#baldur's gate fic

[lovelybluebirdie]

What is yours

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: A stroll through the market evokes an unpleasant sensation in Astarion.

Word Count: 3,1k

hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

[ AO3 ]

The warm rays of the midday sun bathed the markets’ goods in a marvellous light. The place was bustling, a scent of spices lingering in the air and hurried voices brimming. 

If someone had told Astarion that one day he’d be able to move around Baldur’s Gate so freely again, he’d probably huffed merely a dry laugh – and yet here he was, following you through the narrow streets of his city, admiring how much colour the world had to offer.

Of course it was you who had dragged him along for the mundane task to gather some food for your companions back at camp. Astarion couldn't care less to fill up their bellies, as his own appetite was perfectly stilled from your generosity when it came to offer him your blood, but one blink from your doe eyes had been enough to convince him to accompany you.

Well, that, and perhaps that warm feeling that refused to leave his chest when he was with you. 

It was obvious that you loved to stroll around the market, savouring the colourful impressions while taking a break from all the fighting and gore your journey to rid yourself from the tadpoles held for you. 

Astarion had never watched you spending your coin so lightly before. You probably thought it was time to treat yourself once in a while, and who was he to deny you this little pleasure? He had to admit that he actually adored seeing your face light up over the different trinkets you bought, eagerly filling your bags and pouches with your newest additions.

“Let's get some fruit for the others while we’re at it,” you suggested, pointing towards a merchant presenting an inviting range of fresh goods. “Something nutritious seems much needed after we fed mostly on leftovers for the past weeks.”

Your shoulders were loaded with the various goods you had already bought – dyes, herbs, some new toys for Scratch and the owlbear cub and a bunch of flasks to fill with potions.

“As you wish,” Astarion replied, when a display of weapons caught his eye. His last pair of daggers had become rather blunt from the Goblin throats he’d cut, so maybe it was time to treat himself as well, he thought and gently grabbed your wrist.  

“On second thought, why don't you go ahead while I'll have another look around here, my love?” he asked and came to a stop. “I haven't much expertise to add when it comes to your culinary needs, and those daggers look rather appealing.”

“Sounds fine with me, but try not to spend all of our gold at once,” you teased and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hah, you're one to talk. Please remind me, who was it again that just bought five new toys for Scratch, so he had a set of different colours to choose from?”

“He needs some variety,” you muttered, trying to keep up a serious expression. “But nevermind, see you in a minute then.” 

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and waved, already on your way to spend some more of your coin.

Astarion couldn’t help but smile over your excitement for the market, before he picked up a dagger from the display in front of him. The handle appeared to be of higher quality than his current ones, and the blade looked sharp enough to inflict some hurt.

As he gazed further through the wares, pondering which one would fit him best, he spared a glance to check on you. 

He spotted you a few stalls away at the fruit stand you had mentioned. The vendor you were talking to gesticulated wildly while presenting his wares, leading you to laugh.

Astarion frowned and put the dagger away to take a closer look.

The vendor was young, an elf with blond curls, and Astarion noticed that he wasn’t an unpleasant sight. 

He was immediately bothered by the smile you gave the other man, the way he touched your hands as he started to offer you bite-sized pieces of fruit to taste.

His fingers lingered too long against yours for Astarion’s liking.

As he continued to watch you from afar, something inside his belly started to seethe – hot and ugly.

A feeling he experienced before when it came to you, but couldn't quite grasp.

Well, whatever this was, Astarion certainly wasn’t jealous. Not of some random street vendor at least – and why should he be? Because you had smiled so sweetly at him? Or because you were laughing again as you took another piece of fruit from his filthy hands? 

What in the nine hells could be so entertaining about buying fruit anyway? 

It was ridiculous, really, and yet Astarion imagined how it would feel to rip the vendor's throat as punishment for daring to touch you. 

Would he bleed out quickly? Would he scream?

Astarion shook his head, shoving the violent image aside.

He remembered the previous occasions when that unpleasant burning inside his stomach had appeared. It was the moment Gale decided it was appropriate to show you his so-called magical weave, or the other day when Wyll proposed a dance to you. You had kindly rejected both of them, but Astarion was still not particularly impressed by their interest in you. 

He knew what others would seek from you. Why they wanted you. For the same reasons he enjoyed being with you: your compassion, the kindness you spread. Your special talent to make him feel seen. 

There was also your wit, the way you would crack a joke even in the most maddening situations, making him feel light. And not to mention, you were a beautiful vision if Astarion had ever seen one.

Of course there would be others who saw those qualities as well, aiming to claim you.

A sudden wave of anxiety flooded his mind, moulding an appaling image in his skull.

He wondered if one day you would prefer someone else over him.

Someone who would match your kindness – acting all selfless and heroic, indulging in activities he found little pleasure in.

Providing you with something Astarion might be unable to give you, ever, no matter how much he cared about you.

Hells, what if you were already seeking someone like that?

His stomach dropped.

The dreadful notion spread its relentless claws past his ribs, tearing holes in his dead heart.

Blood rushed to his ears.

Before he even realised, his feet were already dragging him towards you.

He needed to be close to you – doing anything to make this feeling stop.

When he arrived next to you, he placed a hand on the small of your back and grasped your tunic, a little tighter than he'd intended.

He tried his best to keep his composure.

“Are we all done here, my love?” he asked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Astarion!” You smiled when you noticed him, unaware of his musings. Your pouch was filled to the brink with fresh fruits. “Yes, I guess that would be all.”

Astarion felt the need to pull you away, but before he came up with an excuse to leave immediately, the merchant was already addressing you again. 

“Think about it, will you?” A smug grin plastered that man’s face as he spoke to you, casually bending over his counter.

Astarion gave you a confused look.

Think about what? 

“Unfortunately there’s no time to join the tavern tonight, but thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” you said amicably and packed up your wares.

What was that? 

Astarion thought he must have misheard.

“What a shame. Perhaps you can give it a second thought.” The vendor was still beaming at you, before he turned to Astarion. “Your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. We will think about it, will we, darling?”

Astarion bit his tongue, swallowing the impulse to spit a cutting remark on top of his obvious sarcasm.

What in the nine hells was this mongrel thinking, inviting you to the tavern? And how he was speaking to him – as if he was some irrelevant bystander.

“Let's see what we can do,” you said politely, already on your way to move on. “Have a nice day. And thank you again.”

“You as well,” replied the salesman and waved. 

Astarion gritted his teeth as he followed you through the busy alleyways, still processing what just happened.

The vendor's words appeared in his mind.

That man had obviously desired to fuck you, and wasn’t even trying to hide his advances.

How could he have dared.

Astarion regretted that he had acted so passive in that moment. Usually he wasn’t one to hesitate, always a sharp comment dancing on his tongue, and yet… the thought of losing you to someone else had shifted something in him, turning him small.

His fury grew.

Oh, how he would love to grab that despicable pig by his throat, banishing that filthy grin of his face. Making him bleed. But he knew that unlike him, you would gladly refrain from a public bloodbath, so he shoved away those violent fantasies, even if the fire continued to seeth in him – unpleasant and hot.

He tried to fathom what posed the worst about this whole ordeal: The way in which the man had aimed to claim you, or his fear that you enjoyed those cheap advances – possibly were fond of it even.

Astarion's mood couldn't have been more sour as you arrived at a secluded area, away from the markets bustling.

“Can you believe it? That seller insisted on giving me a discount,” you broke the silence and pointed proudly at the wares you had gathered. “And they say there are no kind people left in Baldur's Gate.”

And just as the words had left your throat, Astarion finally snapped.

“Is that so?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “How generous. What a nice, handsome gentleman he is, also inviting you to the tavern with him.” He spoke harsh – his tone cold and venomous. 

You came to an abrupt stop, resting the groceries on the ground and fixating your gaze on his, a furrow between your eyebrows. 

“What are you implying?” You sounded puzzled.

“Oh, don't act so naive, darling, you know what I'm implying. That man wanted to bed you, everyone could see it from the way he treated you. And by the laughs you offered him, you seemed to enjoy his attention as well, did you not? What a flirt you are.”

His accusations left a taste of ash in his mouth. Moments before his anger seemed directed at the man’s advances, and now his bottled-up wrath was boiling onto you.

The bewildered look on your face turned into something else, something sad, your eyes losing their shine. He sensed that he must’ve hurt you, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

“So, you’re jealous of that man, is that what this is about?”

“Me? Being jealous of some filthy street vendor?” Astarion scoffed, immediately falling back to his dramatics, gesticulating defensively with his hands. “Don't insult me, darling. I find it amusing that he thinks he can have you, and I didn’t fail to miss your interest in him,” he bit, almost choking on the dry chuckle that spilled from his lips.

“There was no interest from my side, other than purchasing some of his wares,” you explained. Then you opened your mouth again, sharply sucking air between your teeth, before your gaze softened. Your voice was calm, without spite or anger. “He recognized me, Astarion. From the article in the gazette. Slayer of the evil Ketheric Thorm and all that fuss. Does that ring a bell?” 

Of course he remembered. It was him that had to sneak past those giant steel watchers back at the gazette’s building, convincing the magical press to print an article in your favour. An article that wouldn’t taint your reputation, unlike the one Gortash had commissioned to derogate you. 

Astarion couldn’t deny that after the praising piece was published, you were indeed met with an unusual kindness from the people of Baldur's Gate. 

“Well, how could I forget?” Astarion's face twisted. “But that doesn't mean he didn't have something else in mind with you. Some people certainly would love to bury their blade inside a true hero for once, I can imagine.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Even if he did want to bed me, what does it matter?”

An icy grip twisted Astarion's chest. The image of you with someone else stung in his eyes, making him sick. 

Before he could growl another reply, you rested your hand on his arm, catching his fuming. “Hey – look at me, you silly goose.” 

Your tender touch was enough to quell the blazing flame in his belly. 

You spoke so warmly to him. So... loving.

Astarion rested his eyes on you and was met with an affectionate smile that disarmed him completely.

“Astarion, don’t you realise that I couldn't care less if thousands of people felt the sudden need to bed me?”

He bit his cheek, remaining silent.

“You’re the only one I want, you jealous fool. No one else – not now, not ever, and certainly not some random street vendor that throws a discount at me because he thinks of me as some kind of hero.”

Astarion’s features involuntarily softened as he took in your words. The fury that was about to overwhelm him dissolved into a flutter, engulfing his chest, washing away the seething that hooked at his ribcage.

“Really?” Only one word left his mouth, before he cleared his throat. “I mean – I'm not surprised of course, as you seem to literally cling to my side these days.” A poor attempt to cover his insecurity, but the best he could muster.

“Really,” you assured and gently tapped on his temple, “I vow on the tadpole flooding inside our brains.” You chuckled as you rested your hands on the back of his neck and shifted closer to him. 

“Well, but those might be gone someday,” Astarion mumbled.

“And even then, I will remain at your side. Only if you want me to, of course.”

Astarion didn’t have to think of his answer, the words spilling from his lips like a reflex.

“Yes, I would want that,” he whispered sincerely, his flamboyant mask crumbling. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It’s just… Well, I guess I'm used to losing what I hold dear. And the thought of losing you to someone else… I don’t know, apparently it woke something in me.” 

He felt almost ashamed over his sudden lack of eloquence, being so raw with you, but there was a sense of relief in opening up. To his surprise, it was even more soothing than losing himself in violence.

You looked at him with affection and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk against your palm. 

“It's alright, Astarion, you don't have to explain. I promise you, you won’t lose me to someone else. As you said, I tend to cling to your side these days, and truth be told, I have no intention to stop.”

“I hope you won’t,” Astarion replied and took your hand in his to press a kiss to your fingertips. “But honestly, I have to apologise for doubting your intentions with me. With us.”

“I forgive you, lover,” you replied tenderly. “I didn't take you for the overly jealous type, though,” you added with a smirk.

Astarion offered you a wry smile. “Let's not dwell on it, shall we?”

Then he reached for your face, softly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and rested his lips on your forehead, followed by a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him into a close embrace. He could sense your heartbeat against his cold body, your pulse drumming in a comforting rhythm.

For a moment you were just holding each other, your head against his chest, Astarion relishing your warmth and kissing your hair. Your touch was relieving. Assuring.

You were with him, and had promised not to leave. 

Your affirmations repeated in his mind: You wanted him. Only him alone.

This was all new territory and Astarion sensed it would take some time for him to fully adjust, yes, but right now… this was all he could wish for.

“Somehow I don't want to let go of you, little love,” he hummed to your ear.

“Then don't,” you breathed and kissed along his neck, brushing his bite marks with your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. A particularly sensible spot, but you were allowed to touch him there.

Gods, how deeply he had fallen for you.

Astarion drew you even closer and sighed, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. 

When he gently peeled away from your hug, you looked up to him and bit your lip.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” you asked sheepishly.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Well... I think that merchant truly wanted to bed me.”

Astarion laughed – deep, coming from his belly – surprised by his own lightness. The idea of fuming over your obvious admirer seemed almost ridiculous all of a sudden. 

“I told you so. But now that you see it too, I guess you wouldn't mind if we turn back for a quick chat? I would love to take care of that dear fellow,” he replied mischievously. While his fury was gone, he still wouldn’t mind some misdemeanour.

“Astarion!” you scolded, but joined his laughter. “Please spare that innocent man.”

“Relax darling, I will. For now at least. And only because you asked so nicely.” His fangs poked from the grin that adorned his lips.

“Good boy,” you teased and brushed one of his white curls behind his ear, his grin widening from your touch.

As you walked back to camp, hands softly entwined, Astarion noticed that probably for the first time in his life someone truly belonged to him – willingly, out of love.

You belonged to him. 

The thought grew in his chest, wandered up to his eyes, spreading affection through his entire body, and for the remaining way back to camp he didn’t let go of your hand.

Masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #astarion imagine #astarion my beloved #astarion brainrot #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion ancunin #reader insert #fluff #astarion oneshot #baldur's gate fanfiction #baldur's gate fic #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic

[reverieblondie]

Could I request headcanons for Gale, Halsin, Wyll, and Astarion with touch starved gn s/o?

I ended up rewriting these a few times but I hope you enjoy reading it! Last Bullet point is NSFW!

Halsin 

Halsin would never say you were obvious, but figuring out you were touched starved was relatively easy to tell. Especially with the game you were playing, it was clear after the nth time you asked for healing from him from a mere paper cut on your finger. Though, could anyone really blame you? After spending so much time on the road, with no friendly touch for weeks, then when Halsin came to your aid to heal you from a particularly nasty hit from a goblin, That was the start of it, the aching for him; you had been healed by others before but…nobody did healing like Halsin. Most healers hover their hands over you, but Halisn would hold you, pressing his large but tender hands to your skin, letting his healing magic flow through from him to you; the touch would send tingling shivers through you; some would argue that it was from the magic…But you knew it was from his touch. Halsin was more than willing to help heal you every time; in fact, the consent wanting his touch helped you two connect. Halsin hoped you would confess you wanted him to hold you one day. But you never did. So when you came for healing from your “terribly painful stomach ache,” he knew he would have to make the first move. “I think I know the perfect solution to your problem,” he whispered before he wrapped you in a tight hug; every ache and pain melted away from his touch. It is truly the perfect medicine anytime you feel touch starved.

Every party of Halsin is perfection in your eyes. Oak father really did a fantastic job when it came to making him. However, the one place you’re always grabbing onto the most is his arms. It’s not hard to see why; it’s nearly impossible to keep from clinging to his massive limbs, snuggling into them, running your hands over his thick forearms. Halsin, the sweetheart, doesn’t seem to mind your clinging, even if he is busy carving away. Now that Halsin has noticed your fondness for his arms, he may or may not start to flex them subtly when gesturing or wearing shirts that expose them so you can see every slight rippling of his muscles. Halsin will let you cling to him as long as he can nuzzle into his favorite part of you later tonight…

Now usually you’re the needy one in the relationship, pleading for hugs and beaming every time you get wrapped up in Halsins arms. Today has been different, however. It started when you woke up with Halsins hands creasing your sides and snuggling into your neck, of course you melted at the touch, thoroughly relishing in the attention, but it didn’t end there. Usually, Halsin would walk through the woods for some meditation and to gather herbs and materials for you two, but today, he didn’t leave your side. Of course, you loved it, but a part of you was starting to get worried. When you brought it up, he grabbed your hands and held them to his chest, “I just find myself wanting to be near you, my heart.” You squeeze his large hands back, “Well, let me help you, my love.” rising to your tiptoes, you begin to pepper kisses all over Halsins face. He grabs your waist and lifts you to meet his lips with yours quickly; the kiss only makes him needier. 

He loves every part of you, from your hair to your adorable toes. But his hands consistently linger on your curves. On those days when you are feeling extra needy. Halsin is more than willing to help…In some inventive ways. The contrast is maddening… The smooth honey slips on top of your heated skin, and then Halsins rough tongue licks up the sticky liquid off your stomach. His hands guide your back to an arch as he keeps his hazel eyes on your moaning face. Sucking and licking as his hands continue to run over your squirming body. Halsin doesn’t know what is sweeter, the honey or you; he will spend all night trying to figure it out. 

Zevlor

Zevlor has been around for a while but was never too familiar with the term ‘Touched starved.’ Sure, he had heard it back in his commander days from soldiers whispering about needing attention of the flesh but never truly gave it too much thought…until. The idea came to him when he noticed a particular trait of yours. You had no special awareness when it came to him. Consistently, you were leaning into him quite closely, and when you two walked around during perimeter checks, you would often bump into him or brush your hand against his. Of course, you would apologize for your clumsiness, but deep down, you knew what was happening…Your body was burning for him, his warmth, his touch, and it was seeking it out in any way possible. It didn’t click so quickly for Zevlor until he saw you sparing, and there was no inclination of any clumsiness in your movements; even with others, he never saw you bump or run into anything; your movements were precise and calculated…and that’s when he figured it out you were touching him purposely. Zevlors first thought was, why? Then his second was how can he tell you to only ask him for his touch. Finally, one day, as you two were doing your usual perimeter check, you slowly inched closer and closer to him, seeking the slight relief of his touch. Still, as you went to bump into him for only a moment, you found the ex-hellrider wrapped his arms quickly around you keeping you to his warm chest. Eyes wide, you go to apologize, but Zevlor is quick to quiet your worries, “If you need my warmth…please don’t hesitate to ask me…” After that day, you got a hug from him every chance you could…

Zevlor enjoys the sweet intimacy of your relationship. At first, he was not used to someone wanting to hold him so closely and shower him with affection, but slowly, he is getting used to it and enjoying it immensely. Though, you still find ways to surprise him…For example, when you start paying particular attention to his cheeks and horns, you can’t stop wanting to hold his face so tenderly and whisper soft praises to him. “I’ve never seen beauty like yours, Zevy…” he feels his heart melt at every whisper and every gentle touch to his skin. Then, if you happen to caress the base of his horns? Well…you have never heard such a deep pur.  

 It had been the first day in a long while that you and Zevlor spent most of the day apart. He had promised to speak to some recruits in the city, sharing his wisdom, and you had opted to stay at home. You were expecting him to come home at any minute, so you were working hard to prepare a surprise dinner for him. You missed him being home; usually, you would spend the day working in your small garden together and setting out laundry on the line together. It was lonely without him, so you planned to show him how much you missed him. As you were finishing your stew, you felt arms snaking around your waist. You gasped before his familiar voice eased you, “Be still, my dear, it’s only me…” Your body immediately relaxes as you turn to hug him back. “How was your trip?” Zevlor only hums as he buries his head into your neck. “I missed you…the road was lonely without you by my side…” you rub your hands up and down his arms as they hug you. Then you feel one of his arms part from you and hear the stove turn off; before you can ask anything else, you’re lifted and carried away toward your shared room. “Zev! What- What about Dinner?” “It can wait…I need to be close to you, just for a while…” The stew wasn’t eaten until much later… 

“So beautiful…” his breath is warm as he whispers the complement into your neck. Zevlor’s lips caress your tender skin as he moves to your ear. You cling to his broad shoulders tighten, and your legs squeeze his textured hips. “You’re taking me so well. I’m proud of you.” The moan is involuntary as you feel him push deeper, his lips catching and nipping on your ear, his sharp teeth threatening to pierce, but his tongue soothing you so softly. Moving from your ear, you almost let out a whine before he blows a teasing breath on your neck, causing you to squirm and keen at the tickleing sensation. Zevlor’s fiery eyes look down at you, and that soft smile never fails to melt your core. He leans in, lips hovering over yours, his hands softly gliding down your waist, “I love you…” The vow is then sealed with a kiss. 

Wyll

Wyll hadn’t thought of you as touched starved until you had to tell him flat-out. To his credit, you didn’t make it easy for him to figure out. When Wyll thinks of the term touched starved, he thinks of someone like him. Someone always willing to give out a hug or a friendly pat on the back; if you’re touched starved and in the proximity of Wyll, you were not touched starved for long. Hells, Wyll would risk the burns of hugging Karlach if she so requested. You, on the other hand, would never seem to be receptive to his friendly gestures, having grown up in a home with little affection and living on the brutal road for a while with a pleasant touch would always be a shock to your system. Especially from Wyll, it was like lightning shooting through your body with a new surge of energy you didn’t know what to do with, so you would tense up. After feeling you clamp up, Wyll simply thought you didn’t like to be touched, so ever the gentleman, he stopped. But that only made you begin to grave him…Finally, after days of seeing him touch and hug your other friends, you felt yourself going to pop. In a spur of the moment, you walked into his tent, staring at his confused features; timidness threatened to take you over, so with shaking limbs, you held your arms open with a shaky beg of “Please…” Wyll’s smile would grow so wide as he embraced you. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched?” “I…I like it when you do it…I crave your embrace…” Wyll will never make you ask please for a hug again…but other things, he might…    

You couldn’t explain exactly why you love it so much, but you find you’re running your hands up and down Wylls strong back every time you get the chance. Maybe it was from seeing all its glory when he returned from the river or in the early mornings when he woke up for training. There’s just something about his broad shoulders that lean down to his narrow waist that makes your hands twitch to touch him. Wyll, of course, isn’t oblivious to how you take him in; that might be why he walks around without a shirt more often. His favorite part about liking his back is when you rest your head between his shoulder blades and hold onto him tightly. It never fails to put a smile on both your faces.  

Between the two of you, you’re the one who is always slow to wake. On a typical day, you usually wake up to an empty left side of the bed, but this morning is different. You wake up to your body being held by what looks like a sleeping Wyll. Your first instinct is to worry and check him for a fever, but you find that he feels normal, and when he wakes, he greets you with a lazy smirk. “Are you okay, Wyll? You’re usually up by now?” Wyll hums softly as his eyes lazily roam over your form, “I woke up earlier but found that I couldn’t part from you…” His sweet words always make you blush, and you go to say you're sorry out of habit, but you’re silenced by him gently stroking your cheek. “Well, How about I make breakfast for us? We could eat together.” As you rise, you are quickly grabbed and trapped within his arms, his lips attacking your neck in a plethora of kisses, making you giggle. “You’re not going anywhere…I am not done with you yet…”   

It’s always so slow, his hands sliding up and down your spread legs while your sex grows more and more aroused. One part of you wants to beg him to stop teasing you, but you both know that the loving pass of his hands on your skin is what you crave. Wyll keeps his eyes on yours as his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The attention he gives you makes your mind hazy and your sex quiver in a way that only he causes. A moment of weakness causes you to moan his name. He will look down at your flushed face and smile against your skin before finally sliding his tongue on the spot you need him the most. 

Rolan

Rolan is very familiar with the term being touched starved, and from being accused of it by Cal and Lia relentlessly, he was aware of the traits. Not that he thought he ever showed these. Then came you, and it was the end of him being touched starved. Rolan, at first, didn’t understand why every time you were near, your hand would absentmindedly rub in between his shoulder blades or how when you would go out to the tavern, you would sit so close to him, and it wasn’t as if you were unaware of this. No, from how you would look at his curious gaze with a smirk and a sparkle in your eyes, he knew you were messing with him. Though despite this…you two kept hanging out. If anyone would ask you if you longed for touch, you would say you only wanted Rolans and you had no shame about it; you just wished one day he would indicate the touch for once. Finally, one night, Rolan invited you to the tower to do some reading, something you could do at home, but you wouldn’t dream of passing up a moment to be around him. You two had found yourselves on the chaste, sitting very closely, exchanging blushing looks over the edges of your books, and with every passing page, you two would find yourselves inching closer and closer. Then, as your thighs are pressed together, you feel a warmth wrapping around your ankle. Looking down, you see his tail wrapped around you loosely, unsurely. Rolan had finally taken the initiative, and you were beaming. “If it bothers you, I can-” But before he could finish his sentence, you wrapped his arm around you as you curled into him more. You could hear the rapid rushing of his heart, and you could feel how it matched your own. “It doesn’t bother me; I’ve just been wondering what’s been taking you so long…” The teasing only rewards you with a tighter hold. 

You find every part of Rolan to be utterly perfect, from his beautiful horns to his freckled cheeks to his toes. But the one part of him you constantly find yourself playing with is his tail, swaying and twitching like it has a mind of its own. You love to sneak behind him and run your fingers over the ridged base. The shiver and low growl he gives out every time makes you want to tease and touch him more, your hands becoming clammy for it. Today, you’re reading and mindlessly playing with the sharp tip till, finally, he’s curling the tail around your forearm and pulling you closer for a hungry kiss. He says he is being driven mad by your relentless teasing; you can only smile back before whispering, “Then you shouldn’t keep rewarding me…” 

Rolan tries not to let his neediness get the better of him…but some days, he can’t resist your pull on him. Every time he saw you today, his hands roamed over every curve, his nose in the crook of your neck, and he muttered things you couldn’t catch. The attention was well received as you loved his every touch, but when you parted from him to wash up for the night, the look on his face was utter devastation. “I will be quick, then all night I am yours.” Rolan tsked as he let you go, sitting down in his chair where he would wait for your return. You tried your best to hurry into the bath but were not quick enough. As you wet your hair to be ready for washing, you heard the door open and were greeted by the magnificent sight of Rolan in a small cloth wrapped around his waist. He motions for you to make room. He removes his towel and joins you in the bath. You are happy but utterly confused, and Rolan is quick to defend his actions as he gathers soap into his palm, “You took too long, so now I am here to help; now turn so I can wash your hair.” Without any protest, you turn and relish in the feeling of his clawed hands, washing and lathering the soap in your hair, taking the time to scratch your scalp as he cleans you gently. Maybe you should have him wash your hair every time? If you asked, Rolan would be happy, too.  

It started as a pleasant surprise; while you two were working at Sundries, his tail kept brushing against your butt, and when you two would be out of view from prying eyes, his hand would gently caress your ass. These are simple hints of his wants; you are always eager for his touch. Now here you are, pressed against the back wall with Rolan's needy hands grabbing tight handfuls of your butt. Pants are quickly discarded, and he gives you a quick slap to the soft exposed flesh for being such a naughty distraction. You keen and arch, grinding your ass against his burning erection. A deep moan when his nails dig into your flesh as he starts to rut into you deeply. Panting breaths, intertwined limbs, sweaty bodies desperately rocking against each other. It’s the night you learned that the Great Master Rolan is an ass man.  

Gale 

You never thought of yourself as touched starved; sure, you had points when you thought of being held or holding someone, but it was never something you would say you were starving for; well, that was until Gale. It was an accident when it happened; you two had offered to go to the morning market to gather supplies for dinner. The morning market was incredibly crowded, and you two kept getting separated. Gale, always the quick thinker, came up with the best solution. As he walked in front of you like a shield, he grabbed your hand and led you through. The gesture immediately stirred something within you, and as you walked hand in hand, looking at the back of him, you found yourself tightening your grip. During the rest of your time at the market, you two held each other’s hands. It wasn’t until you two returned to camp that you realized you held hands the whole way back. After that day, you reached out for his hand more often. Gale, of course, didn’t seem to mind. He liked the extra company, but getting you to let go so he could cut vegetables was challenging. After a while, you will find yourself craving more touches from Gale. So late one night, you crawled into his tent; when you woke him, he was initially surprised, asking you what you needed. “I…I think I’m touched starved…could…you hold me for a bit?” Gale’s heart nearly burst out of his chest, but he eagerly invites you into his arms, delighted to share in cuddles and maybe a few kisses.    

It should be no surprise your favorite place to touch Gale is his hands. They are perfectly soft and fit perfectly within yours. You find that your hands are interlocked together if you’re by him. Gale finds your need to hold him in some way lovely and ultimately endearing. Gale’s favorite times when you hold his hands is when you are fast asleep curled up with him in his bedroll, your hands interlaced with his. He doesn’t dare move them because he knows you will only start seeking them again in your sleep.   

You’re used to holding Gale’s hand, but on days he’s feeling needy, you find that his hands tend to roam. Today had been one of those days; his hands had started lazily, moving up and down your arms, gently grazing you all morning so tenderly. By the afternoon, his hands had found their way to run up and down your back, moving so slowly to send shivers through your body successfully. Then, in the Evening, they moved to trace your sides as his lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck. Finally, you asked if he was well, his lips smiling against your skin. “Perfectly fine…just being needy for you…does it bother you?” you feel your skin flush, and your lips curl to an excited smile. “No, I like the attention from you…” Gale is always ready to shower you with attention; you just need to ask…   

The man didn’t lie when he told you he had a practiced tongue, and tonight, you are finding that out firsthand. You felt needy when you crawled into his tent; it was late, and he was surprisingly awake. At first, it was innocent, simple hand holding a kiss or two like other nights before to satisfy your need, but tonight, you’re finding your aching for more, and Gale knows this. All you need to do is ask…Your hands grip tightly to the blankets as his tongue works against you. Gales focuses as his hands grip your thighs, and he sucks and licks more. He’s desperate to taste your release all over his tongue, and with him always being so good to you, who are you to deny him? 

Astarion

With all he had been through, the feeling of being touched had become unstimulating. Astartion had felt every kind of touch possible. Well, at least that’s what he thought, until you. The energy between you two had been electric from the first moment; you were brilliant, and his usual charms didn’t make you bend like they did others. In fact, for all his teasing, you would give back your own. It was like a game between you two, and it only made you crave each other more. Then it hit its peak…You were admittedly getting lost in his words as he spoke to you, but it was different; it was genuine, and you had never felt so close to others. So when you gently brushed back his hair as he talked, you both found yourself looking at each other in surprise. Your weakness shocked you, and Astarion was surprised by someone touching him so gently, as if he were made of glass. Going to take back your hand, it’s quickly caught by his, and gentle lips pressing to your palm sets your skin ablaze. The kiss was as soft as your touch, but Astarion can never pass up an opportunity… “Couldn’t help yourself anymore, hm?” You would accept defeat this once…

Astarion has never been a fan of cuddling…well, not until he met you. And what did you do to make him change his mind on the slow and intimate activity? Astarion loves the way your fingers brush slowly and carefully through his hair. He finds he has gradually become needy for that soft, gentle touch. On the other hand, you love the feeling of his soft locks slipping through your fingers; actually, there are many things you can adore about Astarion; you find the soft touch of brushing through his hair always seems to relax you. You could spend all night with him in your arms like this…and you do. 

You didn’t know if it was your imagination, but Astarion seemed grumpy today. You had tried to joke around with him and even participate in some teasing and flirting, but he wasn’t receptive. Thinking it best to just drop it, you left him alone for the rest of the day, going about your usual task. Then Evening rolled around; you were getting ready for bed when you heard a throat clearing outside your tent. Poking your head out, you saw Astarion looking…bashful? “Do you mind…if I slept here…with you…I’ve…been feeling off…” One part of you wanted him to explain; he had ignored you, and now he wants to sleep in your tent with you? And wait, elves don’t sleep? But something about the look in his red eyes…he seemed…lonely…Gently, you reach your hand out to grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him in softly. The rest of the night was spent with you sleeping with your head in his lap as he read to your sleeping form. Being around you made him feel so much better; it was as he thought…he was starting to rely on you, and for once, the thought of depending on another didn’t scare him. 

Sometimes, you can not decide who is needer between the two of you. Of course, you two tease each other about it, but Astarion is always the better tease. You’re rolling your eyes in both pleasure and annoyance as he moves his tongue across your chest, your nipples peaked and sensitive to every feathery touch. You try to keep your moans in, but it’s useless; “You make such pretty sounds, darling, keep it up.” His cold hands move between caressing your chest and your skin to find your sensitive nipples. Red eyes look up at you, filled with mischief. Is he satisfied with just a taste? Or will he bite…

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 headcannons #bg3 headcanons #bg3 smut #bg3 fluff #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 smut #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldursgate #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 wyll #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #bg3 halsin #bg3 rolan #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #halsin x reader #rolan x reader #astarion x reader #gale x reader #wyll x reader #zevlor #astarion

[astarionmademewriteit]

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

MDNI. 18+ only. Minors and blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Tags: Blood play; Knife kink; Mentions of violence and gore; PIV rough sex; Choking; Spitting (in mouth); Act 3 Spoilers; Gortash being a lil' bit submissive but switch-coded.

Summary: Durge and Enver have another council meeting, but it is quickly revealed that Enver was using it as an excuse to see his favorite assassin. The sexual tension had been building up between them for while and Durge finally acts on it, finding quick but mutual gratification in their shared love for pain and blood.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

I grow weary of this cat and mouse game Gortash and I find ourselves playing at. It was no secret that centuries of bad blood bore between Bhaal and Bane. Their respective chosen settling their differences in order to overtake Baldur's Gate. However, the list of differences between Gortash and I happened to be shorter than previously suggested.

He was brilliant, to be sure. His thirst for blood and pain rivaled my own. But I was a seasoned killer, trained in the art of murder and violence. I did not veil the carnal pleasure that ran through my veins at the sight of spilled blood, nor the ferocity of lust that churned deep within me when I was called to dole out executions on his behalf.

Most others saw my duplicitous nature and turned away in quiet disgust, but Enver openly admired me for it. And now we sit at yet another council meeting, carving out our well-laid plans for the city. 

Enver’s hand is splayed out over a letter from General Thorm detailing his work in the Shadowlands and the army he continues to amass. The contents bore me into bouts of restlessness.

I shove away from the table, and in one fluid motion draw my dagger and bury it into the table, right between his fingers.

His unflinching dark gaze meets mine and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Enough with this drivel, Gortash,” I hiss, “This is the second council meeting in one week. If I cared what Ketheric had to say, I'd visit that dreaded place myself. Why am I here?”

Enver chuckles darkly, pulling the dagger from the table and testing its sharpness. He presses his fingertip into the sharpened point, until blood rushes from his finger. Red rivulets flow freely from his wound, splattering on Thorm's forgotten letter.

“Does world domination carve into too much of your precious time?” His rhetorical question was full of condescension, “Perhaps, I just needed to find another excuse to conspire with my favorite assassin.” He cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction and a smug grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

I roll my eyes and yank the dagger from his grasp, hoping it catches against his skin once more so I can watch him bleed so prettily for me.

“There are better excuses than reading letters from that heretic,” I growl with disdain as I gesture towards the letters. Ketheric had his uses, but he never appreciated the finality of death–something I took personally, as his sacrilegious mindset directly conflicted with the tenants of Bhaal.

“Would you rather I prepare some prisoners for torture? Maiming? I understand you are fond of spilling blood,” his gaze never leaving mine, “It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

I circle around to his chair and sit on the edge of the council table beside Enver. I prop my leg over my knee, drawing his attention. He leans back in his chair and watches me closely, his eyes lingering on my form.

“Maiming?” I spit with disgust, “There is art in murder, but maiming is below me,” I grab his wrist and examine his pricked fingertip, “It's about coaxing,” I squeeze the tip of his finger and watch as blood dribbles down his wrist, “It is about taste,” I pull his finger into my mouth unprovoked, sucking and pulling blood from his wound. The coppery taste sends my body into a vibrating thrum of excitement and ecstasy. 

Enver sucks in his breath and something between a sound of approval and a low guttural growl escapes his chest. I slowly let his finger retreat, never breaking our intense gaze. 

“It's about practicality.” I push myself off the table and stand behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair at the crown of his head, pulling him painfully backwards until his eyes are back on me. The sharp edge of my dagger flush against his throat–one swift movement away from nicking his artery.

Gortash’s eyes watched me carefully, but he was neither scared nor nervous. I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this revelation. A look of longing passes between us, and in one fleeting moment I lean down and crush my lips to his. He receives me eagerly despite the steel of my knife threatening to bite into his flesh.

After a moment I bury the dagger into the table and Enver quickly stands and wraps his arms around my waist. I jump off the ground and wrap my legs around his middle, connecting our lips again. Our kiss is messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and lips–molding together with bruising force. His prickly stubble rubs deliciously against my face.

Enver spins and sits me on the edge of the table, hovering over me as his gilded fingers lace through my hair. He sighs deeply into my mouth as our tongues explore one another. I start thumbing the laces of his robes, pulling them open and running my nails through his thick chest hair–not holding back the way my sharp nails bite into his skin.

His golden filigree gloves claw at my scalp and down the back of my neck as he grows more desperate. I bite hard into his bottom lip until I draw blood, smiling against his abrasive kisses. He groans with pleasure as I suck the blood that surfaces from his wound.

I pull back momentarily, panting heavy as I whisper how good he tastes while pulling the last of his laces free. In a flurry of hurried movements, we undress before our lips crush back together, as if our very survival depended on it.

I lay flat on my back in the middle of the council table as he crawls over my body with a predatory gaze. Enver knees my legs open while he trails kisses down my neck. His cock rubbing torturously between my slick folds, teasing my clit and driving me into a lust-filled craze.

Impatience thrums through my body and I quickly grab Enver’s throat with enough force to cut off his airflow. I pull him up to meet my eyes, his dark gaze boring into me with such frantic intensity.

“Fuck me,” I growl, “Before I change my mind and slit your throat. And make it hurt.”

He chuckles darkly. Clearly amused by my threats, “As you wish, my assassin.”

Without a moment lost, he painfully forces himself inside me, threatening to split me in half. I cry out in pleasure, relishing in the way he fills me completely–his hips snapping into me with newfound ferocity. His golden filigree claws dig into the very wood of the council table, leaving deep splintering grooves.

My nails dig into his back, tracing painful welts into his flesh. The pain only motivates him to rut into me harder, pulling out far enough so that the swollen head of his cock forces me open wider, before snapping back into me with unrelenting force.

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips up off the table so that he is hitting my pleasure points with devastating precision. His name falls from my lips like a haunted hymn, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the council room.

Enver’s lips meet mine with such brutality that my skull presses painfully into the table underneath. His back is now spattered in bloody scratch marks, dripping down his back artfully.

I groan in pleasure, my ecstasy building into a dizzying crescendo. Enver’s teeth suddenly dig into the flesh of my lips, and the familiar coppery flavor of my blood spills from the wound. He sucks at my blood, groaning with carnal delight while he continues to thrust relentlessly into my dripping cunt.

He pulls back, reveling in the taste of my blood–savoring it on his tongue. “Open up, dear assassin,” he growls. I comply instantly, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue fall from my lips seductively.

He hovers over my mouth and allows a mixture of my blood and his saliva to fall back into my waiting mouth. I whimper–elated with our own debauchery. His pace becomes more aggressive–abusive, even, as I chase my release. 

My pleasure peaks and I’m falling victim to the white hot flash of ecstasy that rocks through my body, seizing my muscles until I’m coming undone–completely unraveling under his body. My cries ring through the room, Enver’s name the only prayer I care to recite.

Gortash breathes heavily in my ear, chasing his own release. His thrusts become uneven and sloppy. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils are completely blown out as he watches me while I continue to fall apart as he ruins my cunt with his punishing pace.

As my orgasm starts to subside I pull the dagger from the wooden table and press the sharp edge to the soft flesh of his throat once again. His eyes roll into the back of his head, enjoying the cold steel against his neck–the possibility of death lingering close by only motivating him to fuck me harder–deeper.

“Come inside me, Enver,” I hiss, tightening my legs around his waist as he continues to rut into me, desperately. His golden claws dig into the table, further marring the council table–leaving behind evidence of our violent tryst.

“Yes, my assassin,” he relents, shooting ropes of cum deep in my slick cunt, filling me with his seed. Enver whimpers into my neck, biting viciously at the soft flesh of my throat, leaving bruising evidence of his lusty confessions on my skin. His cock spasming uncontrollably inside of me.

His orgasm begins to subside, our sweat mixes with blood and violent ecstasy as he stills inside of me.

I run my fingers through his dark, bedraggled hair, having discarded my dagger momentarily.

“Regain your strength, Gortash,” I command arrogantly, “We are not done yet.”

He laughs breathily as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, “Whatever my favorite assassin commands, I shall happily deliver.”

I felt momentary relief now that we have finally acted on our building sexual tension. The feeling is quickly replaced with a new kind of hunger–one that rivals the murderous fantasies that occupy my mind. We complement one another, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a beautifully violent masterpiece. 

I knew at that moment that something incredible would have to pull us away from one another. The impossibility of it amused me greatly.

#Durgetash #Durge x Gortash #F!durge x Gortash #Enver Gortash fic #Gortash Fic #Baldur's Gate fic #baludr's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 Smut #Gortash x Durge #Gortash x f!durge #Gortash x Dark Urge #Dark Urge x Gortash #Enver Gortash #Gortash smut #Enver Gortash Smut #Durgetash fanfic #Durgetash fanfiction #Durgetash fic #Dark Urge #Gortash

[astarionancuninswife]

people watching (tav x astarion)

jsfadlkjklf yes!! I love this!!

word count: 430

warnings: N/A, just fluff

"I'll keep you safe" prompts | askbox

ao3 | guidelines for requests | masterlist

Karlach had convinced you that the party needed a day of rest, you in particular. You remember her words from the night before, scolding you for always being on 'go mode.' ("I get it, we're on a time crunch here, but we can't be our best if our leader is in bad shape! You always give each of us breaks, it's your turn. Let's take tomorrow off.")

So, that's how you found yourself sitting at the opening of your tent, fidgeting with your fingers because you just don't know how to sit and relax. Eventually you pick up a book, then almost immediately disregard it when you hear a pleased sigh somewhere nearby. You turn your head to the sound and admire how the pale elf stands with his eyes closed and face to the sun. You've picked up on his affinity for sunbathing, almost resembling a lizard on a warm rock when the sun comes out, and it always makes your lips curl up in a small smile when you catch him in the act.

You don't know how long you've been watching him when he turns his head to you with a brow raised, "Yes?"

"Hmm?" your trance is broken, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassed you got caught staring, "I, it's just..." you stutter a bit, looking everywhere but at Astarion, before your eyes land on him once more and you decide on honesty, "I like seeing you this way. So... at ease. Make me wonder how anyone could ever purposely put you under stress and live with themselves afterwards."

The vampire clearly wasn't expecting that, evident by how his annoyed expression softens at each word coming from your mouth. His eyebrows relax while his lips part in disbelief of the kindness you just said to him. It takes him a few seconds to recalibrate and respond, giving you a very simple, but sincere, "Thank you."

Your own embarrassment stricken face falls into a gentle smile, "Anytime, Astarion," you close your eyes and lift your face to the warmth falling from the sky, "Oh, this is nice, I see why you like it so much," you cover the lower half of your face as you let out a small giggle before leaning back on your arms and letting the sun bath you in her rays.

It's then Astarion's turn to watch you bask in the sun before smiling and mirror your position, "It is, isn't it, darling?" He lets out another content sigh, enjoying his usual sunbathing more with your company, "It's very nice."

#astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin fic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #bg3 fic #ask prompt #mine

[pikapeppa]

Rolan/Tav romance: Someone Great

In sum: a friends-to-lovers Rolan/f!Tav fic from Rolan's POV, with eventual rated E smut and mild angst with a happy ending.

Current word count: 36k words across 4 chapters, likely 7 in total.

First chapter (prologue) is below; you can find the rest here on AO3. ❤

************

For as long as Rolan could remember, what he wanted most in the world was to be a great wizard.

It started when he was eight, with a dusty and faded book he found under a bed while his mother was cleaning someone’s house. He brought the book home with them that day; it didn’t look like anyone wanted it, and Rolan had never heard of ‘transmutation’ before, and it sounded neat. His mother threw the fit of all fits when she realized that he’d stolen from a client, but she allowed him to keep the book — it wasn’t like she could return it without looking like a bloody thief, she complained — and as Rolan painstakingly worked his way through the tome, he realized what he wanted to be when he grew up: he wanted to be a wizard. Not just any wizard, but a wizard great enough to perform every single spell in this book. He wanted to be able to pull on the Weave with the ease of tugging a loose thread on the cuff of a shirt. He wanted to be able to do amazing feats of magic, amazing enough that Mother wouldn’t be so mad at him anymore.

So he started learning. He read that book cover to cover until he had most of it memorized. He practiced from it faithfully, working his way from the easy spells to the trickier ones. And on the day when he succeeded at turning a jug of water into wine, the smile on his mother’s face made it clear that this was his destiny. He was meant to be a great wizard, a wizard whose feats of magic made him useful and impressive, and from that moment on, he knew that a great wizard was exactly what he was meant to be.

Then Mother disappeared.

Rolan never did find out what happened to her, exactly. Ran away because she got sick of him, the kids at school would say, but he overheard a couple of the teachers whispering a rumour that her body was found in the alley next to a pub in the Dock District. Either way, Mother was gone, Mister Matheson who owned the house said Rolan couldn’t live there anymore, and all he had was that book. That book of magic, the book that he believed would lead him to greatness: it became the only thing standing between him and starvation.

Instead of practicing the more complicated spells after school, he used the simpler ones to put on street-shows for coin, and he used the coin he got to fill his belly as best as he could. As he sat on the curb eating runny vegetable soup and scraps of bread, he would remind himself that one day, when he was grown, he would be great. He would learn every spell in his book of transmutation, and he would find the best archmage in the city and become their apprentice. And then, with a real teacher to look after him and a whole entire library at his disposal, he would become the great wizard he was meant to be — great enough to prove to this whole city that he was more than just a show-offy street rat with a few cute tricks up his sleeve.

Then he met Cal and Lia.

He was ten when it happened. They were new to Elturel, and they loved his magic show. Little Cal gasped with delight and clapped at his every trick, and Lia beamed at him and called for an encore when his show was done. At the end of the show, they gave him enough coin that he was able to buy some stew with actual meat in it, and when he curled up in an alley with his threadbare blanket that night, his stomach wasn’t cramping with hunger for once.

The next day, Cal and Lia came back to see his show again, and they brought their mother Lana with them. Lana gave him so much coin that he was able to treat himself to a roast chicken dinner that night, complete with mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables and a loaf of fresh-baked bread: a meal so rich that he threw up half of it within ten minutes of scarfing it down.

The day after that, they came to see his show again, and Lana asked if he wanted to join them for dinner at their house that night. Despite his nagging feeling of too-good-to-be-true, he cautiously agreed. The shepherd’s pie Lana made was the best food he had ever eaten in his life, and the grown-up’s sweater they lent him was the coziest thing he’d ever worn. And right there, at the dinner table, with a full belly and Cal and Lia chattering beside him, Rolan fell asleep.

The visits went on like this for some time: daily visits from Lana and Lia and Cal followed by dinners at their home, which became the shining moments of his days. Then, after a few weeks, something wonderful happened: Lana invited him to come home with them and stay.

For the first time in over a year, Rolan had a home — a new home and a family, a mum and a brother and sister. And he knew why he’d been gifted with these things: it was because he had the makings of a great wizard. He was talented and bright, smart enough to manipulate the Weave with only the guidance of his treasured book of transmutation, and that was why they’d taken him in. That was why Cal and Lia liked him, and that was why Lana — Mum — had invited him to stay. They could see that he was going to be great, and there was no way he was going to disappoint them by being anything less. He would be a great wizard someday, as great as Elminster himself, and he would prove to them that they hadn’t made a mistake by bringing him home and calling him ‘big brother’ and ‘son’.

So he kept learning magic. He studied on his own after school, buying more books of magic over the years and memorizing them and mastering their techniques. He researched the most famous archmages alive and decided that Lorroakan would be the ideal fit for a mentor, and he wrote Lorroakan several careful letters listing his achievements and requesting the chance to become an apprentice. He practiced his spellcasting in his spare time, abjuring and evoking and enchanting in private and showing off the flashier spells for Cal and Lia and Mum. And when Cal gasped in delight and clapped, when Lia smiled and asked for an encore, when Mum hugged him and kissed his forehead and told him she was proud, he knew he was on the right track. He was talented and special, well on his way to becoming the great wizard that his family expected him to be, and nothing was going to get in the way of his goals.

Then Mum died.

He was eighteen when it happened. Within a week of her passing, their landlord, Madame Giselle, threatened to evict them if they couldn’t make the rent, and Rolan refused to let that happen. Cal was only twelve, a mere two years older than Rolan when he’d lost his mother, and Rolan refused to see him sleeping on the street like he’d once done. Lia was fourteen, just barely old enough to leave school and start working, but Rolan refused to let her give up her education at such a young age. And so, with no small amount of bitterness, he left his last year of school and put his magical studies aside, and he found a job instead.

He went to work at a tailor’s shop, offering his magical talents for the petty purposes of sewing perfect straight seams in a fraction of the time. As he sewed seams and ironed pleats and cut lengths of fabric into the shapes of fabulous robes that he couldn’t afford, he fantasized about how someday, he would be great. He was talented and smart, a self-made wizard who had already mastered the contents of two dozen books on evocation and transmutation and even the trickier discipline of conjuration, and when the great Lorroakan finally recognized his talents, Rolan would have the tutelage and the opportunity to become a great wizard, too. He would become famous for his talents, a wizard of wide renown with such skills that people would pay thousands of gold for his magical solutions to the most esoteric problems. He would use his fortune and power to buy his family a house, a huge incredible house with three big bedrooms and all the best furnishings, and Cal and Lia would never have to worry about going homeless or hungry ever again.

Years went by. Cal and Lia finished school and started working, and Lia told Rolan to stop working and go back to his studies so he would stop moaning about being a great wizard every single day. But Rolan couldn’t just stop working. Costs of living were going up every year, and even with all three of them working, they were just making enough to be comfortable. If Rolan quit his job, they would barely make ends meet, and he refused to see Cal and Lia struggle like he once had. He was responsible for them, for making sure they had the life they would’ve had if Mum was still with them, and he couldn’t just stop working altogether, even though his job was a bloody waste of time that took him away from what really mattered: his magical studies.

After months of arguing with Lia and cajoling from Cal, Rolan finally agreed to taking one day off per week. And with the boon of that spare day, he was able to think again about his great purpose in life. He took up his self-studies once more and made inroads on the tomes he’d been forced to put aside when Mum died. He wrote to Lorroakan again and requested the chance for an apprenticeship. He kept working at the damned tailor’s shop, but for the first time in almost ten years, he had hope — real, tangible hope that he could get back on track to becoming what he was always meant to be: a great wizard who got the recognition he deserved for how talented and brilliant he was, and who could use those talents and brilliance to make sure Cal and Lia had everything they ever wanted.

Finally, when he was twenty-eight, Rolan finally got the chance he’d deserved all this time: Lorroakan wrote him back and offered him an apprenticeship. That night when Cal and Lia got home from work, he told them the incredible news, and over a celebratory meal and a couple bottles of wine, they started making plans to move to Baldur’s Gate within the month.

Then Elturel fell into Avernus, and everything literally went to hell.

Their house was destroyed in the fall, and they lost nearly everything, including Rolan’s treasured library of magic tomes. Their neighbours turned on them, calling them devilspawn and refusing them shelter, and it was all Rolan could do to use arcane shields and mage-armour and invisibility spells to get them out of Elturel alive. They ran into Zevlor, who was leading a bunch of refugees to Baldur’s Gate for a fresh start, and through chance and lack of choice, they ended up travelling with them on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

But things went from bad to worse. News trickled in about some bloody goblin army, and when they ran afoul of a scouting party of goblins, they had to beg for refuge at the Emerald Grove. The archdruid Halsin immediately gave them shelter, but then Halsin went off on some quest or other and didn’t come back, and the druids’ second-in-command Kagha started threatening to throw them out.

Rolan was furious. Just when things were starting to look up for him, just when things were starting to finally look like he could give Cal and Lia the life they deserved, things had to go to shit. He had an apprenticeship to get to, a fucking life that he’d been aiming for since he was eight years old and that he’d been forced to put off time and time again, and he was not going to let a bunch of bloody goblins get in his way of getting to Baldur’s Gate.

But Lia didn’t want to leave the refugees behind. She wanted to stay with them, to risk her life and Cal’s to protect a bunch of strangers that they didn’t even know, and Rolan lost his temper. They got into an argument, the worst they’d ever had — and that was when they met her.

Her name was Tavanah: “call me Tav,” she said. She was a half-elf rogue from Baldur’s Gate with the oddest ragtag group of companions imaginable, and Rolan did not like her.

She was nosy, stepping into his argument with Lia and making him feel like he had no choice but to stay and protect the refugees. She had an annoying calmness about her that made Rolan feel like he was being overly dramatic when he absolutely was not. And most irritatingly of all, she got things done, and she did it quickly. She made that Kagha woman let Arabella go, and she went to the goblin camp and killed the goblin pack’s leaders and got Halsin freed. And for some reason that Rolan just couldn’t put his finger on, Tav’s heroism rubbed him the wrong way. Who in the hells did she think she was, interfering with his family? They were his responsibility, not hers. He’d been protecting them and providing for them since he was eighteen years old, and he’d gotten them safely out of Elturel all on his own with only his magical talents to thank. He didn’t need the interference of some busybody rogue and her weird friends to keep his own bloody family safe and sound, thank you very much.

Then, while travelling through the shadow-cursed lands with Zevlor and the others, they ran afoul of the damned cultists, and Cal and Lia were taken.

It happened faster than he could even fathom. One second, he was throwing a shield over the kids with one hand and flinging magic missiles with the other. The next thing he knew, Lia was screaming his name while she and Cal got dragged away into the dark.

It was the last bloody straw. Rolan was supposed to protect his siblings and kept them safe; what the fuck else did he have all of these talents and power for? What use was he if he wasn’t able to protect this own fucking family? But he’d failed at protecting them, he’d failed, and now they were gone. Cal and Lia were gone, and he was alone — he was alone, all alone, and he deserved this. He’d failed them, he was no use to them, he didn’t deserve a family, and that’s why he was alone. He wasn’t great at all. He wasn’t special or talented or worthy of an apprenticeship with someone like Lorrokoan. He had failed to keep his family safe, the one singular most important thing he was meant to do, and being alone and curled up at the bottom of a bottle was exactly where he deserved to be.

Then Tav showed up at the Last Light Inn.

As soon as he saw her, Rolan realized something: this wasn’t his fault, not really. It was Tav’s. Cal and Lia were gone because of her. If she hadn’t talked them into staying with Zevlor and the others, this wouldn’t have happened. If he and Cal and Lia had left on their own, he wouldn’t have been distracted protecting the kids; he would have put all of his skills and energy into keeping Cal and Lia safe, and they would still be together now. But Tav had interfered, sticking her nose into things and talking him into playing the bloody fucking hero, and because of her, Cal and Lia were gone.

He told her as much — as least, he thought he did, though things were kind of blurry at that point. And then she had the gall to tell him he shouldn’t give up hope, and that she would go to rescue Lia and Cal with her friends.

Rolan was furious. How dare this woman, this stranger, make it seem like he was some coward who didn’t have the stones or the skills to save his siblings on his own? How dare she make it sound like he was giving up? He wasn’t giving up by sitting here drinking. He was just — he… Well, he wasn’t bloody well giving up, not on Cal and Lia, not ever. And to prove her wrong, to prove that he was worth the trust that Mum had put in him all those years ago by taking him in, he went to save Cal and Lia on his own. He was more than able to do this, after all; he was skilled and brilliant, a self-taught prodigy well on his way to becoming great, and he was more than capable of bringing Cal and Lia back all by his bloody self.

But the shadows were too much. He got overwhelmed by them within half an hour of leaving the Last Light Inn, and as the shades and the undead crept in, so too did the terror. Was this really how he was going to go down? Here in the shadows, failed by the only talents he had while Cal and Lia were in trouble somewhere: was this really how it was going to end? He couldn’t let it end this way, he couldn’t. He couldn’t — Cal and Lia, he needed them — no, they needed him, they were probably so fucking scared, and he needed to stay alive for them, for them…

Then Tav showed up with her party in tow, and they saved his life.

Again, Rolan was absolutely furious. Not only were his talents not enough to save himself, but Tav and her friends had witnessed him being… not enough. They had seen him being useless and pathetic and scared, and worst of all, he was forced to admit that he couldn’t save Lia and Cal on his own — an admission that felt worse than chewing cut glass.

At Tav’s calm suggestion, he went back to Last Light with his horns hung low to wait for news of Lia and Cal. And later that very same day, the pair of them came wandering into the inn through the back door.

Their clothes were stained, and their faces and hands were smeared with dirt, but otherwise, they were no worse for wear. And for some reason that Rolan couldn’t even understand, the sight of them both blessedly unharmed made him see red. Here he was, marinating in a horrible miasma of fear and worry and shame, and they both dared to stroll back into the inn looking grimy but unharmed?

He blew up at them. Lia exploded back at him, and Cal tried to calm them down, which just made Rolan even angrier. Then bloody Tav walked through the tavern’s back door with that irritatingly calm look on her face, and she told Cal and Lia how much of a wreck Rolan had been without them both.

For a split second, Rolan was murderously enraged. How dare this woman talk about him to his own siblings as though she knew him? How fucking dare she? But then something truly mad happened: Lia deflated like a balloon and apologized to him.

Lia actually apologized to him — something that she almost never did. And Rolan suddenly felt like he was going to burst into tears. In that moment, he realized something with crystal clarity — something he should have realized ages ago: it didn’t matter how his siblings made it to safety, just that they were safe. Being a great wizard didn’t mean shit-all without the people who made him want to be great, and those people were Lia and Cal. And as irritating as it was to admit it, the person who helped him understand all of this was Tav.

As much as it humbled him to admit, he was… grateful to Tav for the clarity that her help afforded.

Over the next week, as the Elturians waited for the all-clear to move on from Last Light, Rolan spent a lot of time thinking about Tav. She didn’t know him or his family, but she’d gone out of her way time and time again to help them — not just them, but all of the refugees, and the druids and Harpers and gnomes to boot. She’d done all of those good deeds without expecting anything in return, and she’d done them all with that cool-as-a-cucumber demeanour she had. And the more Rolan thought about her, the more he realized something rather annoying. He wasn’t just grateful to Tav; he admired her, too. There, he’d admit it: he found her impressive, almost like a role model of sorts, or like… Ugh, he couldn’t believe he was thinking about her in this way, but as a hero. Silly though it felt to be a grown man thinking of someone this way, Tav reminded him of stories about folk heroes of old, and he found himself thinking about that more and more as he, Cal, Lia, and the refugees finally left the no-longer-shadow-cursed lands behind. Tav was a person whose actions weren’t just great, but… good, too. And this was what Rolan spent a lot of time thinking about as they made their way from Last Light to Baldur’s Gate.

As they drew closer to Baldur’s Gate, though, his excitement started taking over his thoughts. He was so close now, so close to the thing he’d been waiting for his entire life: the chance to finally be what he was meant to be. Here in Baldur’s Gate, with Lorroakan’s skills and guidance, Rolan was finally going to become a great wizard. He was finally going to learn the kinds of advanced magical theory and techniques that he’d never had the time or coin to learn before. He was going to make a name for himself, to prove that he was worth the affection and trust that Mum and Cal and Lia had given him over the years, and everything would finally fall into place.

Then he actually met Lorroakan.

He couldn’t tell Cal and Lia the truth, not after everything they’d been through to get here. So he told them that Lorroakan wouldn’t allow them to stay at the tower, and he found lodgings for them at the Elfsong with Alfira and Lakrissa so they wouldn’t see what Lorroakan was doing to him. He endured the beatings and the insults and being ordered around like a whipped dog, and he told himself that if he just stuck it out and kept his head down, he would finally get his chance. He’d find a way to access the secret cellar where the rare tomes were kept, and he’d learn everything he’d been deprived of for all these damned years. He just had to endure it a little longer; he couldn’t give up. Not now, not after everything he’d done to get this far, not after dragging Cal and Lia all this way. He couldn’t let it all be in vain — he simply couldn’t. He would get his chance at greatness, he just knew he would — as long as he didn’t give up.

Then Tav and her friends showed up at Sorcerous Sundries, because of course they did. And with one look at his face, he could see the truth of his shameful situation reflected in the darkening of her jade-green eyes.

She visited Lorroakan briefly, then came back from the tower looking like thunder and stormed out of the shop. And not long after that, an actual honest-to-gods aasimar showed up.

That was how Rolan found out that Lorroakan’s coveted Nightsong was a person — not an artifact, but a living, breathing person. And Lorroakan’s plan all this time had been to imprison her forever.

There in the Tower of Ramazith, with Lorroakan on one side and Tav on the other, Rolan made his biggest realization yet: he realized who he really wanted to be. He didn’t want to be a great wizard, not if being ‘great’ meant being anything like Lorroakan. What he wanted was to be good, like Tav. He might not be great like her, but he could be good, and that had to start right now.

So he turned on Lorroakan. He fought alongside Dame Aylin and Tav and her friends, and in so doing, he helped to set himself free.

Free. Rolan was free — and he was free in every sense of the word. With Lorroakan dead, with the ownership of Ramazith’s tower and Sorcerous Sundries now in his hands, Rolan was free to have the life he had always wanted. He had a home now — a permanent home, one that really belonged to him and Lia and Cal. He had an entire wizard’s tower full of knowledge to explore. And at long last, after everything that he’d suffered and overcome, he finally had the chance to be… not great, or not just great, but the chance to be… something more. And as Rolan stood there in Ramazith’s tower, watching Tav comforting Dame Aylin while her friends chatted and cleaned off their weapons and armour, he saw the truth: Tav was a perfect example of what ‘something more’ could really be.

For as long as Rolan could remember, what he wanted most in the world was to be a great wizard. But now, he knew there was more to life than that. Life was more than being the best, and it was more than having the world recognize how great you were. Being great didn’t mean anything at all without the people who inspired you to greatness, and the ones who inspired Rolan the most were Cal, Lia — and a certain green-eyed, cool-as-a-cucumber half-elf rogue from Baldur’s Gate.

Read the rest here on AO3.

#rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #rolan baldur's gate 3 #rolan/tav #rolan x tav #tav x rolan #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav/rolan #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate fic #pikapeppa writes

[senseandaccountability]

I'm sorry, I had to take a break from the game to write this little act 1 ficlet because I'm obsessed and wanted to try out this POV for a bit. Sorry/not sorry.

Build this ship to wreck pg-13, 900-ish words

*** It’s so simple, seducing her. Almost boring in all its pettiness. A little flattery here, a carefully worded promise there - their lives are dark and dreary and full of worms and Elnys Tavren is not even half as immune to vain delights as she’d like to pretend she is.  “You don’t have me yet,” she reminds him and all the freckles and scars of her skin seem visible in the moonlight at that moment. The darkness rising from the earth nearly disguises her but not to him. Never to him, he doesn’t miss a beat and that’s why he’ll win in the end.

There’s something wild about the way she moves. Something raw and unrefined that makes him think not of the endless line of perfect, willing bodies he’s lured and baited over the centuries, but of a before that he no longer knows ever truly existed outside of his imagination. Hundreds of years of make-believe take their toll, he assumes. Perhaps that’s why he - apart from the fact that she’s the least powerful fighter of the group - had chosen to bite her, not so long ago. Glaringly obvious reasons aside, she’s also someone the living man he used to be might have desired, once, before he made a deal with the devil and lost all traces of himself to cruelty and death. Cazador, at least, wouldn’t enjoy her, of this he’s absolutely certain. Look what the pets dragged in. He’d feed, soften the worst of his bottomless hunger and throw away her corpse; the notion rattles dangerously in Astarion’s chest for a fraction of a second. No.

The chasm of his pasts thunders and rages, but he can’t give in to it, can’t twist up this chance at turning the tables. Nothing matters but that freedom, the sheer might of it. Does it?  Mere hours ago Elnys had allowed him to deal with the filthy Gur monster hunter the way he saw fit and Astarion had cut the man down - sloppily, without much glee, but instead a sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach. Disappointment, surely, at the lack of grandeur. Surprise that the dreadfully dull woman holding the reins had loosened them like that when, normally, she’ll jump in between an arrow and a bystander for no good reason. On the way back to camp he had meant to ask her why, meant to prod further into the shades of what his power over her could be wielded from - lust, loyalty, naivety - but the words had got caught up in between their companions, then in a camp full of celebration and revolting wine. There’s so much to consider, wound tight around others like this. Obstacles, idiocies, downright doubts, but Astarion is nothing if not resourceful so here they are now. He tells her he’s been wanting to have her since he first saw it. It’s cheap, hells is it ever, but what is seduction other than a mutually signed pact to play certain parts? An animal and its prey. The consummate lover and their chosen one. There’s a glint in her eyes as he steps closer, a flicker of hesitation perhaps. He changes his tone, tilts his head, adjusts to her unspoken demands and just like that, it’s gone again. It’s so simple, seducing her.  And hells, it would be boring if it wasn’t for her rough edges, the unpolished lust and the memory of nights in camp, listening to her spin tales from the sordid places she grew up in, her glee after a successful battle, her sharp insights and filthy mouth. All those details of her, they fill up every empty space between them, flatten out the hollows. 

She tastes of cheap wine and smoky fish and her hands get lost in his hair, twisting themselves around his curls as he kisses her; he gets lost in his own well-rehearsed theatrics, then in her blood as she rolls her neck and allows him. No fear, no sense of obligation and he’ll remember this for at least a century, he thinks, the way her fingers trace the wretched scars along his back as he drinks her, the way her breath catches and her lips are on his, licking her own life from them. Afterwards, she’s flat on her back beside him on the ground like they’re some lost wood elves frolicking about; he plays along, thinking this woman's surely predictable enough to appreciate that sort of romantic delusion. She’s glancing at him with that particular gaze she has sometimes, letting it graze over his face. It makes her seem puzzled and determined at the same time, as though she’s measuring them quietly, holding them up against a scale of her own making. 

There’s that rattle again, the sound of bones in him as he realises he doesn’t want to know what she makes of this, let alone of him. Nothing to see in here, he thinks, pushing himself up on one elbow to meet her gaze. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “Are you alright?” “Am I… what?” Elnys shrugs; the corners of her mouth twitch. “Forget it,” she says, but he won’t. After Cazador, he doesn’t forget a single thing. “Darling, of course I am, as you so eloquently put it, alright,” he retorts instead, stifling a scoff with a smile and her possible further questions with a thumb rubbing over her nipple.  She growls, low in her throat, and pulls him down over her.

“’s not a strange question, you know, just common courtesy,” she mumbles later still, arms curled around herself, a few fingers vaguely brushing his arm. He doesn’t care for it, or wouldn’t under any other circumstances, but the sun will be up soon and he can’t find it in himself to spoil the wonder of seeing it by moving anywhere. Elnys’s crimson-dyed hair is spread out over the grass, over the place where his heart once could beat and Astarion lies there watching the stars fade into a bright sky as she begins to snore, her breaths tickling his shoulder. It’s so simple, seducing her. 

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fic #baldurs gate fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion

[killerpancakeburger]

Header by @saradika-graphics

Fics:

Bluebeard's wife, Soap x f!Reader, (Reader deals with a creep on base, Soap and Ghost have more... drastic methods than her to solve the issue) (~1k)

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse, Soap x f!Reader (Soap finds out his gf is a mercenary and he likes it) (~2k)

Soap giving you a massage, Soap x GN!Reader (<1k)

Breaking Point, Ghost x GN!Reader (3.6k) hurt/comfort

Breaking Point, Soap x GN!Reader (4.3k) hurt/comfort

Another Headache, Soap x F!Reader (1.8k) hurt/comfort

Headcanons:

Being Ghost's BFF (while dating Soap)

Dating Soap HCS: (Combatant!Reader)

Dating Ghost HCS

Soap x Reader HCS PT.2

Ghost x Reader HCS PT.2

Imagines:

- Sacrifying yourself to save Soap for Ghost's sake

- Not being able to spend Valentines with Soap in person

- Ghost giving you the Shovel Talk bc you're dating Soap

All dividers by @saradika-graphics

In my BG3 era and writing a bit.

Fics:

Outpace the dawn, Spawn! Astarion x Reader (rewrite of the ending) (<1k)

Baby it's cold outside, Dammon x Reader (going on a date with Dammon in the snow) (<1k)

The wizard is dead, Rolan x Reader ("Who did this to you? I'll kill them" trope over his bruises) (5k)

Headcanons:

- Catching Rolan and Dammon by surprise

- Attending a wizards soiree with Rolan

- Attending a wizards soiree with Rolan - ANGST VERSION

#mine #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate fanfiction #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate headcanons #astarion headcanons #astarion hc #baldurs gate 3 #headcanon #headcanons #fics #writers on tumblr #masterlist

[miradelletarot]

Ya know, I think it would be fun to read my series audiobook style, but idk if I could read the voices differently (I'm just a southern American woman, and if I even tried to attempt a British accent it would probably sound like 6 different regions in one sentence lmao). Nor do I think I could read the smutty bits without soul-crushing embarrassment.

The idea is neat though.

#the weave and the vines #vineweave #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #gale #baldur's gate gale #baldurs gate #bg3 fan fic #gale fanfiction #baldur's gate fic

[letsgofoletsgo]

To Rekindle a Soul

This fic was inspired by the Vox Machina episode Those Who Walk Away. It was one of my favorite episodes, of season two, and I wanted to write something similar with BG3. Hope you enjoy!

TW: Death/revival, angst ~

“Karlach! Get up here now!”

The urgency of Gale’s voice made Karlach’s stomach sink. She could hardly remember ever hearing his voice with such a tone, let alone directed at her. Immediately she bounded to the rope secured at the entrance of the pit, climbing out so swiftly it was as if she was narrowly avoiding her death. Instinct left no time for her imagination to fill the gaps, pressing onward with haste. Her claws sunk into the stone of the temple as she pushed herself upward. 

“Gale, what’s happened, I-”

For the first time, Karlach felt her engine threaten to stop.

A few feet away lay Rivera. Cradled in Halsin’s arms, the rest of the team gathered around him. He lay unmoving, limp, lifeless. Frightened shouts, pleads, and demands echoed within the chasm, panic and severity overwhelming the air as time seemed to warp. Shadowheart trying any spell she could, desperately asking the druid what could be done. Astarion, in a rare moment of concern, yelling at Gale to do something, Gale snapping back fervently that he doesn’t know what he could do. 

It all fell silent to Karlach as she bounded over to him, leaving a singed trail in her wake. 

“RIVERA!!!”

She bellowed as she fell to the ground, snatching his body from Halsin’s grasp, stray embers landing and fading against his body. Her gaze, blurred with tears and horror, flicked over Rivera’s face, feeling utterly sick to her stomach as his glassy eyes stared into nothingness. Her engine clacked violently, steam pouring from her vents, fueling the wildfire that leapt from her back.

“No! No no no! Rivera, please! You can’t- not like this-!” A disfigured string of pleads and cries fell from Karlach’s mouth, desperately wrapping her body around Rivera’s, clutching him into her chest. 

In a moment, a fun-loving, curious, vibrant life was gone. The fellow tiefling that ended up becoming Karlach’s everything. The first hug she received in a decade. The best thing that had ever happened to her, her best friend, her lover, her twin flame- ripped from her embrace just like everything else in her life. 

Gone. 

“Wait-” Halsin said suddenly, “A revival rite!” 

Everyone looked at him. A glimmer of hope had emerged, but there was little time. 

“Wh- A resurrection ritual? I’ve never done one of those before.” Shadowheart admitted. 

“Yes, it’s complicated, but it's his only chance.” Taking his staff, Halsin began to dig runes into the ground, precise even in his hurried motions. 

As Shadowheart went to help him, Gale approached Karlach’s side, kneeling as close as her searing heat would allow. 

“Karlach, look at me.” He said, voice stern with necessity. 

She moved her head just slightly, tears burning away from her lashes as she barely locked eyes with the wizard.

“We’re going to try a resurrection ritual, but we’re going to need him in the spell circle.” 

Gale knew he’d need to be gentle in order to pry Rivera from Karalch’s arms. He seemed to get through to her, grip loosening as Halsin tenderly collected him. However, instinct and emotion tore through as she reached for him once again, almost growling at Halsin. Lae’zel swiftly positioned herself between them, bracing against Karlach’s burning skin. 

“If you want your mate alive, listen to him.” She snarled, laden with solemn concern. 

Karlach remained still. Flames barely contained, shuddering breaths fighting against her roaring engine. She sat in a daze as the ritual commenced, magic flowing from Halsin and Shadowheart’s palms to create a golden capsule. The group’s voices became indistinguishable as Karlach stared forward, hardly able to think, wishing this was a horrible nightmare she could wake up from. 

And then, Karlach noticed. She couldn’t hear their voices anymore. It appeared as if the group in front of her had been frozen. 

She could hardly process it before something caught the corner of her eye. Her attention being torn from Rivera after what felt like hours, now witnessing something otherworldly taking form across the room. It looked like a tree growing before her eyes, green and black magic seeping from its skin as it took shape. Its roots melded into legs, its branches wove into arms. A wooden crest emerged where the canopy would be, curling around a glowing energy. The being now appeared humanoid, donning armor made of bark. Its skin was a vibrant green, casting a warm glow that alleviated the darkness around it. 

Karlach remembered. 

Rivera’s patron. Lord Oberon. 

The ruler of the Fae that he spoke of with such reverence. The king of beasts he had sworn loyalty to, that he had vowed to protect. The being he worshiped like a cleric does their god, he viewed him as salvation, meaning, purpose. It was something Karlach never quite understood, but respected. 

Now, the Green Lord was among the mortals. The death of his champion rippled across realities, beckoning his presence to the Material Plane. He approached Rivera slowly, moving like a great oak swaying in the wind. Oberon towered over his corpse, eyes masking an emotion that Karlach couldn’t place. He brought his hand forward, lowering an outstretched finger to the capsule. As if it were a brittle husk, the capsule broke from a single touch. Oberon then turned his hand, lifting it upwards. Beckoning the body. 

From his chest, it began to emerge. The culmination of Rivera’s soul, blue and ethereal and so fragile compared to the Fey’s near godly aura. Oberon lifted him slowly, standing as an otherworldly reaper ready to escort a soul to the next life. 

Karlach, however, was not ready to watch her life be taken from her once more. 

“Take me instead you Fey bastard!”

Oberon turned to her. The words flew hastily from her mouth, but she showed no remorse as she glared up at him. Karlach felt like her own soul was out in the open, like she was begging for her own life. At that moment, she saw no difference. Broken, burning, crying before the king of the Fey, all she wanted was for him to understand, to give Rivera another chance like he had given her. 

The lord raised his other hand, focusing on the tip of his finger. From it, an orange energy began to glow. It took the form of a small butterfly, marigold wings standing stark against the dark brown of Oberon’s armor. He watched as it flew from his hand, a candlelit beacon through the murky chasm. It approached Karlach, unphased by her radiating heat, and landed on her forehead. She could feel her skin buzzing from its touch, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The butterfly’s warmth felt different from her own, it felt safe, comforting. 

The sensation then began to spread down her face, down her neck, and into her body as the butterfly seemed to melt into her. It was electric, mesmerizing. The energy collected into her engine, calming the metallic clang that Karlach could barely hear. She felt some kind of tug from her chest, something weaving itself within her non-living core. 

The next thing she knew, the glow had faded into the usual red combustion of her engine. Its scorching intensity returned, but it felt… shifted, somehow. Like someone had just slightly realigned the device within her chest. She looked to Oberon, hoping for some answer, some meaning to what had happened. His expression remained unreadable as he remained for a moment. Words failed Karlach as the Lord began his retreat to his own realm, the same green light pouring from his bark as the ground engulfed him. His eyes remained on her, a weighing sense of divine promise as he disappeared. She expected the same light to overwhelm her senses, to drag her to the Feywilds along with him as payment for her lover’s life. 

If that’s what it took, she was ready. 

And yet, Karlach opened her eyes. Still sat in the chasm. Still breathing. 

Her mind was a blur. Her body felt disconnected from her mind, images and sensations flashing across her memory with no rhyme or reason. She tried to remember. To remember a dream, a prophecy, a message delivered in the thick fog of a sunrise. The stifling dread, green and blue, the feeling of electric warmth on her skin…

Then, a sound caught her ear. Karlach focused forward, recognizing her companions huddled around each other. Shaky smiles and soft, relieved voices now filled the room. 

In Halsin’s arms, there was Rivera. Alive. 

Karlach felt the euphoria of her escape from Avernus a thousand times over as her body moved on its own accord. Rivera’s wonderful blue eyes finally met hers as he came to, groggy and disoriented, but living all the same. He could hardly ask what happened before Karlach wrapped him in a powerful embrace, nearly knocking Halsin backwards in the process. He simply smiled at them, eyes heavy with happiness and relief as he muttered his thanks to Silvanus.

“... Karlach?” Rivera managed from her crushing arms. 

Karlach loosened her grip just slightly, face glowing as his voice graced her senses. “Hey, ‘sokay, you’re alright now, it's all okay.” Her voice wavered in her gentle whispers. 

“Where… What happened?” 

“Doesn't-” she fought back a hiccup, “Doesn’t matter. You’re safe, you're okay, it's gonna be okay.” 

Karlach kept on, reassuring her own nerves as well as Rivera’s. In the whirlwind she had just endured, she had finally found the eye of the storm. Safe in her arms, alive and well. To her, in that moment, that’s all that mattered.

And she would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

~

Taglist: @ramblyships @ava-ships @gay-selfships @candyheartedchy @fritzyships @self-shippy @hellfirenacht @blorbosfrommyhead @little-miss-selfships @skipper-self-shipper

(DM me if you want to me added or removed)

#baldur's gate 3 #karlach #tav #BG3 #baldur's gate #Karlach x Tav #baldur's gate fanfiction #baldur's gate fic #the river flows in you

[brabblesblog]

Art by @dafna-winchester

Read on AO3.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time?

Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

1. Whither is thy beloved gone?

2. Whither is thy beloved turned aside?

3. … that we may seek him with thee.

4. I sought whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

5. I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go.

6. Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me.

7. And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved.

8. Thou hast ravished my heart with thine eyes.

9. The king hath brought me into his chambers: we will remember thy love more than wine.

10. What is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?

11. I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou only makest me dwell in safety.

12. If ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

13. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm.

14. For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave

15. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

16. Abide in me, and I in you.

17. Whom have I in heaven but thee?

18. — and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.

19. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear

20. Aeterna amantes

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #soft ascended astarion #ascended astarion x f!tav #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fanart #astarion fluff #astarion romance #bg3 fanart #bg3 romance #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate fanfiction #baldur's gate fic #tavstarion #tav x astarion

[space-writes]

Summary:

Rune’s not so good with romantic words. He’s not so great with romantic gifts either. (inspired by this prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting)

Read on AO3 here / @ficwip

—

Since he woke on the Nautiloid, words have been difficult for Rune. Perhaps it’s the head-trauma and the parasite burrowing into his brain, or perhaps he’s always been a lumpen-tongued creature, unable to translate thought to coherent speech. So far he’s scraped by, bludgeoning his way through conversations like a back-alley boxer, bare-knuckled and brutal, but now he finds himself in need of more than a fistful of words.

Astarion gives him a headache with all the thoughts he can’t get from one side of his scarred skull to the other. Compliments and pet names and assurances flow from his—partner? bedmate? lover? friend?—companion like wine. Rune skips being drunk on it and goes straight to the hangover, unable to reciprocate. It’s infuriating. He killed a fucking orthon, why are a few affectionate words so damn difficult?

There are other ways to speak. Pictures say a thousand words, or so it goes. Items can be your voice, say what you can’t. Rune’s no painter, but he knows what Astarion enjoys.

His gut churns as he crosses the camp, his unspeakable words clasped in a clammy fist behind his back. Astarion glances up from his book, smile half-shadowed in the firelight. It makes him look Rune’s favourite kind of dangerous; a night-predator, eyes aglint and aglow.

“Need something?” he asks, setting his book aside, then blinks at the object Rune drops into his lap. “What’s this?”

“Affection,” Rune says. Astarion snorts a laugh.

“Darling, this is a knife. It still has blood on it.”

“You like knives. And blood.”

The snort becomes a full-bodied laugh, head thrown back, mouth wide enough to show red tongue, white fangs. The hollow core of Rune’s head turns in on itself, growling to cover the whimper of humiliation. Go somewhere dark, cut something open and crawl inside, this never happened, this never happened, this never happened. He starts to turn away—Astarion leaps up and catches his wrist.

“You’re right,” he says. “I do like knives. And blood.” Hesitation. “And you.”

Rune swallows. “I want to say things. To you. And I can’t.”

“Thus the knife.”

Astarion examines it for a moment, considering, then tosses it aside. It hits his discarded book and thumps off the cover—the sound reverberates in Rune’s head, but before it can crescendo to murderous levels of anguish, Astarion takes his face in both hands.

“Don’t worry so much about saying things, sweetheart.”

He pulls Rune into a kiss, and Rune grips his waist tight, holding him close. There’s a knot just left of his heart, a tangled, bloody skein of firelit eyes, the white arch of a brow, the shift of weight before the throw of a knife; of skin pale as bone and soft as silk, a sharp laugh and sharper teeth; of need and want and fear sunk in like claws.

Astarion draws back.

“I hear you,” he says. Taps Rune’s temple. “And even without these little go-betweens, you’re loud enough.” He puts his palm to Rune’s chest, over his heart. “I hear you, love.”

The knot unravels ever so slightly. Rune lays his hand over Astarion’s.

“So no knives?”

Astarion grins. “Well, I’ll never say no to a decent blade. I do so enjoy a good stabbing.”

Rune barks a laugh, and lets his vampire drag him into their tent, where they speak without words until the sun comes up.

#hey sweetheart #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #astarion/durge #baldur's gate fic #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #my fic #act 2 spoilers #(slightly) #yooo guess who re-gave themselves durge brainrot to write a fic for this event! #i love my fucked up little man #gotta finish the main fics i have for him soon

[reverieblondie]

Imagine surprising Haarlep by flipping your positions in bed as things are getting steamy. You whisper in their ear "Let me do the work this time." then kiss and nibble your way over to the incubus' other ear, "Let me pleasure you."

What do you think would happen next? How do you think Haarlep would feel/respond?

So, I had someone else ask me about a very familiar scenario of Haarlep and an afab Tav wrestling and finally pinning them down to dom them, so I am going to combine that one with this one. Enjoy!

18+ under the cut!

Haarlep sometimes forgets how strong you are, especially when they are on top of you, looking down at your prone form, ready to be devoured. So imagine Haarlep’s surprise when you, seemingly so innocent, so sweet, suddenly turn the tables on them. Grabbing onto their wrist, you effortlessly flip the positions. Haarlep looks up at their once docile pet, now looking down at them with newfound hunger. Haarlep eyes you intrigued by your next move. Mortals…such funny creatures. 

Placing their clawed fingers on your soft hips, they attempt to rock their cock into you and fuck you with reckless abandon, but you push Haarleps hips down, forcing them still. Haarlep looks at you, eyes narrowed and lips curling into a smirk. “Now what is-” a soft ‘shh’ leaves your lips as you lean to their ear. “Let me do the work this time.” Haarlep is about to make a sarcastic remark, but then your small tongue licks up to the sharp tip of their ear. Open-mouthed heated kisses go down their neck, and Haarlep can’t help but hum in approval. Then, a sharp nip makes their hands on your hips tighten. Cheeky girl… Your lips continue their pursuit until your sweet voice is again in their ear. Haarlep closes their eyes, taking in the feeling of your fingertips tracing over their lips. “Let me pleasure you…” your words are a sinful promise. Reopening your eyes, Haarlep looks at you, seeing all over you, “You can try, pet.” 

Haarlep loves admiring your flushed body on top of them; a shiver that only you seem to bring to them waves through their body: excitement. However, with having to be Rapheals for so long, they don’t get their hopes up. Plus, you are mortal; you will probably tire out making them finish the job. But as you’re positioning yourself, there’s something in your eyes. Then, as you grind against his rigid base, coating your sticky sweet essence all over their thick length. They start to catch on. That smile does not seem so sweet anymore, and right as they are about to say something about your teasing, you dip down and lick a quick stripe on their nipple, then give a quick bite. The whimper was involuntary as you rose back up, not missing a beat in your grinding. Harrlep can only smirk at the discovery, “You naughty girl, you’ve done this before…”

You smile; Haarlep loves it when you’re mischievous…

Sliding Haarlep in nice and slow, sinking them so deep they feel their dripping tip licking against your cervix. The stretch is maddening as it forces your walls to take their every bulging ridge. The moans of their name, as you start to rut them deeper into your womb, will cause Haarlep to grit their teeth, one part of them wanting to take back control, but the other part of them is enjoying the show. The sounds of your moans, the feeling of your splaying hands against their chest, slowly rising back up to the tip, hovering above them, scratching your nails down Haarleps chest, teasing them all the more as you wait to push them back in. All this unfamiliar teasing makes Haarlep dig their nails into you more. Right as they are about to comment in protest about not being buried deep in your tight sex, right as your walls are no longer aching from the stretch, you slide back down quickly, forcing the cock in so deep, arching and grinding to get them so deep it makes Haarlep head spin (not an easy thing to do). Riding Haarleps cock hard as you rub your sweaty hands all over their body, as you moan out breathless cock drunk praise for them. 

Haarlep will see your sweaty form and try to grab your ass to assist you, squeezing it to lift and lower you, but you won’t let them. Haarlep is only meant to be enjoying not working. Grabbing their hands softly, bringing them to your lips as you kiss against their palms and knuckles, moaning with every push and keeping your eyes on Haarlep glowing ones. This soft moment is so different…Haarleps cock throbs, and you can’t help but throw your head back, trying so hard to get them off before yourself. Then, as you feel that ecstasy threatening to wash over you, you place their hands against your stomach and let Haarlep feel how deep they are. How much you’re taking, doing just for them. The throbbing continues as your walls eagerly grip on every inch. 

Inevitably you will cum undone on Haarlep despite all your trying. But as your cunt quivers against them and their lidded eyes drink in your orgasm, you bring your hands to cup Haarleps cheek as you keep your mind-numbing pace. “Haarlep, I want to be filled with your pleasure…Would you please honor me?”. Haarleps eyes widen. Not only do you want him to cum, but you’re asking for it so sweetly. No demands…No forcing…Not forgetting that they feel things and want things…

It’s a moment of rare vulnerability as Haarlep looks up at you, moaning your name as they spill their hot seed deep within your womb in thick spurts. The slight bit of hope for it to take…

Crashing down to their broad chest, you press yourself so close to them, a wave of exhaustion starting to come over you now. Haarlep will tilt your head to look into your cloudy eyes. Haarleps eyes are lidded, and sweat decorates their skin; they two equally look spent. Then their sinful voice speaks to cut through your haze, “After some rest… we’re doing that again…” 

Fiends…Such greedy creatures…

#haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #bg3 #bg3 haarlep #bg3 headcanons #bg3 drabble #haarlep #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 haarlep #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 smut

[astarionmademewriteit]

My Fallen Angel (Part Two of Mission: Chaos)

Astarion (Unascended) x f!Reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

MDNI 18+ Only. Blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 3.7k

Tags: Smut; PIV sex; Fingering; Blood drinking; Painful puns; Maybe a little fluff.

Summary: After completing the mission, Astarion and Tav takes some much needed time to themselves.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

Astarion and I flit through the streets, stopping every so often to press the other against a building wall–interlocking our lips as if we are addicted to each other's affections. In a way, we are.

The events that transpired earlier tonight ignited our passions–our unwillingness to keep our hands off one another is palpable. I would gladly watch Astarion level every building in Baldur's Gate if it brought him this much happiness–this much exultation.

By now, civilians have been pulled from the comforts of their homes, and drunk patrons have abandoned their cups so that they might get a better look at the commotion outside. The hungry conflagration where the stronghold once stood feeds on the rubble, debris, and the bodies of dead Absolutists. It is as if we had raised the very hells.

“Gale will have some choice words for us,” I giggle, trying to conjure images of our companions reacting to the building going up in flames.

“Let him,” Astarion chides, “What's done is done.”

We part through the swelling crowd, maneuvering around curious gazes and low murmurs. Every so often he and I would pickpocket the oblivious and cast each other knowing glances when we found something worthwhile. Just ahead, Elfsong Tavern buzzes with music and delight.

I turn to Astarion, “What about a celebratory drink? We can toast to the pile of corpses you made short work of.” I cock an eyebrow at him, excited at the prospect.

“Darling, the longer you keep me from camp and that delicious body of yours, the more you just delay the inevitable,” his amused expression tells me he is considering it regardless of how impatient he might be feeling.

“Come on, it will be fun,” I whine, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the tavern.

He huffs playfully behind me, “Honestly dear, there are far finer establishments than this, but if you insist.” It is obvious he's just as excited as I, even if he would never admit it.

We enter the bustling tavern, patrons dancing merrily while others ponder over the explosion that rocked the city. I order a carafe of wine for the table and Astarion and I sink into a booth in the corner of the shoddy establishment. Astarion pulls me into his lap, and I welcome the closeness of our bodies as I pour us a drink.

“Honestly darling,” Astarion murmurs, “Do you expect me to drink this intolerable swill?” He turns his nose up at the cup, clearly above the substandard spirit. He pushes my long hair to the side, exposing my neck. He drags his nose along the column of my throat, “Especially, when I could be dining on the finest vintage in Baldur’s Gate,” he inhales my aroma, reveling in the way I smell, “I do have exclusive access to the greatest drink in Faerun,” he purrs.

I giggle girlishly, delighted in the way he craves me and only me, “All in due time, my love,” I whisper, leaning my back against his chest and allowing him to wrap his arms around my waist, “At least toast with me,” I turn my head and kiss him softly on the cheek.

“If you insist," Astarion leans forward and grabs the cup of wine and lifts it in the air, “To my little treat and the chaos she wreaks,” He pauses, carefully finding his next words–his expression turning serious, “After spending what felt like an eternity reliving an agonizing death over and over again, you came along and woke my beating heart–you taught me to live again. Thank you,” He bows his head in gratitude.

I drop my cup on the table, my heart warming at his words. I twist my body to press a kiss to his lips. My hand cups the side of his face with a tender touch.

After a moment, he pulls away, an amused grin on his face, “I don’t think you understand how toasts work, my dear. But admittedly, I like your way better.”

I smile softly before raising my own glass, “My love, you paint an aspiring portrait of our love. It is nothing short of a masterpiece,” I clink my glass to his, “To us.”

He nods in agreement and takes a sip of his wine against his better judgment. His nose scrunches up at the taste and he sticks his tongue out in disgust. I down my glass and giggle at his expression.

Before I could properly finish the carafe of wine, Astarion flung a few gold pieces on the table and scooped me up in his arms. 

We are already headed towards the door, “Astarion! My wiiine,” I pout.

“How you managed to swallow that garbage is preposterous. You are too good for that place, my dear,” his arms tighten around me as we make our way out of the Lower City, “In any case, there's only one thing you'll be getting drunk on tonight,” he lightly spanks my ass eliciting a yelp from my mouth.

The camp is well within sight before Astarion decides to let me walk on my own two feet. The companions ran up to us, worry streaked across their faces.

“What in the bloody hells happened out there, we saw an explosion and and–" Karlach is on us in an instant crushing me into a tight hug, “I thought something horrible had happened.”

“To the cultists, maybe” Astarion says with an air of nonchalance. 

Lae'zel fold her arms across her chest, “Leave it to these two to cause pandamonium.”

“We're fine Karla–wait… did you say pandamonium Lae'zel?” I snicker. She consistently fumbled her words and Astarion and I loved to give her hell for it–against our better judgment at times.

“What of it?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

Astarion cuts in, trying to contain his laughter, “Oh Lae'zel don't think in such black and white terms.”

Lae'zel eyes us with disdain and I clasp a hand over my mouth trying not to laugh, “Astarion my love, do try to be less unbearable, will you?” I say through bouts of laughter.

Astarion and I double over laughing at our own stupid jokes.

“At least you make each other laugh, tch.” Lae'zel stalks away from us while we try to bring our giggles under control.

Gale is next to welcome us back to camp, although ‘welcome’ might be an overstatement.

“What happened to the plan? All I asked was that you remain imperceptible with minimal casualties. I sincerely hope that you had a good reason for demolishing an entire building! Now the cultists will be at our heels as we venture forth to find the elder brain.”

Astarion huffs, already drained from the conversation, “As it stands, nothing has changed then, has it?” he looks down at his nails, “except less cultists,” he gives a little shrug of his shoulder.

I quickly pull the enchanted note from my pocket, “Here, take this,” I thrust it in his direction, “the message is hidden under some kind of charm.”

Astarion perks up, “Yes, it looks positively time-consuming. You better get to it then,” he grabs Gale's shoulders and turns him around before shooing him away.

As  I watch Gale walk away, fully engrossed in his new magical plaything Astarion leans over behind me and whispers, “Darling, I think you have made me wait long enough. Why don’t we take some time to ourselves, hm?”

I turn and playfully swat at his shoulder, “While everyone is awake, Astarion?! What do you think of me?” 

He laughs breathily, “I think,” he reaches out and brushes his knuckles down my throat and across my collarbone, “You want it just as bad as I do. Am I wrong?”

I blush at his touch and at his words, suddenly feeling shy. “There's that color I love so much,” he whispers softly, cupping my rosy face in his hands.

I lean into his cool touch, overcome by his words. He pulls me harshly into his body and tilts his head to the side, crushing his lips to mine.

I snake my arms around his neck and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He is right, I want it bad.

He smiles under our kiss and carries me to his tent, leaving the chatter of the camp behind.

We fall in tandem onto his bedroll, his tongue desperately searching for mine. Our bodies grind together as our kiss intensifies and I moan under his embrace. 

Astarion pulls away long enough to pull his shirt over his head. I remove mine quickly before we are at each other's mouths again. It is as if the momentary lapse away from one another was too agonizing.

Our hands roam aimlessly over each other's bodies. I tangle my hands into his hair and pull lightly and he offers a quiet growl in response–a growl that sends a shiver down my spine.

His hips roll into me, and his arousal is evident against mine. I gasp desperately, needing to feel him inside me. I pull on the waistband of my tactical trousers and peel them off with newfound urgency.

Astarion looks deeply into my eyes before removing his own and tossing them to the side. Instead of coming back to hover over me, he sits against the back wall of his tent and cocks an eyebrow in my direction.

“Come sit on my lap, baby girl,” he pats his thigh and I think I might faint at the new pet name. I eye him for a moment, watching the way his muscles move as his ribs expand and contract while he breathes. The moonlight casts a silvery haze around his ivory curls, and for a moment it looks like he dawns a glorious halo. My fallen angel. His vermillion eyes are unusually bright and clear as they rake over my exposed body–taking in my curves and the way my body reacts to him.

My pupils are completely blown out and my nipples stand erect. The slickness between my thighs only intensifies under his watchful gaze. My skin prickles with gooseflesh.

I crawl towards him and sit on his lap, laying my back against his hard chest. We breathe in unison, relishing the way our silken skin feels against one another.

He brings a hand to my jaw and tilts my head back to face him. He leans in and kisses me softly at first, his pace quickening as his free hand travels down my body. His lips are bruising against mine and he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth–his fangs grazing against me. He gropes at my chest, rolling my nipples between his thumb and index finger. I whimper under his touch. His arousal digging into my back–as if foreshadowing what's to come. 

His hand continues to wander over my body, memorizing all of my curves and scars. He stops just before the apex of my thighs, and I yearn for him to touch me–to bring me unimaginable pleasure. 

I whimper softly at the anticipation. “Darling,” he chuckles darkly, “Your body is practically begging for me, but I'd much rather hear it from your lips,” his voice is gravelly and thick with lust and my body quivers in response. 

“A-Astarion, please,” I practically cry. My body was beginning to tremble, yearning for his touch–for him. My heart was pounding in my throat, something I’m sure that he had already noticed. His hand tapped impatiently just above my sex, and I know he is trying to coax more words from my lips.

“Oh dear, you make such sweet sounds,” he coos with a mixture of love and condescension, “But I need more,” as the last word leaves his lips, he tangles his fingers through my hair and pulls back harshly, and I reward him with a whimper.

“P-please, touch me Astarion,” I mewl. My body aches for his touch and I need him more than the air I breathe. I need to be engulfed by him.

“Since you asked very very nicely,” he murmurs softly. He quickly complies and dips his fingers expertly into my slick folds, “Such an eager little pup,” he coos, admiring the way my body reacts to him–how wet he makes me.

Astarion traces agonizingly slow circles around my clit, applying just enough pressure to ignite my senses. He tugs on my hair until my head rests against his shoulder and my back is arched to an ungodly degree.

As he continues his ministrations, the building pleasure in my core only grows as he drags his fangs against the soft flesh of my throat. I offer him a choked cry, wanting nothing more than to feel him drink from my neck. He inhales deeply, drinking in my scent.

“Feed on me,” I beg, my body longing to feel his fangs pierce my neck–to feel my life essence slip from my body as it nourishes him.

He offers me a low chuckle, clicking his teeth at me as if I were a petulant child, “Patience my love. I want to taste you at the height of your pleasure when your adrenaline is at its peak. I want to be inside you first,” he purrs. His fingers unexpectedly enter my dripping cunt, and I gasp loudly.

A cool hand clasps over my mouth, reminiscent of our entanglement earlier tonight. He knew I enjoyed it. “Sh sh sh. We wouldn’t want to disturb the whole camp now, would we?” I shake my head, unable to speak. 

I’m panting heavily as he pushes deeper inside me, curling his fingers to perfectly hit my sweet spot. Pleasure radiates through my body, and I moan into his hand, unable to control the sounds he coaxes from my body. His pace quickens and I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return.

“That’s it, my sweet,” he purrs into my ear, his hot breath tickling the back of my neck overloading my senses and sending a wave of gooseflesh across my skin, “come for me.”

His words push me over the precipice, and I am falling, coming undone around his fingers, and dissolving into pure bliss. My silken walls tighten around his slender fingers as they coax me to climax. My body quivers, the white-hot flash of my orgasm rocking through my body as he whispers motivating words in my ear. I’m blinded by the pleasure he offers me and my heart pounds in my chest. My toes curl in response as wave after wave of ecstasy flows through my body. I whimper under his hand, and he growls in response, only intensifying my splintering pleasure.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he whispers gruffly, pulling his hands from my mouth and pussy. He grabs my waist–his fingers digging painfully into my soft flesh. He lifts me over his throbbing member, lining himself up with my dripping cunt. My body still spasms with the aftermath of my orgasm, and before I can completely fall back to Faerun he has thrust himself inside me, his cock stretching me out–testing my ability to fully take him inside of me.

“Gods below,” he growls, “You are so perfect,” his raspy voice is thick with praise.

I straddle his hips, my back still firmly pressed against his hardened chest. I barely manage to take him–inch by inch until I am flush against his hips. He is so deep inside me I feel like I might lose myself all over again.

He snaps his hips into me and guides my own to meet him thrust for thrust. I whimper, biting my lip to keep the screams from escaping as his cock brushes against my cervix. My mind swirls with unfiltered ecstasy, his movements lulling me into unfettered desire.

He fills me completely, and his jolting pace is both unrestrained and carnal. He slides himself out of me almost entirely, his throbbing head stretching me out further than I thought possible. The sweet burn of his girth inside me is alluring. The way my slick walls cling to him tightly elicits another growl from deep within his chest, and he hisses as he buries himself to the hilt once again.

My arousal rings loudly like a symphony throughout the tent, only motivating him to rut into me harder and with more force. I cry out, no longer caring if the other companions hear us inside. He was claiming my pussy–claiming me as his, and I gladly give myself over to him completely.

He firmly takes hold of my throat, applying just enough pressure to cut off the blood flow to my head, sending me into a delirious spiral that threatens to push me over the edge once again.

He continues to rut his hips into me, my ass rippling with each forceful thrust. Shockwaves of pleasure undulate through me. He tilts my head to the side, giving himself full access to my neck. He places sloppy kisses against the soft flesh of my shoulder and neck, warning me that he is about to take what is rightfully his.

“Feed on me,” I beg. I’m barely able to contain my anticipation.

“As you wish, darling,” he chuckles darkly. His acquiescence to my request further spurs the churning passion in my core.

He bears his fangs, as sharp as our daggers, and pierces the flesh where my neck and shoulder meet. The searing hot pain floods through my body until the pleasure is far greater than the pain. He drinks greedily from my neck, lapping up the blood as it flows freely from the twin puncture wounds.

His body begins to warm against mine and I continue to rock my hips against him–his cock spearing into me and hitting that delicious spot all too perfectly. As my life essence is pulled from my body, a dizzying sensation washes over me. I begin to pant heavily, feeling myself approach another tantalizing orgasm. Warmth washes over me threatening to burst me into flames.

Astarion whimpers desperately into my neck, tasting the adrenaline that tinges my blood. His movements are quick, my blood allowing him more energy than I thought possible. He quickly flips me over onto my stomach, never once breaking contact with my throat and never once pulling out of me.

He hooks his leg under my thigh and forces my legs to open wide for him. He thrusts into me with such force, his assault punishing and feral. I whimper under his weight, his cock thrusting deeper into me than I could have ever imagined. My vision begins to blur, and my breathing becomes ragged.

At the height of my delirium my body tenses as I near the precipice of another climax.

“Astarion, I-I’m gonna–” before I can finish my sentence he pounds into me harder, coaxing the orgasm out of me.

I fall once again over the edge, my vision darkening around the corner as I melt against his tense body. A strangled cry escapes my lips as he rails into me harder, my orgasm rocking through my body with such intensity that I fear it may stop my heart altogether. My brain practically short-circuits as I clench tightly around him.

His own breathing becomes ragged, his thrusts sloppier–and I know he is chasing his own release. He pulls away from my throat long enough for a deep growl to erupt from his chest, and then he is spilling himself into me. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving himself over to his ecstasy.

Our collective climaxes scream in unison–pleasure combusting through our bodies with unprecedented intensity. My orgasm begins to fall away, and I can feel his cock twitching inside me as the last of his spent fills me completely. His body trembles against mine and moans fall from his lips, much to my satisfaction. He finally stills above me, trying to control his panting.

I reminisce on his earlier words, promising that I will only get drunk off one thing and I smile knowingly–I am without a doubt intoxicated by the primal pleasure he elicits from me.

Finally, Astarion kisses at the nape of my neck, “I’ve missed this you know,” he whispers before pulling himself away. I whine at the sudden emptiness, but I roll over to look into his ruby-red eyes. He grins auspiciously.

“C’mere,” he commands before pulling me into his chest. I gladly nuzzle into him, snaking my arm around his midsection and wrapping a leg around his thigh. He traces small shapes into my back, softly grazing my skin with his fingertips.

I smile sweetly into the crook of his shoulder, relishing his gentle touches. “I love you, Astarion” I whisper.

He gives me his signature grin and gazes deeply into my eyes. After a brief moment of contemplation, he looks at me, adoration overtaking his sharp features, “How selfish I am, to crave something that has no business being mine. Yet here I am now, a glutton for your love.” He leans over and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

I hum happily at his affection. “You deserve everything, my love,” I whisper, “I’m yours,” all the love and affection I feel touches my words.

“As I’m yours, darling,” he sighs longingly, squeezing me closer to his body.

There have been nights in his tent where only grief and pain existed. But then there are moments like this, where the world grows quiet lulling into a deep slumber and we find ourselves entangled–caught in each other’s web, unable to say goodbye or part with one another. Our feelings laid bare for the other to see. All the pain, the sleepless nights are only bearable when we are with each other. But tonight, we rejoice in one another.

We sit comfortably in each other’s embrace until sleep overtakes us. Our contentment in one another coaxes us into soft dreams of the future.

#astarion #bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #f!reader x astarion #tav x Astarion #Baldur's Gate 3 #fanfic #fanfiction #Baldur's gate fic #Astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #Astarion smut #bg3 smut

[astarionancuninswife]

symphony (bard!tav x astarion)

My first official fic for BG3 and this was a fun one to start with!! The song that came on shuffle was Cody Fry's I Hear A Symphony - Live From Ocean Way Nashville. The first thing I thought of was a bard playing it, so that's what I went for. Kinda short, but a little drabble never hurt anyone.

Like I said, this is my first BG3 fic and therefore my first Astarion fic. I've privately written him recently, but this is my first public release of my interpretation of him, so I'm sure there's some discrepancies in his characterization. That being said, I'm always open to hearing constructive criticism, just be gentle with me.

Please enjoy!

word count: 840

warnings: N/A unless sweet sweet fluff is something you're wishing to avoid... or if you don't like real life songs being used in fantasy settings lol

ao3 | guidelines for requests | masterlist

It was just like any other night at the camp, a strange mix of people forced into companionship by unlikely circumstances minding their own business. Shadowheart sitting in thought at her tent, Wyll making conversation with Karlach about their adventures of the day, and so on. Tav is sure the others are doing interesting things as well to wind down for the night, but she isn't too concerned about them. Instead, she sits by the fire, pretending to simply be staring off into space as she strums her lyre idly, but in truth, she's watching a certain vampire across the way. He's reading a book like he often does. She's not sure of what the contents are, she's not interested in it anyway. 

She stops her hand for a moment and starts thinking of the song she had composed a few nights before and just hadn't been brave enough to share until now. It was rare for the bard to be nervous; her pieces usually were just silly little ditties made up on the spot about something funny that happened while out with a small party of her companions. Those didn't warrant a fear of criticism. 

This, however, was different, it's fully written and memorized. It's special, it's a song with a specific muse. And she's not quite sure how this muse will react when he hears this pseudo-confession.

After some thought, she softly begins to sing with her eyes closed, "I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along," she takes a breath to steady her shaky voice, "Now in its place is something new, I hear it when I look at you," she finally opens her eyes with the last word, immediately meeting Astarion's through the flames of the fire. She can't quite read his face, but when can she ever? He's pretty good at keeping his thoughts tucked away from any detection when he wants unless she uses the tadpole connection to enter his mind. She would never though; she understands the need for privacy and consent with everyone, but especially with him.

So, instead, she begins strumming her lyre and continues her song:

With simple songs, I wanted more, Perfection is so quick to bore, You are more beautiful by far, Our flaws are who we really are,

It was then she saw recognition on his face, a smile threatening to grace his lips. He was holding back, but she was fine with that. The corner of her lips become upturned as well, she's more than happy to smile for the both of them at the moment. She stands up, finding her usual confidence again at his acknowledgment. And all at once, in her mind and in this moment, it is just her and him alone in the camp. No one else exists to her.

I used to hear a simple song, That was until you came along. You took my broken melody, And now I hear a symphony.

She does a few vocalizations to fill the gap between the last stanza and the outro, all the while never taking her eyes off the pale elf who has given up on keeping his lips from forming a smile on his face. 

And now I hear a symphony.

She strums a few more notes before ending the song, standing there by the fire with a stupid lovesick grin. She watches as he walks over to her while clapping a few times, "What a beautiful melody," he compliments, "I wonder who could have inspired such a poem."

Tav laughs at his theatrics, rolling her eyes as her cheeks heat up, "A mystery," if he was going to tease her, she'd play the game as well.

"Well, whoever they are, they must certainly be quite special to you."

"He is," she says, her voice filled with nothing but honesty, "I hope I'm even a fraction as special to him…" she trails off, looking at him softly before becoming self-conscious of her implications and looking away.

Astarion is quiet; it takes him a moment to realize how vulnerable she's being in the moment, how honest and open. A soft smile takes form on his lips again before leaning to kiss her forehead, "More than just a fraction, darling, much more," he says gently, just loud enough for her to hear.

After a few seconds of blissfully staring at each other in silence, clapping can be heard from another spot in the camp, followed by Shadowheart quietly scolding Karlach for ruining the bard and rogue's sweet moment. Which is then followed by the others all figuring out who won the bet of how long it would take for one of the two to confess having actual feelings for one another and who would be the one to make the first real move. (Lae'zel won both, plus a bonus prediction of how Tav would confess, though it wasn't much of a surprise considering she carried an instrument around like it's a necessity in life she can't live without.)

#astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin fic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion fluff #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #bg3 fic #songfic #mine #I still don't know how to properly tag fic posts lol

[galileomagnifico]

A Debt Repaid (Lord Enver Gortash; One-shot)

Before he was Bane's Chosen, he was a cobbler family's son. In a brutal world of betrayals and butchery, Gortash has learned to lie better and backstab first. He suffered his first betrayal from his own parents, who sold him to the devil Raphael when he was just a child to settle their world-ending debts. Now, more than twenty years later, Gortash has come for revenge to repay the debt. Not in money or for mercy, but in servitude.

TW: Mild body horror, graphic violence

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot fic! This one I had to write immediately after I went sightseeing in the Lower City and the House of Wonders in BG3 and we learn of Gortash's past there.

I really like that each of the Baldur's Gate villains has clear motivations and reasons why they turned to worship their respective Death Gods. From an early age Gortash learnt that the world is cruel and if you do not have the power, you will be treated as nothing but dirt. He carried that trauma of emotional and domestic abuse well into his adulthood. It doesn't define him as a character, but it explains why his world view is in favor of absolute tyranny. It's either rule or be ruled.

#lord enver gortash #enver gortash #gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate #baldur's gate gortash #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #baldur's gate fic

[redroomroaving]

The Apprentice (Victorian/Penny Dreadful AU Rolan)

The first of my squad portraits as we welcome Rolan's official debut in The Red Harp (my ongoing Victorian/Penny Dreadful inspired AU)

Looking forward to spending more time with this Hot Mess Express edition of our favourite grumpy wizard.

#bg3 rolan #rolan #baldur's gate fic #baldurs gate fanart #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate rolan #holy rolan empire #victorian au #penny dreadful au #roaving stuff #fic link #victorian rolan is here and he's ready to be a disaster #the red harp #rolan fanart