes it better?”

His hands trembled as he brushed dirt from your cheek, then stilled when he cupped your jaw gently. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t have to carry it all.”

You looked away, ashamed—because you had been trying to carry it all. Because you didn’t want to be a burden. Because you thought if you didn’t slow down, maybe everything else wouldn’t catch up.

But Gale wasn’t done.

“You think I wouldn’t burn the very weave itself if it meant keeping you safe?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft again, but still fierce. “You think your worth is measured by how much pain you can ignore?”

Your lip trembled, just a little. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, eyes glistening. “Then you’ve failed spectacularly.”

You smiled despite yourself, and Gale immediately folded forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and shaking.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t apologize. Just let me help. You don’t have to prove your strength by hiding your exhaustion. Not from me.”

He helped you sit up, guiding you gently like you were made of glass—his hands constantly checking for bruises or signs of injury, his eyes flicking across your face like he might lose you again if he looked away too long.

“I’ll rest,” you murmured finally.

“You’ll rest now,” Gale corrected, brushing your hair back. “And you’ll let me stay, even if all I can do is hold you while you sleep. Agreed?”

“…Agreed.”

And so he settled in beside you, holding you close beneath the stars, heart still racing, fingers still trembling—but never letting go.

Astarion:

The campfire crackled gently in the distance, its glow barely brushing the edges of the clearing as the evening slipped into deeper shades of indigo. The world beyond was all hush and shadow, quieted by the oppressive weight of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Everyone had started winding down, preparing for rest. Everyone except you.

You had been pacing—relentlessly. Repacking your gear. Polishing a blade you’d already sharpened twice. Pretending that the tremble in your limbs wasn’t there. That the weight behind your eyes didn’t burn. That you hadn’t been pushing yourself beyond the brink for days.

And then, quite simply—your body gave out.

Your knees folded. The world tilted. And the last thing you heard was a very undignified shout:

“Oh for—you dramatic idiot!”

You woke with a sharp inhale, but the moment you stirred, cold hands were already gripping your shoulders, a familiar voice hissing through clenched teeth:

“Don’t you dare try to sit up.”

Astarion loomed over you, silver hair in slight disarray, cravat askew, red eyes wild with something that looked like fury—but was far too sharp-edged to be anger alone. He was kneeling at your side, holding you like you were made of glass and pure trouble at once.

“You absolute menace,” he growled, inspecting you as if he might hex your exhaustion into submission. “I knew you were overdoing it. I told you. And what do you do? You drop like a sack of poorly stitched laundry!”

You blinked slowly, confused. “Astarion—”

“And not gracefully, mind you,” he continued, indignant. “You just crumpled. I had to catch you like some harlequin in a second-rate opera. I nearly broke a nail.”

Despite the scolding, his hands were maddeningly gentle, checking your pulse, brushing back damp hair from your forehead. He was so close you could smell the faint hint of bergamot and aged leather. You could feel the tension in his jaw, in the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into your sleeve as if grounding himself.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, voice hoarse.

He froze.

And then something shifted.

Astarion’s eyes softened—not much, but enough to crack the veneer of aristocratic outrage. He sighed, exasperated and... undeniably worried.

“Gods, darling, what were you thinking?” he said, this time quieter. “You looked like death warmed over hours ago. Why didn’t you say something? Or sit? Or, Mystra forbid, actually rest?”

You tried to offer a weak smile. “Didn’t want to trouble anyone.”

His face twisted like you’d just said the most offensive thing imaginable.

“Trouble—? Oh, how dare you,” he snapped, but now it sounded almost... wounded. “You think I waste my charms on just anyone? You think I go around catching unconscious fools for fun? You are my trouble, you idiot.”

He pulled you upright against his chest with surprising tenderness, wrapping his arms around you as he shifted you into his lap, cradling you like something precious and exasperating all at once. You could feel the way his thumb traced circles along your spine, even as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll—well, I’ll write a very strongly worded sonnet about your irresponsibility.”

You laughed softly against his shoulder. “A poem? That’s my punishment?”

“I am an artist of many talents, thank you very much,” he said primly. “But don’t tempt me. I’ll make it rhymed and awful.”

You looked up at him through tired eyes, heart aching with affection. “You were worried about me.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” he sniffed dramatically. “I was worried about me. What would I do if my favorite pillow went and died from pure stubbornness?”

And yet he pulled the blanket tighter around you. And his hand never left yours. And he didn’t stop holding you—not for the rest of the night.

Furious, indeed.

Wyll:

The world drifted back in slow fragments—light, sound, breath. You stirred, faintly aware of something heavy draped across you, of warmth pressed along your side, of a steady rhythm pulsing through fabric and skin: a heartbeat, far too quick to be your own.

“Wyll?” your voice came out as a rasp, thick and uncertain.

He did not move.

Your eyes blinked open to find him kneeling at your side, bent low, his forehead resting just over your heart like he was listening for something—proof you were still there, still beating beneath his hands. His fingers gripped your shirt, knuckles white, the rest of him utterly still save for the occasional tremble that betrayed just how close he was to coming undone.

“…You’re awake,” he whispered, voice hoarse, like speaking louder might break whatever fragile reality he’d constructed around himself while you were unconscious.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, trying to push yourself up.

Instantly, Wyll surged upward, pressing a firm hand to your shoulder and another to your hip, holding you flat against the bedroll with all the strength of someone who had just seen the person they love go limp and collapse in front of them. His dark eyes were wide, frantic, and furious—not at you, but at the helplessness clawing at him from the inside.

“Don’t you dare try to move,” he growled. “Not after that stunt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you muttered, wriggling against his grip. “I just overdid it a little—”

“You collapsed,” he snapped. “Like a marionette with its strings cut. One minute you were walking, talking, and the next—” He choked, fingers tightening for a split second. “You hit the ground and I—I thought you were dead.”

You opened your mouth to dismiss him again, to soothe, but Wyll leaned in, his voice low and sharp like flint striking steel.

“You don’t get to tell me this is nothing,” he hissed. “Because if you keep running yourself into the ground like this, someday it won’t just be a collapse. It’ll be you not waking up. And I—” He shook his head, his expression crumpling. “I can’t go through that.”

“Wyll—”

“I need you to understand what it does to me,” he interrupted, suddenly, dangerously close. “To see you fall and not know if I’ll ever hear your voice again. So if I seem dramatic, if I seem over-the-top, it’s because I’m trying to teach you something.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his curls. His tail flicked with restless tension behind him.

“Because when the real thing happens—when I do lose you—I’ll be ruined. You are the flame I measure all warmth by. And if that flame ever goes out…”

He swallowed hard. “Then I’m nothing but ash.”

Your heart twisted at the way his voice faltered, how the last word was barely more than a breath.

You tried to sit up again, to offer some comfort—but he lunged, practically threw himself down, sprawling across your torso like an overgrown, armored cat with an overdeveloped sense of righteous vengeance.

“You are resting.” His voice was muffled against your chest, but the weight of his body was firm, final, and very much unmoving.

You blinked. “…Are you pinning me down?”

“Yes.”

“You weigh a thousand pounds.”

“I will increase it if I have to.”

You sighed, flopping back with a groan of surrender. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being reckless,” he retorted, not budging. “So now we’re even.”

There was a long silence. Then a quiet chuckle slipped out of you, reluctant but real. You carded your fingers through his hair, letting the tension bleed from your limbs.

“Fine. I’ll rest.”

Wyll tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to your sternum, his voice a low murmur. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Halsin:

The moment your eyes cracked open, you knew you were in trouble.

The air inside Halsin’s tent was thick with the scent of dried herbs and pine resin, heavy with the warmth of the furs layered beneath you. It was dim—his tent flap drawn shut—but soft light filtered in, revealing the familiar shape of his travel gear stacked in its usual meticulous order. The cot creaked softly beneath you as you shifted, muscles aching, limbs leaden. There was a wet cloth resting on your brow, cool and fragrant with some kind of forest mint.

You had absolutely, unequivocally passed out from exhaustion.

And Halsin had clearly been the one to find you.

A groan built low in your throat, and with it came your brilliant idea: sneak out. Maybe—just maybe—you could slink off before he returned. You didn’t relish the idea of a lecture from a near seven-foot-tall druid whose entire body seemed to be carved from oak and thunderclouds.

You swung your legs over the cot, wincing as the rush of dizziness hit you. But you were determined. Quiet. Graceful. Almost at the—

“Where,” came a low, thunderous voice from behind, “do you think you’re going?”

You froze mid-step. Slowly, guiltily, you turned.

And there he was—Halsin—massive, bare-chested, his thick arms crossed over his chest, golden eyes narrowed and jaw clenched with a sternness that belonged more to a storm than a man.

“Ah,” you said. “I was just—stretching.”

Before you could retreat or formulate another weak excuse, he closed the space between you with startling speed, scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all, and slung you over his shoulder.

“Halsin!” you protested, smacking at his back as he turned and carried you—without effort, without ceremony—right back to bed. “Put me down!”

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you to the cot,” he rumbled, voice edged with exasperated affection. “You collapsed in the middle of the clearing. In front of everyone. I had to carry you back here—twice, apparently.”

He set you down with far more care than his grumbling suggested, adjusting the furs around you, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they brushed a damp curl from your temple. Then, without another word, he reached behind him and produced a small bundle of cloth.

He opened it to reveal a collection of deep red and violet berries nestled in soft moss. “I foraged these. You need to eat.”

You blinked. “Halsin, I—”

“Eat,” he said simply, with that patient, immovable tone he used when dealing with stubborn animals and, apparently, stubborn lovers.

You gave him a sheepish look, but obeyed, popping a few of the berries into your mouth. They were sweet, tart, and immediately grounding. Halsin watched you the entire time, gaze softening only after he saw you swallow a second mouthful.

Once satisfied, he slid in beside you, the cot creaking in protest beneath his weight. You barely had time to blink before his arms wrapped around you, strong and encompassing, pulling you into the heat of his chest. One leg tangled with yours as he pulled the furs up around both of you.

“You frightened me,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear, breath warm against your hair. “I have seen wounds. Disease. Poison. But watching you crumble from something so preventable? It... it undid me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice already thick and slipping into sleep again. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No apologies. Just rest.”

You tried to protest, but your words slurred, consciousness unraveling like smoke. You barely registered his arms tightening around you protectively, his deep voice rumbling softly as he murmured something soothing in Druidic, something meant to lull, to calm.

“I’ll watch over you,” he promised into your hair. “You are safe now. Just sleep.”

And this time, you listened.

IM BACK WITH THE BOYS ugh I love it, also I'm on a dark bg3 brain rot so that will be the next post. Hope you guys enjoyed this and thank you all for your contiued support!- Seluney xox

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

[staying-soft-reactions]

M!BG3 x Chubby Fem!Reader: You kiss them and pull away before they can deepen it.

themes/content warnings (MDNI - 19+ only): suggestive implications, fluff/spice/everything nice, teasing, playing hard to get, banter, emotional tension, kissing, mentions of blood, mentions of self-deprecation/low self-esteem from characters, partial beta

a/n: I applied the degree of spice according to what I thought made sense for the character. Hope you enjoy! Apologies for any mistakes, I could only contribute a few minutes a day during my lunches this week for edits T^T

Astarion Ancunin

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard, swallowing his surprised gasp. For a moment he melted into you, his hands flying to your waist, fingers digging into your soft curves with growing hunger. Then you pulled back. His lips chased yours on instinct, finding only air, and his eyes snapped open with furious disbelief. "What the hells do you think you're doing?" he demanded, voice ragged. His grip on your waist tightened, claws pricking through your clothes, "You cannot just kiss me like that and walk away." But you batted his hands off of you and took another step back anyway.

The sound that came out of him was nearly a whine, though he would die again before admitting it. "You wretched, beautiful tease," he breathed, following after you. His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving beneath his half unlaced shirt. "Do you have any concept of how long I have wanted this? What you do to me?" He cornered you against the tent post, close enough that you could feel the coolness of his body. You traced a finger down his chest. "Theeen do something about it," suggested, making his breath to hitch. "Perhaps I will then." His lips hovered over yours, not quite touching. "And you are going to love every second of it."

Gale Dekarios

You interrupted his lengthy explanation about the Weave by pressing your mouth to his. Gale made a muffled noise of shock, hands frozen awkwardly at his sides. Before he could recover enough to kiss you back properly, you already stepped away. He stood there with his lips still parted, blinking rapidly. "I--" he started. Stopped. Tried again. "That was." Nothing. The wizard had been rendered completely incoherent by a single kiss.

You watched with a smirk as color flooded his cheeks as his brain finally caught up with his body. "You... wonderful woman," he breathed, a slow smile spreading across his face. His hands finally remembered their purpose and reached for you, pulling your soft body firmly against his. "I have spent my entire life believing that knowledge comes from books and meticulous study." He walked you backward until your thighs hit the edge of his desk. "But you have just taught me something no scroll ever could." His hands settled on your hips, squeezing appreciatively as he lifted you onto the cluttered surface. He stepped between your thighs, mouth hovering just above yours. "And what's that?" you asked. He smiled. "That some lessons require a more hands-on approach." He kissed you deeply. "And I have always been an exceptionally dedicated student."

Wyll Ravengard

You caught him off guard in the middle of camp, turning his concerned check on your condition after a battle into something else entirely. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you yanked him down into a kiss that left no room for his gentlemanly restraint. Wyll groaned against your mouth but just as his arm moved to wrap around your waist, you released him and walked away. He stood frozen, watching you go, his eyes wide with shock. "Hold on now," he called after you, a breathless laugh escaping him. "This conversion isn't over."

You turned back to find him closing the distance with a loving smile spreading across his face. His hands found yours, threading your fingers together as he looked at you with amazement. "All this time..." he said softly, shaking his head to himself. His thumbs stroked across your knuckles as he stepped closer. "Before I say anything foolish, I need to know if that was real, that that wasn't merely to tease." You squeezed his hands. "I was, I want this, Wyll. I want you." His forehead dropped. "Then if you don't mind... I would like to kiss and feel you the way I have wanted to for months now."

Halsin

You slipped into his tent under the pretense of bringing him a healing potion. He sat cross legged on his bedroll, mending a torn leather strap, and looked up at you with a warm smile. You set the potion aside, knelt down to him and pressed your lips to his, causing the strap to fall from his fingers. His broad hand moved to cup the back of your head as he leaned into you, but you slipped away facing towards the tent flap.

"You would wake the bear," he said quietly, "and leave him hungry?" You heard him rise before a massive hand caught the tent flap above your head, holding it closed. His chest pressed against your back, "While I am known to be patient..." His other arm wrapped around your soft middle, pulling you back against him. "I can't help but notice how you smell like want... like need." His lips brushed the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You tilted your head, giving him better access, "Then stop waiting and take me already." A growl rumbled through his chest. "Tell me to stop and I will. But if you stay silent, my heart, I will take my time with you until morning."

Minsc

You marched up to him with a grin and before he could greet you, you grabbed his face in both hands and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. Minsc went rigid with surprise, eyes flying wide open. A strangled noise escaped him before you released him and stepped back. He sat there frozen, staring at you like you had just performed impossible magic. His mouth opened and closed several times with no sound coming out.

"You kissed Minsc," he finally managed, voice pitched higher than usual. His hand came up to touch his lips in wonder. "On the mouth. With your mouth." Color flooded his face as reality caught up with him. He rose to his full towering height quickly, looking down at you with an expression of pure bewildered joy. "No one has ever wanted to kiss Minsc before! After all I am very large and loud and sometimes I forget to be gentle." His massive hands hovered near your shoulders, trembling with the effort of restraint. You smiled and reached up, placing his hands on your waist yourself. "I know you wouldn't hurt me Minsc." His breath caught. "Can Minsc kiss you back? I will be careful. So careful... Please?"

Raphael

The human-guised cambion materialized beside you on the moonlit balcony, swirling a glass wine. "Escaping the festivities, are we? I do hope you have been considering my generous offer." You let him for a bit, drowning out his words, as you plucked away his wine and downed the contents in one go before you lunged in and kissed him. Raphael hummed lowly against your mouth, as if debating whether to pull you closer or push you away. You released him before he could decide and set the empty glass back in his hand.

He stared at you. Then at the glass. Then back at you as a slow, insidious smile spread across his face. "My, my." He set the glass aside and stalked toward you, backing you against the railing with deliberate steps. "You continue to surprise me, little mouse." His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "And I am not easily surprised." His thumb traced your lower lip, eyes roaming your features with open hunger. "I came here to bargain, but now I find myself wanting something far more... interesting." He leaned closer. "You. In my House. Where I can keep you close." You met his gaze without flinching. "Is that a threat or an invitation?" The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. "Both."

Haarlep

You found the incubus draped across the bed, watching you approach with lazy amusement as you crossed the room, climbed onto the bed and kissed them deeply. Haarlep made a delighted noise against your mouth, their hands immediately finding your hips before you pulled back and sat just out of reach. You watched as their expression shift from pleasure to bewilderment.

"Oh, you naughty thing." They pushed up onto their elbows, eyes bright with surprised delight. "No one has ever stopped kissing me before, they usually beg for more." Their tongue traced their lower lip, savoring your taste. "And yet here you sit, so composed, while I find myself positively aching." They crawled toward you across the silk sheets, until their face hovered inches from yours. "I think I've come to like you." Their fingers trailed up your thigh, teasing. "That almost never happens. Typically I am the one who inspires want, the one who denies." You caught their wandering hand and held it still. "Then I guess you finally know how everyone else feels." Their eyes widened, then darkened with fascination. "Continue this game of yours... I wish to play it some more."

Zevlor

He stood at the edge of the grove, and you approached without announcement as he turned with a tired smile that faltered when he saw the look in your eyes. Before he could speak, you took his face in your hands and kissed him softly. A shudder ran through his entire body as hands came up to grasp your wrists, holding on like you might disappear. When you pulled away, his eyes remained closed, his breath uneven.

"You should not waste such sweetness on me..." He finally looked at you, "There are better men in this camp. Stronger ones. Ones without cracks running through them..." His grip on your wrists loosened but did not release. "I would only disappoint you eventually." You stepped closer instead of away, pressing your soft body against his chest. "I'm not looking for another man, Zevlor. I'm looking for you." His resolve wavered visibly. "You deserve more," he whispered, even as his arms betrayed him and wrapped around your waist. "So why don't I want you to leave?" His forehead dropped to yours in defeat. "Tell me to let go. Please. Because I fear I cannot do it on my own."

Dammon

You visited his forge near closing time, when the other refugees had wandered off to supper. He looked up from the blade he was cooling, face flushed from the heat, and smiled at you with genuine warmth. "Come to check on your order? I was just finishing the edge." You walked around the workbench, took his soot stained face in your hands, and kissed him. The tongs clattered to the ground. His hands flew up instinctively, then froze midair, unwilling to smudge your clothes with ash and oil. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide with shock.

"I--" He swallowed hard, looking down at his blackened fingers with sudden embarrassment. "I am filthy. You should not have… I mean, I am glad you did, but…" He trailed off, completely flustered. You picked up a nearby rag and began wiping his hands clean yourself. "I don't care about the soot, Dammon." His expression softened, but then he noticed how close you were standing to the glowing coals and tugged you toward him. "Careful. The forge is still hot." His now clean hands settled on your waist, holding you against him. "If you are going to kiss me like that, do it somewhere you will not get burned." You cupped his cheek with your hand. "Show me where?" He smiled softly. "Gladly."

Rolan

You interrupted him mid rant about his siblings and their endless capacity for trouble. One moment he was pacing his study in Sorcerous Sundries, gesturing wildly. The next your hands were fisting in his robes and your mouth was on his. Rolan cursed against your lips as his hands gripped your shoulders, intending to push you away. When you released him and stepped back before he could, his hair was mussed and his expression was furious.

"What in the absolute hells do you think you are doing!?" He straightened his robes with sharp, agitated movements. "I was in the middle of a point. An important point. About responsibility and familial obligation and..." He lost his train of thought as his gaze dropped to your mouth. "Do not look at me like that." His voice had gone rough. "--You cannot kiss me senseless and expect me to just..." He gestured vaguely. You smiled at him. "Expect you to what?" He gave up and grabbed your wrist, yanking you back toward him. "Fine. You want my attention so badly? You have it." His other hand tangled in your hair. "But we are finishing this properly. And afterwards, you will listen to rest of what I was saying."

Kar'niss

The drider stood at the edge of the shadow cursed lands with his moonlantern as you approached him without fear. His various eyes blinking asynchronously at you. "You seek us? The Light of the Absolute?" You nodded and gestured for him to crouch to your level before pressing your lips to his his. He went absolutely rigid, every leg locking in place. A high, keening sound escaped him, somewhere between confusion and terror.

You released him and waited. His mandibles clicked rapidly as he processed what had occurred. "Soft one," he rasped, voice fracturing. "We do not… this is not… her Majesty never spoke of this." One hand reached toward you, stopping just short of your cheek. "Others flee from us. Others scream. Cast out. Forgotten..." One claw made contact, tracing your jaw carefully. "Why do you not run?" You covered his hand with your own. "Because I see you, Kar'niss. Not the monster your old goddess turned you into. You." His eyes fixed on you all at once, wide and unblinking. "Her majesty… she must have sent you. A gift. We are worthy. We are…" His legs shifted, drawing his massive body closer. "Show us again. Please. We wish to understand this warmth."

Enver Gortash

You found him alone in his office, reviewing documents with a scheming gleam in his eye. He glanced up when you entered, a diplomatic smile already forming. "Ah, my favorite visitor. Come to negotiate terms?" You crossed the room without responding, rounded his desk, and kissed him firmly. His quill scratched a jagged line across the parchment and before he could respond you straightened up and walked toward the door. "Think about that while you're re-drafting those terms of yours," you said over your shoulder.

"Stop." The command cracked through the room like a whip. You heard his chair scrape back and his hand caught the door, slamming it shut before you could leave. When you turned, his composure had returned. "I have manipulated the best minds in Faerun." He stepped closer, crowding you against the door. "And none of them have ever caught me off guard." His eyes roamed over your face with newfound interest. "You are either very foolish or very valuable. I intend to discover which." His thumb traced your lower lip. "And I always get what I want, terms included."

Dark Urge

He stood in the water, scrubbing blood from his clawed hands with mechanical precision. Another blackout. Another body. You watched from the shore, seeing the way his tail lashed the water in agitation. When you approached, he bared his teeth. "Stay back," he rasped, "I cannot control it. You know I cannot control it." You ignored him completely, wading into the shallows, before you pull him down into a kiss. His clawed hands seized your waist, talons dimpling your soft flesh.

When you broke the kiss, his inner lids flicked with confusion. "Why would you do that?" He looked towards the blood in the water. "There is something inside me that hungers for blood. For carnage. It whispers about you when you're gone... about what it wants to do to you." He couldn't stop himself from pressing his face into your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. You reached up and stroked his head. "It whispers when I'm gone, but what about when I'm near?" His forked tongue flicked against your skin, tasting you. "They quiet... you help calm the Urge." His arms tightened around your soft body, crushing you against his chest. "Stay. Keep it silent. Please... For your sake."

[truerhearts]

ASTARION is acting different.

he's quieter around camp now. less of those sharp-tongued quips that usually flow so easily. he catches himself staring at her when she's not looking, then quickly glances away like he's been caught doing something wrong.

his feeding has become reverent instead of ravenous. he hesitates now, asks if she’s sure, presses a soft kiss to the pulse before he bites.

he seeks her approval in ways that have nothing to do with seduction. when he makes decisions, his eyes find hers first. her good opinion has become as essential as blood.

and now during fights, he’s reckless with his own safety now, throwing himself between her and harm without thinking. “i can handle myself, you know,” she’d say, crossing her arms.

“i know darling…” he trails off, staring at his hands. he doesn't understand why he did it either. the thought of that blade finding her skin had sent him into a panic he couldn't name.

she doesn't know why, of course. he barely knows himself. but he has a hunch, and it terrifies him.

he doesn't know when it started—somewhere between her asking "did you rest well?" and the way she bandages his wounds tenderly—but now when she looks at him, really looks at him, his dead heart does this stupid fluttering thing.

when she brushes against him, her warmth doesn't just touch his skin. it goes deeper. settles in places he'd forgotten existed, places that ache with want that has nothing to do with feeding or fucking or getting what he needs to survive.

maybe it's because she cares. actually cares, not the fake concern people use when they want something. she shows it in the small things: "you seem tired today." "i saved you some of the good wine." "the stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?"

to someone who hasn't experienced genuine affection in two hundred years, these little moments feel like everything.

the nights when her tent flap opens for him now, everything is different. he moves differently. less performance, less of that practiced charm he's perfected over decades. he's gentler with her, almost hesitant. his hands linger on her face before he kisses her, and she looks at him like he's something precious instead of dangerous.

he takes his time now. when he peels away her clothes, he does it slow, reverent. each kiss tastes like honey and guilt because he knows—fuck, he knows—that he started this as a lie.

the pleasure is overwhelming now. more intense than anything he's felt in centuries because it's real. when she arches beneath him, when she whispers his name like a prayer, it threatens to break him completely. he's louder now, lets himself feel everything instead of just doing what was necessary to play the part.

but with every touch, every breath, the guilt eats at him. this isn't the calculated seduction he'd planned. this isn't using her for protection. this is something else entirely, something that feels too much like love and too much like betrayal.

she trusts him. opens herself to him completely, and he built this on a lie.

after, when they're tangled together, he holds her tighter than he should. she fits against him perfectly, her head on his chest where his heart should be beating if he were still alive. if he were still worthy of this.

"what's wrong?" she asks, voice soft. her fingers trace patterns on his skin, and there's concern in her voice. she’s noticing.

"nothing," he lies. his fingers find her hair, thread through it like the motion might calm the storm in his chest.

"you're different tonight. quieter."

different. if she only knew. if she only knew the man she's falling for was built on deception. that every tender moment between them started as manipulation.

"i'm just thinking," he says.

she doesn't push, she never does. just settles deeper against him, breathing slowing as sleep pulls her under.

he stays awake long after she's asleep, studying her face in the candlelight. the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. her lips, slightly parted. the complete vulnerability written in every line of her body.

she trusts him enough to sleep in his arms, and the weight of it is crushing. how naïve. she doesn't know he'd originally planned to use her. doesn't know every sweet word in those early days had been calculated, how it was all for his benefit.

but somewhere along the way, the performance became real.

two centuries of survival instincts stand off with something newer, invasive almost. something that makes his chest ache. something that whispers maybe he could be worthy of the love he sees in her eyes.

the realization hits him like dawn breaking as he lay with her, now noticing he stayed all night. feeling the rhythm of her breathing as she slept in his arms, how warm she was against his cool skin. how she trusts him.

he loves her.

the thought should terrify him. instead, it settles into his bones like coming home. he loves her. not just her body, not just what she can do for him, but her. her kindness. her strength that never comes at the cost of gentleness. her trust that she gives freely, even to broken things like him.

he loves her, and he's completely fucked.

[vrystalius]

Yearning and crushing.

What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader

Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.

Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)

Words: 2.3k

Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Yearning scale: 8/10

He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.

But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.

You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.

At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.

But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.

Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.

“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 You are loved.

[brimstone-paladin]

Gale falling into obsessive, almost worship like tendencies with his partner, sometimes forgetting they are just as human and thus just a fallible as him.

Shadowheart having trouble talking about herself and how she's feeling, keeping unnecessary secrets that sometimes spiral out of control.

Halsin falling back into a leadership mindset, removing his own emotions/wants/needs in favor of the greater good of the group, sometimes to the determent of his own relationships.

Karlach who is so afraid of being alone again that she becomes desperately clingy and protective, to the point of smothering.

Astarion who is so deathly afraid of being trapped and controlled again that he sometimes refuses to listen to his partner just to know that he can.

Lae'zel feeling so vulnerable when around her partner that she overcompensates by performing an even tougher exterior, especially around other people.

Wyll struggling to find peace in the small intimate moments when his hero fantasies and hopeless romanticism push him to make constant grand gestures.

Minthara being so down to the bone loyal that she loses a part of herself with each lost partner.

Broken people trying to love in spite of themselves...

[awearywritersworld]

okay, what if the situation at moonrise towers was reversed?

the trader is a vampire and they offer you the potion to permanently increase your strength, but only if you let them feed from you.

astarion would try soooo hard not to let his emotions betray him. you haven't defined your relationship. the decision is yours to make. he's just using you, anyway...

but gods, does the thought of someone else's teeth in your neck make him sick to his stomach. no one else should be able to taste you, to hear the way your breath catches at the first draw of blood, to feel your hand grip their bicep if it gets to be too much.

you decline the offer, much to the pale elf's relief, and he finds himself in your tent that night. he joins you even before the other party members have gone to sleep for the evening.

his desperation quickly becomes apparent. he litters your neck with bites before moving to your chest, then your abdomen. he hardly even feeds, too busy marking what's his.

making his way back up your body, he laps at the blood he's spilled while the warmth of his breath fans across your delicate skin.

once he finds your lips, he leaves a lingering kiss there before pulling back. his expression is almost sheepish, though the sentiment is gone the very next moment.

he settles beside you wordlessly, opens a book, and pretends not to see the look on your face— knowing and amused.

bg3 masterlist

[bretonalchemist]

all the Halsin x reader smut I read has reader struggling to adjust to his size (having had this experience... yeah. and it's sexier in fiction, trust me) while he coos and soothes and encourages.

and actually i want this man trembling from how tight reader is. i want him whispering prayers and curses while he fights against himself to not grab reader's hips and bring them down fully in one thrust. i want him drooling and almost crying from how much he wants more, but he doesn't want to hurt reader or go too fast for them.