#halsin x reader

[calamitiesimpact]

If I search for one more “x reader” fanfic and get bombarded with fuckass OC characters im gonna have a hernia im so serious.

STOP PUTTING “X READER” HASHTAGS FOR A FIC THAT IS NOT X READER FUCKKK

Cancel me for this idgaf

[connorsui]

Strong-looking vulnerable men......Strong-looking vulnerable men.

You know the type. Big hands, big shoulders, could probably bench-press a car, but the moment they sit down, they look like they’re carrying the weight of the whole damn universe. Eyes that are just a little too soft for a face that sharp. Like, are you okay? Do you need a hug? Do you want to cry into my arms for three hours?

They look like they could destroy you, but deep down, you know they'd rather let themselves break first. What is it about them? Why do they look like they could hold you together when they’re clearly held together with duct tape and desperation? It’s unhinged. It’s unfair. I want to fix them. Or maybe I want to fall apart with them. I don’t even know anymore.

I love them so much they make me lose myself

AAAAAAHHHHHH

[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."

[itty-bitty-dancer]

This but with Halsin.

When Tav goes down in battle the Druid gets tunnel vision and his attempts to revive them and his roars of anguish are a spectacle that almost ends the fight entirely.

When he accepts defeat he sees red and wildshapes to slaughters the remainder of the enemies himself. Except he never turns back.

From then on, the townsfolk tell tales to their children about the sleeping beauty who is guarded by the great bear.

He loses himself completely. Spending the rest of his days patrolling the clearing where your body will rest for eternity, unchanging and permeated by so many healing potions that no matter the season, you are cushioned in a bed of green.

[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.

[wysteria-bloom]

I have a funny little request, How do you think the baldur's gate 3 companions would react or respond to Tav talking to someone and who ever they are talking to asks them something about a husband/Wife and they point to one of the companions say “Yeah that’s my Husband/Wife right here”, Or Tav greeting the bg3 companions and saying “Hello my beautiful Wife or Handsome Husband how are you today?” Idk I think it would be funny you can either do all the companions or just a few and whoever else you want.

P.S One of the companions has to Karlach pls and thank you. Have a good day/night

↪"Say that again?"

Bg3 companions x reader

Warnings : none that I can think of, if there anything triggering please let me know

A/n : this is such a cute idea !!! Thank you so much for the request and ofc I'll include Karlach it's a literal crime if I don't

Characters : Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll, Halsin, Minthara, Rolan, Raphael

▢ astarion

Astarion is mid-sip of his wine when he hears it. You’re chatting with a bartender, mentioning offhandedly, "Oh, my husband enjoys that brand of wine!" The words seem to hang in the air. A moment later, he chokes, coughing as he hurriedly sets his glass down.

"Sorry, darling, did I just hallucinate, or did you actually call me your husband?" He grins, sharp and playful, but there’s something else lurking in his ruby eyes—something softer. "How bold of you. I don’t recall signing any vows, though if they involve more pet names and adoration, I might be convinced."

Despite his teasing, there’s an undeniable smirk of satisfaction on his lips, and later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you catch him whispering his name with your last name attatched—testing the sound of it with a chuckle.

▢ shadowheart

Shadowheart stiffens, her hand momentarily pausing over the clasp of her pack as you effortlessly refer to her as your wife in conversation. She recovers quickly, a well-trained mask slipping into place, but you catch the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten just a bit.

When the conversation is over, she turns to you, arms crossed, voice a delicate mix of amusement and hesitancy. "Wife, huh? That’s...a rather serious word, don’t you think?" There’s no irritation in her voice, just a quiet wariness.

You lean in and reassure her—tell her it just felt natural—she exhales, her stance softening. "I suppose... it doesn’t sound terrible coming from you." She smirks faintly, then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she murmurs, "Say it again. Just once."

▢ gale

Gale practically beams. He was in the middle of explaining some grand magical theory when you casually referred to him as your husband, and the conversation might as well have ceased to exist. He turns to you with wide, delighted eyes, as if you just handed him the crown jewel of Mystra herself.

"You—you truly think of me that way?" His voice is filled with genuine wonder, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to pull you into an embrace right there. "I must admit, I rather like the sound of it."

For the rest of the day, he finds ways to bring it up—entirely coincidentally, of course. "Ah, yes, my spouse and I were just discussing that," he’ll say to a trader. Or, "Well, as my beloved has so kindly pointed out..." He’s positively radiant, and when the two of you are alone, he holds you close, murmuring, "One day, perhaps, we could make it more than just words."

▢ karlach

Karlach lets out the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. One moment, she’s hauling a crate of supplies, and the next, she’s throwing an arm around you, laughing loud enough to startle a nearby bard.

"Wife? You think I’m wife material?" She practically lifts you off the ground in a hug, her infernal engine humming warmly. "Oh, babe, you really know how to make a girl’s heart melt."

For the rest of the day, she won’t stop teasing you. "Hey, love, your wife could use a back rub after all that heavy lifting." Or "Shouldn't a wife get extra rations? I think that’s fair." But underneath the playful exterior, there’s a warmth in her gaze every time she looks at you—like you just gave her something precious she never thought she could have.

▢ lae'zel

The moment the word leaves your mouth—wife—Lae’zel halts. Her expression sharpens, golden eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable intensity. The person you were speaking to wisely excuses themselves, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

She steps closer, head tilting, her voice a low rumble. "You claim me as a wife?" It isn’t anger, but a challenge. Prove it, her tone demands.

You meet her gaze unwaveringly and confirm it without hesitation, she exhales, something pleased flashing across her face. "Hmph. Among my kin, such a title is not spoken lightly. If you speak it, you must own it."

Later, when camp is quiet and you were walking towards your tent, she pulls you aside, her hand gripping your wrist—possessive, firm but there was a softness to it that couldn't be denied. She looked flustered, frowning at you with a twitch of her brow," As your... wife. I demand we sleep in the same tent."

▢ wyll

Wyll is in the middle of charming a noble when you casually refer to him as your husband. The words slip from your lips without hesitation, and at first, he doesn’t react—so well-trained in maintaining composure. Only until the noble left did something warm flicker in his bi-coloured eyes, his confident smile faltering for just a heartbeat.

"Ah—your what?" He turns to you, and for the first time in a long while, the Blade of Frontiers looks genuinely caught off guard.

When you confirm it with an easy smile, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to suppress the warmth creeping up his face. "Well, now you’ve gone and made a man blush," he teases, but there’s a softness to it. A part of him that seems to hold onto the word like a cherished melody.

Later that evening, when the two of you have a rare quiet moment, he leans in, his voice lower, more earnest. "You really see me that way?" His hand finds yours, thumb tracing circles against your palm. "Because I could get used to that."

▢ halsin

Halsin is kneeling by a wounded animal, murmuring a quiet spell of healing, when the word husband leaves your lips. It’s said so casually—to another druid, in passing—that at first, he doesn’t seem to react.

But then, as the spell finishes, he turns to you, golden eyes warm with something deeply affectionate. A slow smile spreads across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Husband," he repeats, testing the weight of it, his voice rich with amusement. "That is… a title of great commitment. And yet, hearing it from you, it feels as though it has always been true."

There’s no teasing, no hesitation—only an earnest kind of joy. He steps closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch feather-light. "If this is how you see me, then I will wear the title with pride." His voice drops to a low murmur, meant only for you. "And should you ever wish to make it more than words, I will answer gladly."

From that moment on, he often refers to you in kind—my heart, my love, and, on particularly affectionate days, even my wife/husband/mate. It is not just a title to him; it is a promise.

▢ minthara

Minthara doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. She merely continues sharpening her blade, her red eyes cold and unreadable as you casually refer to her as your wife in conversation.

The person you were speaking to quickly departs, sensing the weight of silence that follows. Then, without looking up, Minthara speaks, her voice dangerously low. "You called me wife."

It isn’t a question. It’s an evaluation. A test.

You confirm it, she finally lifts her gaze to meet yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "How bold of you," she muses, setting her blade aside. "Amongst lolth-sworn drow, such words are not spoken lightly. They are a claim. A promise."

She stands, stepping into your space, her presence as commanding as ever. A hand grips your chin—not harsh, but firm. Possessive. "If you call me wife, then you had best mean it."

And yet, later that night, when the camp is quiet and she believes no one is watching, she lingers at your side a little longer. A rare softness flickers in her eyes before she turns away, murmuring to you just loud enough for you to hear—"Hmph. It does have a certain... power to it."

▢ raphael

The moment the word husband leaves your lips, Raphael goes completely still. The conversation you were having with an unfortunate merchant screeches to a halt as the cambion turns his attention fully on you. The air crackles with something dangerous—something deeply, intensely amused.

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. "My dear, I do believe I misheard you," he purrs, voice as smooth as velvet. "Did you just call me your husband? How delightfully bold of you."

He steps closer, red eyes gleaming with something unreadable—pleasure? Possession? The thrill of a game he suddenly must win? He takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. Never breaking eye contact as his lips were curved in that usual salacious smirk of his,"Now, if you are to call me husband, I expect proper treatment. Gifts. Devotion. Perhaps a throne befitting a devil of my caliber."

There’s teasing in his tone, but beneath it? Oh, there’s something else entirely. Later, when no one is around, he murmurs against your ear, "let me hear it again... it sounds so terribly tempting when it falls from those lips of yours."

▢ rolan

Rolan is mid-rant—complaining about some idiot who failed to organise the library books the right way—when you absentmindedly refer to him as your husband. He stops talking. Completely.

His mouth opens. Closes. His tail flicks rapidly behind him, betraying his internal spiral.

"Wha—wait—what did you just call me?" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, straightening his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain his dignity.

When you repeat it, casual as ever, he stares at you like you just cast Wish in front of him. "That’s… I mean, I am an impressive partner, but—" He crosses his arms, looking away, his cheeks burning a darker, unmistakable shade of red. "You can’t just say things like that without warning someone!"

But for the rest of the day, he’s noticeably smug—standing taller, magic practically crackling at his fingertips. And if you listen closely, you might hear him muttering under his breath: "Husband. Hah... obviously."

[vivern-of-nosgoth]

POV you are Halsin's Valentine: