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fire-emblem-drabbles · 7 months

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Pairing: Karlach x durge reader, Gortash x durge reader

Prompt: Some thoughts I had when I brought my dark urge and romanced Karlach to face Gortash.

Description: Having just survived a divine revelation from daddy dearest Bhaal and making your way to Wyrm's Rock, you're a little shaken but ready to face whatever Gortash may throw at you. You wanted to see Karlach have her revenge as sure as it was your own. Yet... something familiar and strange stirs within your blackened heart when you look at Gortash. And most frighteningly, he looks to you the same.

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 2678 3037

Notes: Happy 4:30 am I got off work and like a man possessed wrote this. It's not edited (yet) but if I don't post this and get validation I may just fucking die so. Have this terrible little brain baby! I just think it would be so tastey. No one wins here btw!

oh this is huge spoilers for dark urge/act 3 btw! I took some liberties but it's my fanfiction and I can if I want to

Edited: 10/1/23 (read it and there was a lot of mistakes lol)

Curiosity has guided you far, in this adventure. It’s helped you find the pieces of your past life, both those that proved to be a boon and that which you would have rather left buried. You’ve repressed your dark urges, fought them, proved to yourself and your allies, and especially your lover, that you’re better than that. Better than the person you once were. Better than what your father would have you be.

And it’s never been more clear than when you stand before Gortash now. You can feel Karlach before you, bristling at seeing his face. The way Wyll panics at seeing his father, obviously not himself. Gale, too, is is all wound up-- the emotions held in this room are fit to burst, and you and Gortash are the center of it.

You felt a flicker of it before, when seeing his face in the Ilithid colony beneath Moonrise. There was familiarity there; not the burning hatred that seized your heart when you looked at Orin, nor the cool indifference you felt upon taking Kethric’s life but something far different. The closet thing to normal you felt from your previous life. It scared you more than the murder, than the blood on your hands and the bile burning the back of your tongue.

He felt like home. A feeling you thought only Karlach could bring about you, of calm and happiness acceptance and all things nice and lovely that father would surely disapprove of. And when he speaks, when his disgusting honeyed voice and hardened gazes softens upon landing to you, when “My favorite assassin,” leaves his silvered tongue, you can see whispers of the past before you.

A part of it, mind, you might have preferred to keep lost. It comes in flashes and fuzzy moments, in warm feelings and beating heart. Your hand, held in his; your lips lost together. Bodies tangled and thoughts lost... You linger in those memories a moment, remembering how right it all felt. And thinking, how funny, even back then you were pulling away from father's puppet strings.

As you come back to the present, you're left stunned silent a moment, as his words flow in one ear and out of the other. This is Gortash-- the man who sold Karlach to the Arch Devil Zariel, who abducted Wyll’s father and whose manipulating the cult of the absolute and all the people of Baldur’s gate all at once-- and he’s the man who helped you learn what love is.

It's also so sickeningly familiar, the way your heartbeat picks up upon meeting his gaze. How he reserves an easy smile just for you, even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times. You have to close your eyes, to reach out and take Karlach’s hand despite how hot she’s grown. It's almost too much for you, to remember how happy you were with Gortash when you've been fighting for so long to find a way to keep being happy with Karlach.

“Solider?” Even through her own anger, her own disgust and sorrow and rage and madness, Karlach pauses, (your whole party does, in fact) in seeing the familiarity between the two of you. Seeing the effect Gortash has on you, their dauntless leader, their dear friend. If only they knew who they were calling their ally now...

“Holy shit,” Is all you can manage out in the moment. So many thoughts, little forgotten memories blink past your eyes. Karlach squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back just to let her know you’re still there.

“I didn’t think I’d have quite that strong of an effect on you,” he chuckles and you hate how you can tell it’s from genuine affection, and not twisted glee. He truly is glad to see you-- and why shouldn’t he be? It can't have been that long ago that the two of you were lovers.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You have to steel yourself in front of him, in front of your friends. But how can you deny it? Things have always been this way between the two of you. Delicate and strange and so wrong as to feel right.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” That charming smile, turned business as he turns to face your party whole. “I was worried, after Orin did you in. But I should have known you would return, find your way back to me.” He’s all confidence as he speaks, and you notice its mostly to you. It’s almost as if the room isn’t filled with courtesans, as if your party isn’t there to back you up. Like you aren’t clutching to Karlach like a lifeline.

“You’ll… have to fill in the finer details.” You admit softly, frown fitting your face. “I’ve reclaimed bits and pieces of my former memory but I’m afraid much of my former…” You hesitate as you consider who you were before all this “...life is beyond me.” You decide to remain as passe as possible. But perhaps he already knows you remember. Actually, your certain he does-- there’s a look of mischief twinkling in his eyes that surely only you can see. But cruelty is in his nature, as begets the chosen of Bane. You’re lucky, then, that for you, and only you, his urge can be diminished into something a little more charming.

“Why, without you this cult would be nothing! Well, without us.” He laughs again and you can feel your companions eyes upon you. “You and I came up with this whole plan-- to steal the crown of Karsus, overpower the elder brain, and use its powers to create a loyal army of cultists… if Orin hadn’t overthrown you, things wouldn’t be near a mess as they are now.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, a sigh fitting past his lips. “That sister of yours is quite the handful, and far less careful about controlling her urges. Why, with you back, and with Kethric’s nether stone no less, I dare say we have a chance to get things back in line again.”

“_____, what is he talking about? Why is he talking like he knows you?” Karlach’s voice tears through your thoughts, just as you feel her warm hand leave yours, and your party's gaze all land on you.

“Oh Karlach, dear sweet Karlach…” Gortash speaks again. “Are you certain you want to hear that?” Your breath hitches as he speaks. You were hoping Gortash would have more decorum than to admit what the two of you once hand. Perhaps its obvious to him how you feel about Karlach now. Maybe you looked at him the same way, once; maybe you are now.

Perhaps then, it's jealously that causes him to speak. You can't imagine how he must feel, seeing someone he got rid of so long ago stroll up with the person he thought was taken from him. Yes, now that you think about it, that would make him quite mad...

“You shut the fuck up, Gortash!” Karlach raises her voice before you even think to speak; Gortash merely smirks, speaks again with mockery lacing his tone.

“Indeed, _____, why don’t you enlighten your friends, your lover, about your past self?” Your name spoken from his lips was so, so nice. It made you ache in a sickeningly familiar way. And so too, was the venom in his when he spoke of your lover. Of Karlach…

“They know,” You manage to croak out. “With the tadpole they saw… saw the vision my father sent to me.” One that you had gotten hardly an hour before coming here, even. That you were a Bhaalspawn, of your dearest fathers own flesh. That you were his chosen before Orin struck you down. You knew that wasn't what he met. You were desperate to hide this-- like when your urge first overcame you, when that poor girl Alfira's blood stained your hands and camp...

“Then surely, you remember, about us?” Daring as ever, Gortash moves forward, to cup your chin tenderly with his gauntlet that held his nether stone.

How easy it would be, to twist the arm that dared hold you, to rip that precious nether stone from the sorry hand that dared touch your hallowed flesh.

“Us? What is he talking about?” You could hear the desperation in Karlach’s tone, even if you couldn’t see her. Your eyes were locked with Gortash’s, lost in them really. “_____, why are you letting him touch you?” Even from here, you could feel her heat. She was angry, so angry that he dare touch you. But scared, too. Scared that you weren't even trying to stop him.

You tear away from Gortash’s intense gaze, gently remove his hand from your person and ignore your urge. And so to, ignore the urge to reach out for Gortash in return. So many parts of yourself you have to deny, it was getting hard to know what’s really you…

“Fine. Fine!” You raise your own voice, uncaring of the puppets in the room. You turn to Karlach, to the only reason you’ve gotten this far. “You deserve to know anyways.” Still, you heave a sigh, for what is a heavier burden than the truth? “Yes, before Orin betrayed me, I was the chosen of Bhaal. But beyond that…” Even still, as the truth lingers on your lips, tingles on the tip of your tongue, you hesitate as you meet Karlach’s gaze-- as you filter to Gale and Wyll as well.

Your breath dies a moment as you see how worried they are for you. You’re scarcely worth such kindness, moreso from such good people as them. “Gortash and I were… close. Far closer than any plan may have merited. One might have even called it love, if you believe such evil capable of it.” You admit, looking to the floor. You wouldn’t be able to take the look of betrayal in their faces, nor the grin Gortash surely wore.

“I…” You can feel the way the anger leaves Karlach. Even if she didn’t want to show it you can feel through that dammed tadpole how numb she suddenly feels. “Right. You guys finish” She gestures vaguely to you, to Gortash “whatever the hell this is. I gotta go.” You don’t even have the heart to stop her. Don’t have the courage to watch her retreating form.

“Karlach, hold on!” Gale is quick to follow. You’d have to thank him for that. For doing what you should be doing. You can feel Wyll’s hesitation. But he stays. You’d have to thank him too. You don’t want to be alone (as much as the word means in a room fool of likely tadpoled individuals like yourself) with Gortash right now. Even if Wyll is just staying for his own father.

“There she goes.” Gortash is brazen now, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in to his chest. You don’t know if it’s right to be this close to him, to hug him like you so desperately want to. “I do miss our time together. We could be still be together, work together. It would be my honor to restore you to your former glory-- to help you regain your title as Bhaal’s chosen once more.” The idea fills you with twisted glee. You recall, with errie smile, how Gortash was once wrapped around your little finger. How easy it could be to twist him to your designs, and kill him when it suited you most. How it would please father, how it would only make you stronger, to get such a distraction out of your life.

“That’s not who I am anymore.” You say with much force, creating some distance between you and Gortash. You're not sure if its about the two of you being together, or you being Bhaal's chosen. Still, he does not falter. He gets down on one knee before you, looking up at you with adoration. You hate it. You love it. It’s disgusting and beautiful and you know this isn’t the first time he’s been on his knees for you. Play your cards right, it may not even be his last.

“Even so, I can see how much your heart cries out for revenge. You mean to kill Orin, and as it happens I want her dead as well.” Again, beautiful hands, coveted nether stone, circle around your own. “We could rule together. Even your little… friends.” This was your plan, after all. Your genius that got this terrible cult going.

“Just what are you proposing?” You can’t help but squeeze his hands. Can’t deny the beat of your heart-- for the evil within must hear this promise of power. Coming from a man you may even still hold dear a part so strong it can't look away.

“We reforge our alliance. Bring our empire to fruition. My steel watch won’t harm you, so long as you kill Orin and bring her nether stone back.”

“_____…” Wyll’s voice surprises you. For a moment, it really was you and Gortash, and the empire you stood to create. “I know this must be a hard decision for you. Gortash seems to know you better than you do yourself this moment. But we need to consider all our options.” He reminds you. Pushing you towards neither extremes at this moment. A level head when yours was, as always, a shambling mess. "Remember how far we've come. How far you've come."

“That’s not a decision I can make right now.” You admit, hastily pulling away from Gortash. His face falters a little as he rises to his feet. “There’s a lot I need to consider.” When he stands tall again, looking to you, that familiar cocky grin is again in place.

“I understand. You always make the right choice in the end. But, just to prove my loyalty,” That word stings just a little. You hadn’t proved loyal to most anyone who trusted you, at least in this particular moment. “I’ll share this with you; an impostor is at your camp, right now.” You frown again as you look to him.

“Orin…” You grit your teeth as you consider your sister, how any one of the people you had come to trust with your life could be the backstabber herself.

“So if I were you, I’d act quick.” He smiles at you but you see how it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So, my dear, why don’t you stay for my coronation?” He laughs softly as he turns towards Duke Ravengard, who seems more statue than man at this moment.

You do just that, watch with wary gaze and heavy heart as Enver Gortash is ordained ‘Archduke Gortash’. Many tough decisions lie ahead of you and you couldn’t will yourself to think on a single one of them as you watched Gortash rise with a new fervor. He seeks your gaze, your approval, as the room erupts with applause. But it’s high time you left, to figure out what to do next.

You climb down the barren halls of Wyrm’s Rock with Wyll, unsure what to say or do next. You feel like you’ve had enough adventure and learning of your old life for once day, but of course Gortash gave you fear to return to your own camp as well…

“Are you alright?” Wyll stops you as you slowly walk towards the south span of Wyrm’s rock, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jump at his touch, only to sigh and relax when you realize it's just him.

“No not really, that was a lot for me.” You admit with a shaky laugh.

“I… were you truly involved with Gortash before… well, before?” He frowns, the look on his face hard to read.

“I… yes. I was.” It would be no use to lie.

“And now?” He asks, unexpectedly. “What now?”

“What now indeed.” You sigh and lean into him. Wyll supports your weight with a good natured hug. “I love Karlach, Wyll. I love her so much. But… old feelings linger in my twisted mind. Gortash was…” You shake your head. How can you explain that who you were, who you use to be… Gortash was the only person that you respected? That seemed to understand you, to meet you at your level? Even now as you thought of it, more cursed thoughts of your time together came back to you. It hurt, mentally and physically.

“I can’t say I understand, friend, but I know yours is a troubled past.” He pulls back from you, smile fitting his handsome face. “I think it would be best for us to head back to camp for the day.” He guides you that way, and you decide to follow his judgment.

“I just… hope that Karlach is okay. Had I known, I…” You shake your head. How could you have known? In a past life, you were lovers with the very man that ruined her life. The man that made it difficult for you two to even start a relationship to begin with.

“Rest, friend. You can’t of helped that.” You nod. He was right. But that still left you in the middle of some ridiculous love triangle…

You just have to decide, dearest, darkest urge, who is most important to you; Enver Gortash, Bane’s Chosen, tyrant of Baldur’s Gate and the matching mind to your own criminal plot to rule it all… or Karlach Cliffgate, the woman he ruined in the pursuit of his own power, and the one you promised to help end him.

Either way, there would be betrayal. Heartbreak. And fighting, for sure.

You could, of course, kill them both. That would solve so many problems for you! Feed your urge, please your father, and remove any obstacle that would distract from your goal. Wouldn’t it be delicious, to drink in their desire, thinking they’ve won your favor-- only for you to break that precious trust as their bodies twist under your blade…

This all of course assuming you could fight off your dark urge still... Rest would not come easy tonight, if at all. But it wouldn't be the first time. Come what may, you would forge your path forward.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #karlach x reader #gortash x reader #karlach x dark urge reader #gortash x dark urge reader #dark urge bg3 #karlach bg3 #gortash bg3

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thechaoticdruid · 3 months

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AsTaRiOn Is A sUbBy BoTtOm

Hmmm......I don't believe you.

This man is always trying to pin me down.

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 2 months

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Irrevocably Yours

Astarion x Durge! Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of SA on reader, nothing too graphic, hurt/comfort, Astarion being himself (aka sweet af because that man is SOFT and I will die on that hill), in my feels big time, Durge reader!

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You rushed to camp, the brush and trees scraping at your skin. You clutched your shirt together, tears streaming down your face. You finally saw camp, sprinting the rest of the way. The sun was long gone from the sky but you could see that everyone was still awake.

“Astarion?” you yelled when you didn’t immediately see him. Your voice was watery and weak. Your eyes were frantically looking around for him. Your cheeks were stained with tears that never ceased to fall.

Astarion heard the urgency in your voice and your erratic heart beat, he threw his book down and rushed out of his tent. “Darling?” he said.

As soon as your eyes found him your sobs intensified as you rushed into his arms. He held you tightly as you nuzzled into him. Your head rested in the crook of his neck, he felt your tears hit his skin and his heart broke.

“My sweet, what happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he gently pulled you away, just enough to see your face while still keeping you in his arms.

Your glossy eyes searched his before glancing at his tent. He looked around, noticing your campmates giving you both concerning looks. He held your hands as he moved you both into his tent to gain some privacy. He sat down but you immediately shuffled into his lap, holding him close. Your fists were tightly grasping his shirt.

Astarion looked down at you, wiping your tears away. That's when he noticed your shirt. He gently moved it a bit, noticing the buttons were ripped off. He noticed the top two buttons to your pants were also undone. If his heart was still beating it would be racing.

“My love, can you tell me what happened?” he said gently.

“I… I d-didn’t realize h-how late it was…” your voice was shaking, you were terrified and he knew it. “I was trying to find the password for the door to get to the murder tribunal… the alleyway was so dark… so, so dark.” he could see the pain in your eyes as you went on. “A man… a worshiper of Bhaal… he was outside… he pushed me against the wall… I couldn’t move…”

“Did he touch you?” Astarion asked as delicately as he could. You knew what he was referring to.

You let out a sob, before nodding slightly. “He… he ripped my shirt open… and - and he put his hand down my pants.” you curled into him, you felt shame even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. None of this was.

“Did he…” Astarion’s eyes looked into yours with the utmost sympathy.

You shook your head, “I - I didn’t know what to do… I - I used… I became… the slayer.” you looked down. You swore you would never use it. Bhaal had “gifted” you the heinous form when you killed your sister, Orin. It disgusted you to your core, if you felt anything you felt shame about using Bhaal’s gift.

“You did the right thing.” Astarion said as he cradled your head, rocking you back and forth slightly. “Did you kill him?” he asked.

“No… he ran off… I was scared to death… all I wanted was to come home… come to you.” You held Astarion’s cheek, searching his eyes for something unknown.

Astarion nodded at you, “Let’s get you changed and go to sleep, alright?”

You nodded, wanting nothing more than to slip away. You bathed alone, Astarion standing watch at the front of the tent per your request. You changed alone as well before beckoning him back inside.

He handed you a small green vial, “To help you sleep.” he said gently. He laid down with you. You curled up against him, wanting him as close as possible. You fell asleep quickly after downing the bitter liquid. Astarion connected his parasite to yours, you stirred slightly but remained asleep. He felt your panic, your terror as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. But he found what he wanted, the man's face.

He snuck out of the tent, a murderous mission in mind.

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You woke to the birds chirping. The warmth from the sun radiating inside the tent. You rolled over to see Astarion discarding a blood drenched shirt. His pale chest was covered in crimson, along with his hands. His face had spatters here and there. You sat up slowly. “What happened?”

“I cleansed the rot.” Astarion said, sounding like the kind myconid from the Underdark.

You knew exactly what he meant and for the first time since that man held you against the wall, you felt the clench in your stomach relax. You beckoned him over, holding your hand out.

He kneeled in front of you. “I don’t want to touch you… not with him on me.”

You held his face, leaning your forehead against his as you nodded. You kissed him hesitantly, scared it would take you right back to that alleyway. But it didn’t. All you felt was immense love and gratitude for your lover. “Thank you.” you whispered. Astarion kissed you again before pulling back.

“I’m going to wash. When I come back we are not leaving this tent for the day. We can do whatever you like, my sweet.” he tilted your chin up slightly. You gave him a small smile. You knew it would take time to process and heal but you couldn’t ask for a more understanding partner. You knew for a fact he would never pressure you and would always be there to comfort you through thick and thin.

Astarion started to fill the small tub. “May I stay?” you asked.

Astarion nodded, smiling at you as he handed you one of his clean shirts. He knew you liked wearing his clothes since they were oversized and breathable. You slipped it on before rolling the sleeves up and shimmying out of your pants. You tied the tent entrance shut before picking up a stool and setting it behind the tub. Astarion’s head leaned back, a quizzical look on his face. You started massaging his scalp. He let out a sigh, loving your gentle touch. You washed his hair as he cleaned the blood off himself. When you finished you placed delicate kisses over his neck and shoulders. You leaned your head on his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him loosely, giving him a back hug.

“What is it darling?” he said.

“I’m just… grateful.” you said simply.

He leaned back further, “I love you.” he whispered before pulling you in by the chin to kiss him.

“I love you.” you said back before leaning on him again. The simple fact of him being with you. His soft touches that never scared you. Everything about the man in front of you. He is your everything, your heart was irrevocably his. And you would have it no other way.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope everyone likes this. My period hormones hit me hard today so here is this lol How is everyone? I hope you're all well. I have quite a few fic ideas lined up so be on the lookout for those! XOXOXOXOXOXO! Thanks for everything!

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honeybeebard · 5 months

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Helping You Remember (Enver Gortash x DarkUrge!Tav)

Summary// Ever since the crash Tav had been stripped of her memories, with nothing but her name and this violent urge inside her body wreaking havoc with every step she took. It was no small feat to control it, or at least tame it, and just when she thought she had gotten it under control a new foe, or an old ally, comes to remind her where she came from.

(I didn’t expect my first fic in the BG3 fandom to be about Gortash. In fact, I have several half-written projects of other characters but for whatever reason this man has recently taken a hold of me and I’m afraid I’ve sunk too deep. This was originally going to be a one-shot but it’s taken on a life of its own and will now be a multi-chapter!

This first chapter is heavy on angst but the next chapter will be better, I promise! I just imagine this is how your companions would react to the news as well as how Gortash gets his foot in the door of reclaiming you. I hope you like it! I normally write for ACOTAR so this was so much fun!) WARNINGS: Heavy angst, Mentions of past Dark Urge actions

It had been a long, painful journey to get to Baldur’s Gate but Tav had made it. Her companions had made it. Everyone was alive and mostly well, save for the tadpole in their brains, the end of the world, and the recent discovery of Tav’s family history. As they made their way to Wrym’s Rock Fortress it was the only thing her mind could focus on. Astarion, Karlach, and Wyll were all too happy to chat about being back but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she was.

Bhaalspawn.

Parents throughout Baldur’s Gate told stories of her kind to warn their children of the dangers of the world. She felt all the sins of her kin crawling up her back, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze in fear that they would see her for who she was. A monster. It didn’t matter how hard she fought the Urge inside her… her fate seemed to be already written in the stars. How could she save herself from this? She hadn’t even realized they had made it to the doors of the fortress until Astarion gently nudged her arm, giving her a concerned look as she was torn from her thoughts. “Are you alright, darling? You’re looking a bit clammy.” His voice was smooth but she could see the worry in his eyes. He was the first one she had told when she found out, seeking comfort in his arms just as he had done back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. They didn’t have an official title to whatever their relationship was, sometimes friends and other times lovers, but they were each other’s closest confidants. He understood her better than herself sometimes and he had assured her that whatever she was facing, he would be there to help. So it pained her to lie through her teeth as she mumbled, “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully, we can kill two birds with one stone.” Astarion knew she was lying but didn’t press her further, his shoulders tensing slightly as he gave a curt nod and entered the building with the others. The air was buzzing with excitement as everyone awaited the coronation of Lord Gortash. His posters were everywhere, most people hailing him as a hero, but from what she had heard from Karlach he was anything but that. And especially after discovering him at Moonrise, netherstone in the gauntlet decorating his hand, she only felt that anger within her rise more at the ignorance of the city. There was something else too, like a flash of nostalgia, but it flitted from her mind before she could grasp it. Tav shook her head as they made their way up the stairs, preparing for anything as they arrived at the grand hall.

Rows of seats lined the sides as a dark red carpet decorated the ground, leading all the way up to where Duke Ravengard and Gortash stood. Wyll visibly bristled at the sight of his father, his hand steady on the edge of his blade while Karlach slowly began to grow hotter and hotter at the sight of her former friend.

“I can practically taste his blood from here.” Karlach seethed, her fists clenching. Astarion gave Tav a worrying look, wondering if now, underneath the watchful gaze of multiple Flaming Fists and the Steel Watch, was the right time to pick a fight.

Tav gave him a reassuring smile, turning to Karlach with a solemn expression. “I know you want nothing more than to rip his heart out but here might not be the best place to do it. Let’s hear him out first.” She speaks slowly, hoping to calm the tiefling.

“Hear him out? He speaks nothing but lies! There is nothing he could say that could be of use to us.” Karlach snarls, turning her heated eyes to her and frowning.

“Just trust me on this, okay?” Tav pleaded. “I promise that you will be the first one to rip him limb from limb.”

She seemed to calm slightly at Tav’s reassurance, her flames dulling as she nodded once. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier.” Karlach says, following in step as the four of them begin to walk up the aisle.

Gortash is the first to spot them, his lips turning up in a smile as he spies Karlach first. “My eyes must be deceiving me! Karlach, my dear girl, come and be welcome.” His voice was dripping with arrogance, his arms spread wide in greeting.

“I’m not your dear anything!” Karlach snaps, her hand immediately falling to her weapon. However, just as Tav tries to step in front of them, his dark eyes turn to her and widen in surprise.

“And with you, my, why it’s my favorite bhaalspawn!” He grins as he comes closer to Tav, eyeing her up and down. “I never thought I would see you again either.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Karlach frowns, turning to look at Tav with betrayal in her eyes.

“I swear I have no memory of him Karlach. I would’ve told you.” She stresses, holding up her hands in innocence while shaking her head rapidly.

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Gortash says smugly, chuckling to himself. “Your memories are quite lost aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you. And to think you two have traveled together all this time and she hadn’t the faintest idea that you were one of my nearest and dearest.”

This time it was Astarion who spoke, his eyes hard as his jaw clenched. “What do you mean nearest and dearest?” There was a sense of urgency under his tone, something that Tav felt as well as she tried desperately to remember what Gortash already knew.

The dark-haired Lord smirked, taking a deep breath as he turned back to Tav and began to tell fill in the missing puzzle pieces of her memory. “You and I initiated this plot. No one could stand against the Dead Three so, after obtaining the crown, enslaving the brain, and creating a false God to rule the masses, there was little to stand in our way.”

Tav stumbled back a step, her head throbbing and pulse racing. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t have formed this plot, couldn’t have worked with Gortash. It wasn’t who she was. Was it?

“No. I would never.” She whispered, her eyes full of anger while Gortash ignored her and carried on weaving the tale.

“In Bhaal’s name, you set your bloody dagger to cause panic in the streets, killing in the Absolute’s name,” He smiled again as if recalling a fond memory. It made her want to vomit. “It was all going well until you had vanished, Orin claiming to be the new voice of Bhaal and taking over. She, unlike you, couldn’t control herself. She made a mess of things.”

Her stomach lurched, her knees buckling as bits and pieces of her past flashed through her mind. The blood, the screams, the wicked smile of her reflection as she all but bathed in the slain bodies of the innocent. Astarion noticed her trembling, reaching out to steady her as she tried to block out everything.

“Have you gone soft?” Gortash asked as he stepped closer to Tav, examining her guilt filled gaze with a disappointed look. “I find that hard to believe. One’s true nature will always rise to the top.”

“That is not my true nature.” She hissed through gritted teeth, rage heating her blood as she pushed out of Astarion’s grasp and walked towards the man before her. “Take it back. Tell me you’re lying.”

“I know you know the truth, Tav.” He coos as if talking to a startled babe. “I can see it in your eyes. That Urge deep within you, clawing at its cage to be unleashed. We had something great, are something great, until you were taken. I tolerated Orin, tolerated Ketheric, but I liked you. We can still finish this together.”

As he finishes his sentence one of his hands comes up to rest on her arm, an intimate gesture that sends feelings of disgust and warmth through her body. She hated this, hated him, hated how little control she felt. Once again she felt a battle in her body between the past and the present.

“Don’t touch me.” Tav growls, pulling away from him as if she had been burned. “I want nothing to do with you, with this plot. If anything this has only solidified my plans to kill you.”

She could feel Karlach’s approval from behind her, could feel her own body tensing for a fight only to falter when Gortash barked out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, my dear bhaalspawn, you have no choice.” His eyes were suddenly hard and his tone like ice as he gestured around him. “The quakes are a clear warning. Without all three netherstones ruling the brain, it will break free and complete the Grand Design. Your choices are to join me and rule or subject this entire city, yourself and companions included, to becoming illithids.”

All of her companions shifted uneasily, looking at Tav for guidance. She tried to run through all the scenarios, looking for an out that didn’t include digging herself further into her past self, but the choices remained the same.

“Together though,” Gortash straightens, giving her a charming smile. “Together we can control the brain. Renew our old partnership.”

“What kind of partnership?” Tav asked cautiously, hating how weak she sounded. Astarion cleared his throat beside her, pleading with her not to do this, but she ignored him. If she was going to find another way out of this she at least needed to get all angles of the problem…and that started with hearing Gortash’s bargain.

“Let’s discuss it somewhere more private, hm? Away from the prying eyes of both nobles and…your group.” He looked behind her distastefully. “Meet me in my office after the ceremony. Alone.”

And before she can say another word he struts back to the middle of the room, letting the Duke continue with the blasphemous ceremony. Tav immediately motions for her friends to follow her towards the back, ignoring the words of Wyll’s father as she finally takes a moment to breathe.

“You can’t possibly be considering partnering with him.” Astarion huffs. “Please tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

“Look at what he’s done to this city, to my father,” Wyll adds, crossing his arms. “An alliance with Gortash is like asking to be stabbed in the back. He cannot be trusted.” “You’re damn right he can’t be trusted!” Karlach fumes, gnashing her teeth together. “That man is worse than a devil, Tav! He’s just trying to get in your head!”

“Enough!” Tav snapped, rubbing her temples as the pounding returned. Everyone’s opinions, including Gortash’s, were starting to make her head spin. “I know this is…a lot. I can’t process it all myself-”

“What, that you and Gortash created this entire cult, this entire problem that is threatening the lives of millions of people?” Karlach’s voice was rising with each word, her flames growing by the second. “I knew you were a bhaalspawn but Bhaal’s chosen? You are half the bloody reason we are here in the first place!”

“Karlach-” Wyll tries to intervene but she brushes him off, stalking towards Tav and jamming a red hot finger in her chest.

“No, don’t Karlach me.” She snarls, glaring down at her. “Did you not hear what she has done? The acts she committed in Bhaal’s name? Amnesia or not, you all have to see how dangerous she is.”

“I’m not!” Tav protested, tears pricking her eyes as she felt their gazes on her. It was her worst fear realized. “I’m not a monster, I don’t remember doing any of those things. I would never…”

“And yet here you are, ready to make nice with the viper.” Karlach spits, standing to her full height while regarding her with revulsion. “I need time to think.”

Before Tav can say anything or reach out to plead for forgiveness, she storms off back to the entrance. Wyll looks between the two of them, his eyes full of sadness before he simply shakes his head and follows Karlach. The only one left is Astarion who is staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Star…” She whispers, throat tight as she tries to reach for him only to physically recoil when he moves away from her hand. It wasn’t much, just a slight sway to the side, but it was enough to make the knife in her gut twist deeper. “Please.”

“I…I need a moment.” He murmurs, bowing his head before following the same path as her companions. Tav can’t stop herself from sinking to the floor, her soul aching as she brings her knees to her chest and cries. She doesn’t care that she’s in a room full of nobles, doesn’t care that everyone is watching her finally break, she just doesn’t care anymore.

Her friends, her entire world ever since escaping that damned nautiloid, had abandoned her. They had found out who she had been and had left her here, alone. Tav wanted to hate them, wanted to curse them, and never see them again, but could she blame them?

She was part of the reason this was all happening in the first place. She had caused all this pain, all this death, in the name of her father. Even if she didn’t remember it that didn’t absolve her of the guilt. If roles were reversed, she would probably question her relationship with the person as well.

“It’s all my fault.” She whispers, pressing her palms against her eyes harshly. The tears were hot as they ran down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Tav was so caught up in her emotions she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her.

It wasn’t until she felt cold, metal claws tip her chin up that she finally came to her senses, blinking up at the man who had just revealed all her immoral acts as if they were nothing.

“My poor little bhaalspawn,” He purred, using his other hand to pull her up to stand. “All alone again.”

Tav sniffled, feeling vulnerable as he wiped a tear away with his thumb. Her entire body felt numb as he pulled her into his arms, shushing her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Come.” He ordered. “Let me save you once more.”

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hijackalx · 6 months

Text

💗 COMPANIONS:

LAE'ZEL:

Random Headcanons

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Height Chart

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

NSFW - How they tease

ASTARION:

Random Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

Dad!Astarion

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

NSFW - Corruption kink

Petnames for their S/O

NSFW - Reaction to their S/O in the Wavemother's Robe

Being pampered by their S/O

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

Reaction to S/O getting sick

NSFW - Feral!Astarion and ovulating reader

Height Chart

NSFW - Reacting to being called Daddy

Reaction to S/O being injured

NSFW - How they tease

KARLACH:

Random Headcanons

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Height Chart

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

NSFW - Reacting to being called Mommy

NSFW - How they tease

WYLL:

Random Headcanons

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

Height Chart

Reaction to S/O being injured

NSFW - How they tease

SHADOWHEART:

Random Headcanons

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Height Chart

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

NSFW - How they tease

GALE:

Random Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Petnames for their S/O

NSFW - Reaction to their S/O in the Wavemother's Robe

Being pampered by their S/O

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

Reaction to S/O getting sick

Height Chart

NSFW - Reacting to being called Daddy

Reaction to S/O being injured

NSFW - How they tease

💗 NON-ORIGIN COMPANIONS:

MINTHARA:

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

NSFW Alphabet

JAHEIRA:

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

HALSIN:

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Height Chart

NSFW - Reacting to being called Daddy

💗 NON-COMPANIONS:

GORTASH:

Random Headcanons

Dad!Gortash

NSFW Alphabet

NSFW - Making sex toys

Gortash's attraction to Durge

NSFW - Turn ons/kinks

Petnames for their S/O

NSFW - Reaction to their S/O in the Wavemother's Robe

Being pampered by their S/O

NSFW - Eating out F!Reader

Reaction to S/O getting sick

NSFW - Reacting to being called Daddy

Reaction to S/O being injured

*Check my AO3 for works I haven’t posted here yet!

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dracobrooklyn · 3 months

Text

Durge Headcannon #2

|| MDNI || 18+

Durge's relationship towards the other Party Members If you don't know, this is about if Cannon Durge was a Companion instead of a playable character. These are my headcannons so not everything is cannon. If you want more Durge check this Masterlist here

also the Tav!Reader is in a Fem!POV

CW: threesome, murder, and killing.

Durge very much is in love with Tav!Reader, after connecting with you, how kind and patient you are with the White Dragonborn. He very much loves the way you comfort him, how you talk to him almost anything that comes to your mind, he loves listening to your voice. So How does he feel about the other Members of your party around you? And around him?

Astarion

Safe to Say Durge isn't a huge fan of Astarion. The pale elf being very much cocky, arrogant, and never gives you any respect. Durge glares maybe even curls a lip growling softly. He could care less about what happens to the elf. Even when he found out he is a vampire! He quickly get's over protective over you, a slave to Sanguine. He wasn't gonna let you get bitten by this coward. If Astarion tries to flirt with you, Durge comes up from behind you protective. Besides Durge want's you, he be a better match than Astarion. He actually cares about you, this vampire just wants you as a blood bag that's all. Even when you and Durge become a couple, and Astarion offers to join you both in a threesome, Durge would flat out say no, end of story, he rather smear Knoll shit onto his face than let Astarion share the same bed roll with you. He's fine with you and Astarion being friends but... if Astarion tries to pull something on you, Durge won't hesitate to beat the shit out of him... maybe kill him if he get's away with it.

Shadowheart

He does not mind the half elf girl, the cleric that isn't too bad around you. She does at least give you some sort of respect as an ally and maybe even a friend. Shadowheart might be one of the few people that maybe notices Durges feelings towards you. She even was amused with the idea but even questioned, how would a DragonBorn be like in a relationship. Though Durge is a strange one, especially when he has no memories of his past. She might even be protective of you the reader if she finds out what Durge has done hurting and killing their enemies. The way he does it, if it's over the top. Shadowheart will confront Durge about it. She be weary of him and tell you if she is not sure if Durge can be trusted.

Karlach

Durge actually likes Karlach. Despite her very positive upbeat attitude. He does like her, she treats with you respect, is kind to you, and does not talk down to you. I like to think Karlach kinda finds Durge attractive. Being a DragonBorn and all, she may even might notice Durges smitten face when he looks at you in love. Like a love sick puppy. She smile and comes up from behind him giving him a good slap on the back and say "twitterpated aren't we solider?" causing Durge to trip on his words blushing trying to change the subject while she has a shit eating grin showing her sharp teeth. She might even try to hook you two up. Maybe... maybe even join in the sex action. Durge might actually consider it... if she didn't burn you both. He would say yes as long you were okay with it of course if you were interested. But if Karlach (like Shadowheart) finds out what kind of things Durge did. Oh boy oh boy, consider the friendship bracelet gone. She would get in between you and Durge glaring at him burning with anger. (no pun intended)

Lae'Zel

Heh uh... she may like Durge because of his blood thirsty fight in battle. And he may appercaite that... but if she calls you weak and useless because you are not as battle hungry as she is. Durge will snarl. Step right up to her and speak up. "I will you not have you speak so lowly of her, she's the one that got you out of that trap, she's the one that saved the druids grove with our help, she is the one keeping the peace between all of us, you should thank her, because I would have ripped your arm off." causing the Githyanki woman to narrow her eyes at him. She might tsk at him or making the last retort walking away from him. Durge won't interact with Lae'zel unless he really has to. But if she threatens to hurt you, he will not hesitate to rip her apart. Oh if she even tries to seduce Durge, he will lean so close to her face in a low whisper "Even if you and were the only ones in this plain of existence, I would rather be a mindflayer than share a bedroll with you." And honestly that might hurt her a little but she won't show it of course. Durge heart is only to you, and only you.

Wyll

Would they be dude bros? Maybe? Durge does not mind Wyll at all. The man has honor, he's protective, he treat you with respect and that's what Matters to Durge. Though if he does come a little close towards you, Durge makes a look at him as if "nu uh, mine." Wyll would get the message though. Like Karlach he might even help Durge hook up with you. Give Durge advice what to say but most importantly Wyll will just tell Durge to be himself. Yeah which one? Durge also would also feel bad for Wyll with his mishap being a warlock and all. Durge would definitely spit down at Mizora feet just to stand up for Wyll. Fuck that bitch honestly.

Gale

Funny guy... stop flirting with my girlfriend don't you already have a lover? Durge very much has mixed feelings with this guy. He can be useful but when he learns that he needs to eat magic items to live or else he will explode and die? WHAT? Why the hell is he with party again? Oh cause he's infected too. When he learns about how his lover is goddess, I mean yeah he must think she is pretty-- oh she's actually a goddess. Oh... poor chap. He definitely would be a little jealous that Durge has you instead of him, but he would give Durge advice to "Seduce" a woman. Durge not sure if they would work... maybe one night he will use that advice. Maybe... eh. But Durge wouldn't pity Gale for doing that to himself where he explode not given enough magic items to eat. Also ticks Durge off cause he finds an item he can use to kill enemies and then Gale looks at him as if saying "for me?" while Durge growls wanting to roll his eyes in the back of his head pissed and just hands it to him. Also Wizards vs Sorcerer. Mortals enemies for life (no just kidding). But Gale will boast about being better than Durge when it comes to magic causing the DragonBorn to give Gale a side glance glare. "At least I was born with magic and don't have to kill myself for it." Durge would say causing Gale to frown.

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chaoticbardlady99 · 3 months

Text

She’s Not Acid Nor Alkaline (Astarion x F! Pirate Captain OC) Chapter 2

Synopsis: The Heroes of Baldur’s Gate experience their first battle at sea in their adventure to bring Karlach back from the Hells.

CW: mentions of violence, NSFW cause these are two horny mofos (not a lot though- the next chapter is gonna be spicy as hell though)

Author note: I’m sorry this took so long! I am finally not horribly depressed and not sleeping at all due to work stress! I’ll be posting more for this story, starting a Master Vampire reader x astarion fic, and I have a lot of chapters written for my Trans Female Tav, Keeley, and Astarion that I am so excited to post! My goal is to get everything onto my new AO3 sometime this week! Oh and part 4 of I Wondered If I Could Come Home is almost complete 😈

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for your patience!

Part 1:

Chapter 2: Valkur’s Aasimar

Calypso is forever grateful to Lucifer for taking over the night time duties so Calypso can actually rest. It doesn’t make the early morning wake up any easier, but it helps. She loves her cabin and she loves the peace it provides.

The bed frame is built into the wall so that she doesn’t slide around everywhere as the ship continues to sail and there’s a washtub nailed down in one corner. Her desk and map table are equally as glued to the floor.

Calypso watched (and was an unfortunate victim of) her mother’s lack of ‘safety’ precautions when she was a captive on her ship. She was often run over by her mother’s bed or her desk- left for hours underneath them- when her mother had no use for her.

It’s been 60 years since Duke Ravenguard helped Calypso secure her freedom, but there had still been 90 years of torture and misuse. If her mother wasn’t absorbing every last drop of power from her bones- she was starving her, beating her into submission, waterboarding her, etc, etc. It’s not a reality that Calypso misses.

The soft glow of the morning sun outlining the shadows of Astarion’s face is a much better world to wake up in.

If Lucifer helps make waking up easier, then Astarion does not help- in fact the man makes it damn near impossible to leave her bed at all. She doesn’t want to have to untangle her limbs from his or wait for another 8 or 9 odd hours before she can be like this with him again.

Astarion had managed to keep her in bed later than usual over the last five days. The minute she so much as moves a muscle- Astarion has her underneath him writhing and begging for release or he’s fucking into her slowly, stealing all the air out of her lungs. It’s invigorating to say the least and her body sings under his attentive touch.

The more she learns about him, the more Calypso adores him. Astarion had opened up about his life pretty quickly after a bad trance. Supposedly one of his victims’ faces had been replaced with hers and he handed her over to Cazador. He was struggling to accept that the reality was different- that Calypso is well and truly alive in his arms. The man had been borderline inconsolable in the aftermath of the twisted memory, but Calypso had managed to coax him out of the fog and back to her.

Astarion even experienced Calypso at her worst- jealous. He learned very quickly that she wasn’t going to deal with that. When he had knocked on her door with his tail between his legs, Calypso made sure to answer and let him in wearing her skimpiest outfit- a nude, see through corset bralette and a pair of lacy nude panties. His apology ended with him eating her out on top of her map table- one of her maps needs to be replaced entirely after the affair.

She always made sure he actually wanted to engage in these activities with her- especially after learning about his history. Astarion assured her that he would let her know if he didn’t or if he needed to stop and he did. Astarion had only wanted to pleasure her that night and the rest of the night was spent just enjoying each other’s company.

Astarion will spend time with her throughout the day as well and his company is very welcome. Lucifer is usually taking his turn to sleep throughout the morning and into the evening so Calypso doesn’t have to worry about the two of them bickering.

Astarion has begun to ask her questions about the ship, how to be a Helmsman, commands, language, so on and so forth. He’s a very good student- picking it all up impressively fast. Calypso has let him man the ship (under supervision of course) as they made their way to the first stop.

Caer Callidyrr isn’t Calypso’s favorite doc to stay at, but they need to dock The Chimera and take a smaller ship into the Hells. The Chimera isn’t large, but it won’t be able to navigate safely through Stygia. Only Calypso and Lucifer will be traveling with the group of adventurers. With Callidyrr being only hours ahead of them, Calypso is confident they will make it before sunrise- provided there aren't any unexpected obstacles.

Which always seems to happen no matter how many times Calypso plans her routes out or how careful she is to avoid crossing paths with the Cult of Umberle or the Cult of Water. Now there are at least 8 Cult of Water ships heading in their direction.

Calypso isn’t paying attention to the frantic looks on the faces of Astarion and his companions as they realize they are about to be engaged in their first open water battle. She wants to reassure them (more so Astarion) that it’s going to be just fun, but there isn’t any time for that right now.

“I need Chain shots loaded- NOW!” Calypso shouts and her night crew sprints up from below the deck to join for the coming battle.

“They are chasing us at full sail, Calypso,” Lucifer’s voice holds an edge of aggression, “I’d prefer to not have a full blown battle on the Sh-“

“Yes Lucy,” she says with a wave of her hands, “I’m aware of what you would prefer and I’m working on it.”

Calypso climbs up the stairs and leans over the railing of the helm.

“Alright- we need the ship to come about! Wizards, warlocks- basically anyone who can cast gusts of wind- take position on the quarterdeck ,” she shouts, the crew shouts in understanding.

“Anyone else,” Lucifer yells, “split yourselves into two groups- I want some of you below deck readying the canons and the Chase gun! The other half- ready your bows and arrows and be prepared to fire when we are 3 fathoms away from the other ship!”

Lucifer looks up at Calypso and gestures to their guests- she raises an eyebrow.

“They all know what their capabilities are,” she states, “if they wish to travel on this ship then they need to protect it too.”

The looks of absolute dread on all of their faces is almost comical. They really have no faith in her! How hurtful.

“Well- then you heard the Captain,” Lucifer says with far too much gratification, “get to your assignments.”

“Careful, Lucy,” Calypso warned, “you sound so happy I may make you go below deck to help and let the Dragonborn be my first mate.”

Tav beamed, “I’m so glad I’m your first pick.

Astarion pouts up at Calypso and she flashes him a teasing grin before blowing him a kiss. Calypso stands on the rail and addresses the crew one final time.

“Oh,” Calypso clears her throat, “and may I remind you sorry lot that dead men tell no tales- so let’s try to make it out of this one alive- savvy?”

Everyone races to their positions. The laughter and the energy is infectious. Calypso isn’t worried a single bit and she watches the tension ease from Lucifer’s shoulders. He rarely thinks she takes anything seriously, but Calypso does. She is equally as protective of her crew and her guests- it’s not about her or the ship’s safety for her. Calypso has a special group of individuals aboard her group- her main crew consists of runaway slaves from Calimport, ex-Lolth sworn Drows who remain below deck until the night time and operate the canons, Half-Orcs who have been ostracized, Dhampirs who were abandoned at birth (Calypso would come across them and the crew worked together to raise them), etc. They aren’t a ragtag group of scummy pirates- they are all survivors who are standing together.

Well, except for the contract workers. Fuck those entitled pricks.

She jots back to the Helm- waiting for the exact moment to turn the ship.

The minute red and green flares go up in the air- the ship goes flying forward with the assistance of the many magic users casting gusts of wind on the sails. Calypso turns into the sudden rush of air allowing the ship to circle into position where it can slam the side of the other boats.

Calypso closes her eyes and takes a deep breath- letting the smell of the ocean water fill her senses. She imagines a storm surrounding the ship hurtling towards them- the waves thrashing them around and consuming them whole.

The thunder cracks the peaceful sound of the air before the dark clouds even begin to sweep across the sky- the water underneath her rumbles it’s war cry and Calypso allows Valkur’s power to consume her- like him, she can commandeer any ship, walk through water, control the weather, navigate through every storm unscathed, call upon Orca’s, etc. The best part though? No ship she sails on is able to sink- ever.

Then she hears Wyll scream, “HOLY SHIT!”

She looks over with a smile- her good friend, Hesjing, must have missed her enough to make an appearance. Or he’s just really hungry. Most likely he is really hungry and her targets make for easy prey considering they end up floundering in the ocean.

The massive Sea Wyvern goes flying over their heads and laying chaos to the ships- their flags going up in flames and the chaos keeps them from changing direction in time.

“NOW!!!!!”

The ship lurches forward in the water with the support of the extra wind and Calypso’s magic as Calypso prepares to ram into the 4 ships in the back of the line.

The bow crashes with an ear shattering noise through the first, second, and third ship. Hesjing takes one of the ships down in the front of the line. The world is full of smoke and flames- Calypso barely sees the four remaining ships beginning to form a circle to trap them in.

“GRAB ON TO SOMETHING!”

The command roars through the air as it’s repeated by the whole crew upon the deck. She takes one glance at Astarion- trying to remind herself not to get caught up in whatever emotions he is feeling.

Calypso is surprised to see the pure adrenaline in his posture and in the shadows of his face. There isn’t a single ounce of fear to be seen. She can’t help the smile that crosses her face. Poor Tav looks absolutely green and is holding onto Astarion’s arm for support. She’ll have to make sure to pick up something for sea sickness otherwise the Dragonborn may detest her forever.

The screams shattering through the air is the only thing that keeps Calypso from being lost in thought. One of the other ships had managed to turn towards them and was going to hit them very very hard. The ship will be fine- much like her powersake, Valkur, any ship she sails is indestructible. However, that means the ship will pass through the boat and they are going to have a battle on deck.

Calypso jumps over the Helm- yelling to Celeste nearby to take control of the Helm momentarily. She doesn’t check if Celeste goes there, she just keeps racing until she hits the deck.

The ship is barreling at them much faster than Calypso thought and she messily says a spell in Thaumaglossia (Celestial spell casting language). Both ships are being pulled up and to the side ever so slightly by a massive title wave- the captain of the other ship makes eye contact with her and she can see the fear as plainly as the whites of their eyes.

Magic flows through her fingertips and the tidal wave passes over them and engulfs them in the water- an air tight bubble surrounding The Chimera while they watch the enemy ship be demolished by not only a tidal wave, but the pack of Orcas that followed it.

It’s a gruesome scene- the pirate ship popping back up underneath another enemy ship and adding to the carnage. The Orcas leap and flip through the air with screaming cultists in their mouth.

The last two ships had been graciously taken down by Hesjing, who then proceeded to inhale one of the Orcas on his dive back down to the depths of the sea. The Chimera totters along the capillary waves as the Crew cheers loudly.

Calypso releases a sigh she didn’t realize she was holding and nearly stumbles to the ground when a large hand slaps her on the back.

“Excellent work as always Captain!” Toothless Tosh shouts out- everyone cheers in agreement.

“Oh yes, it was a very impressive display as always,” Lucifer says goadingly- his eyes flitting around her form, “so much so that drinks will be on the Captain tonight- hm?”

“You rat bastard,” Calypso mumbles under her breath, causing the man to laugh, “fine! But only because you actually hurried your asses up this time!”

The crew disbands with laughter- returning to their previous spots and helping to make sure everyone is injury free. Some of the less magically inclined individuals begin to pass out the rations for the day. Honestly she feels like she could fall over and fall asleep. It takes a lot of thought, magic, and concentration to be able to perform that many high power spells at once. For example- the Orcas did not show up on their own accord, they showed up because Calypso’s magic called out to them when she asked it to. She does feel poorly about Hesjing running off with one.

The sound of approaching footsteps and grumbling from a certain seasick Dragonborn fills Calypso with glee. Wherever Tav is, Astarion usually is.

The poor man is still tinted green on the tip of his scales, but luckily, he doesn’t have to utter a word.

Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll are smothering Calypso in questions- some she barely has any answers too. For example- how does she summon Orcas and a Sea Wyverm. Her answer? She has no fucking clue. However, she does appreciate how impressed they are.

Eventually everyone disbands to get their rations for the day. Calypso is thankful that Farview is maybe only 6 hours away and they’ll be there before the sun falls. They are running low on food and Calypso prefers to not go hungry if she can help it- especially with a crew of hangry individuals. They are all the worst people she has ever met when they are hungry- it’s great for raids.

“That was quite the show of strength, my Dear,” her lover’s melodic voice flows through her ears, “I can’t decide if I’m afraid or turned on.”

She smiles cheekily at him with an eyebrow raised, “why not both?”

“Hmm, how erotic,” Astarion teases, “should I expect to be tied up while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps, I am full of surprises, you know.”

“Oh- I am very well aware.”

Calypso can’t help it- her face always hurts when she is around Astarion (in the best way possible). Everything about him makes her smile and her heart sing. It’s proper gross if she’s being honest with herself. She never pegged herself for a smitten school girl- at least not in her adult years.

“How much longer do I have to wait to keep your attention for longer than 5 minutes at a time, East?”

Despite his teasing tone, she can sense the impatience in his tone. She tuts at him.

“I’m afraid another six hours, North,” Calypso says with an exaggerated pout, “you will have to wait several five more minute increments longer.”

The man groans and grabs Calypso’s hand- dragging her off to her cabin. The moment the door is closed- Astarion’s lips are on hers hungrily and his expert hands are already rubbing her clit, a finger and then two sliding in as soon as she’s ready- which she finds very quickly when it comes to Astarion. A hum of pleasure rolls through her body as he coaxes moans and her orgasm out of her. Her own hands have fumbled their way into his pants and she uses his precum as lube- rubbing her hands up and down his hard cock. The moans and curse words that tumble out of Astarion’s mouth are absolutely divine.

Calypso knows this is all they have time for- they would never leave if they actually had sex- and Astarion thankfully respects that, but Valkur preserve her- it’s going to be a very long six hours.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x you #karlach #bg3 #Astarion x oc #dark urge #dark urge x Karlach #astarion acunin #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #smut

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leftoverdinosaurbones · 3 months

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Chapter 8: A Taste of Salvation

Series: F!Reader (Dark Urge), Spawn Astarion, Haarlep, Raphael - NSFW (minors DNI)

[Major Spoilers - Set post BG3]

***

Here is the next chapter of the fanfic I've been working on!

You can start with Chapter 1 here on tumblr or read through everything here on Ao3.

Content Warning: This is just smut lol (AFAB reader with Astarion). More specifics: semi-public, unprotected vaginal sex, oral, fingering

Summary: You and Astarion have some... unfinished business to attend to.

Bits of plot at the beginning and end!

Chapter 8: A Taste of Salvation

You kept catching yourself staring at Wyll and Karlach, shocked that they were truly here, with you. After all this time. When you said goodbye to them on the docks after the fight against the netherbrain, you truly thought you’d never see them again. Seeing their faces, alive, outside of Avernus - it was simply a dream come true.

Wyll smiled up at Karlach as she gazed across the room, taking in all the sights and sounds of the Elfsong Tavern. She was buzzing, glowing, absolutely high on being back home. His eyes were soft and tender as he drank her in. She swayed gently back and forth, lulled by the music and hum of the crowd around them. Wyll traced his fingers up her arm, startling Karlach out of her reverie. She turned to look at him, startled. But quickly, she dropped her shoulders and brought her hand to Wyll’s face. She guided his face up close to hers, and they connected. At first, it was brief, chaste. But then Wyll grabbed a hold of her waist and pulled her into a deep kiss. A passionate kiss, one that had been teased between the two over countless battles in Avernus.

The moment suddenly felt too intimate for an audience. Your ears burned hot as your eyes, in a panic, darted around the room in a search for a distraction.

Cool, gentle fingers touched your chin, bringing you back. Astarion turned your face towards his, with a small smile.

“I believe we have a bit of unfinished business to attend to.”

“Hmm, is that right?” You murmured as his hand reached up to cup your cheek. Your knee turned to brush up against his leg, sending small currents through your skin. You moved your chair closer to his and sat on the very edge, bringing his leg in between yours. Your hands grabbed the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you buried your face into his neck.

Astarion brought his hands to your knees and started to slowly trace his fingers up to your hips, then dragged his nails back down to your knees again. You felt the goosebumps prick up on your skin, even through your clothes. You turned towards his neck and lightly ghosted a few kisses up from his collarbone to his jaw, occasionally grazing his skin with your teeth just to feel his body tense beneath you.

“Let’s give them some space.” Astarion stood, flashing you one of his devious half-smiles as he gave you his hand. You felt your heart flutter as he guided you smoothly out the front door and into the quiet, dark streets of Baldur’s Gate.

You walked in a rushed silence, the air between you thick with anticipation. You stole glances up to his face but he was stoic, looking straight forward and walking with determination.

Suddenly, Astarion stopped and pushed your body up against a nearby building. His knee pressed up and between your legs as his hip pinned you in place. One hand gathered your wrists above your head while the other greedily groped your body. He kissed you with recklessness abandon, clashing against your lips and pushing his tongue into your mouth. His hand makes its way up under your shirt, up to pinch your nipple before dragging his nails back down your stomach.

“Astarion!” You breathed as he broke the kiss. "Here, in the middle of the street?” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched a few people start to walk down this street before noticing you and turning the other direction. Your face flushed.

Without saying a word, Astarion released your wrists and pulled away from you. He continued to walk quickly and deliberately down the street towards your home.

Astarion started to slow down as you neared your home, taking a new direction. Your eyes spied the small wooded area only a moment before he pulled you into the cover of the trees. Finally, he stopped to hold you against a large oak tree, his body caging your own. You felt the weight of him against each part of you, yet it still wasn’t enough.

He pressed his lips across your jaw, slowly down your neck, stopping to tease and nip gently at the spot where he drinks from you. You wanted him to bite you nearly as much as you wanted him to fill you, to fuck you senseless. Your hips tried to press up towards him in vain as his body trapped you firmly against the tree.

He released his grip on your wrists to lift up the front of your shirt, exposing yourself to him. He pressed his lips into the delicate skin of your breast, breathing in deeply before leaving painfully light kisses as your body ached for more. Your hands found rough purchase in the soft hair on the back of his hand, weaving your fingers into the strands and willing him to take you, harder.

“Oh no, my love,” he sighed into your stomach as his fingers continued to trace slowly down your waist. “I’ve been waiting far too long for this. I’m going to take my time. I’m going to take what I need.”

You threw your head back, pressing into the solid oak behind you. Gods, you needed him. It had only been a few days without him inside you, but you ached for him like it had been an eternity.

His fingers danced along your waistband for just a moment before he pulled down your pants. You stepped out of your shoes and your pants quickly, kicking them aside.

Astarion laughed softly to himself, bringing his lips to press a kiss to the top of your mound. You tried again to shift your hips, to change the angle and get any sort of friction where you needed it, but Astarion clamped an arm across your hips and locked you in place. With his free hand, he swiped between your legs.

“I love to see how wet you get from just me touching you. To feel how much you want me,” he purred. He dragged his finger along the laced edge of your panties as you desperately writhed under his firm grip. He slipped a finger along your folds, teasing your clit for just a moment, and then pulled it away.

He hooked a finger over the fabric and pulled them down and off your body. He brought your leg over his shoulder and held it in place with his arm as his hand pressed against your stomach. His lips left tender kisses up your inner thighs, his teeth grazing and nipping at your delicate skin.

Astarion smiled up at you from between your legs as he brought his fingers to your clit. He started with painstakingly slow circles, keeping his eyes on you as he gradually picked up the pace. Your body was on fire, alight with pleasure that rippled through you to your core.

His fingers moved down, replaced swiftly with his tongue. He pressed his face into you as his practiced mouth worshiped your clit. Your back arched, feeling the rough bark of the oak tree bite into your shoulder blades. He slipped his long fingers inside you with languorous thrusts, paying no mind to the torment he was putting your body through.

You couldn’t breathe anymore - or had you just forgotten how?

“More, please…” you begged, softly, barely able to produce the words. He lifted his face up to look at you, his lip glistening with your arousal.

“What do you want? You have to tell me.” Astarion teased.

You let out a soft whine, feeling flushed and embarrassed by how quickly you’ve come undone.

“Take me,” you exhaled. “Fuck me, make me yours.”

He smiled, eyes dark and hungry. He stood up, placing a hand on your back and your ass to lay you down on the ground. He closed in on your space, hooking his leg against yours and pushing it up, spreading you open for him effortlessly. His arms held firm on either side of your face, his body caging you against him. His lips met yours as your fingers grasped at the hem of his shirt, clumsily trying to pull it off. You needed to feel his skin against yours, to press into one another.

Astarion pulled away from your kiss to remove his shirt. He paused for only a brief moment to gaze down at you, sprawled out and so needy for him. Then, he was pressed up against your body, hips rocking into yours as he nipped at your ear, trailing his lips down your neck.

You lifted your chin towards him, opening up your neck further for his exploration. His teeth trailed along the delicate skin, teasing once again where he often feeds from you. Your skin burned with anticipation, your hips driving towards him. You wanted him to bite you, to claim you, to let everyone know that you are his and only his.

His grip twisted in your hair, pulling your head hard to the side to expose your neck. He bit down, hard, and drank from you as your eyes rolled back. You wrapped your legs around his waist and clawed your fingers down his back, in a desperate attempt to get closer to him.

Golden spots started to cloud your vision and your limbs started to fall lax as he pulled deeper from you. Astarion broke away, breathing deep, licking the remaining drops of blood from his lips.

He separated from you again to remove his pants as you floated back down from the rush of his bite. Seeing him laid bare, nearly glowing in the full moonlight in between your legs brought a hunger back within you. He gave you a little half-smile as he took his cock in hand, stroking it to your image.

He let out a low laugh at the desperate sight of you - your face pained by the space between you and your cunt dripping with need. He was excited by how much you wanted him. How badly you still wanted him, even after all this time.

He spread you open as he rubbed the tip of his cock around your entrance, a vicious tease. He gathered up your wetness before rubbing it against your clit, ripping a moan out of both of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist to try to push him inside but he remained firm, teasing all around but not fucking you.

“Please…” you begged again, stretching out your hands towards him. Your core twisted in apprehension and deep desire.

He paused, the head of his cock pressed against your entrance with his hand clasped firmly on your hips, locking you in place.

“Who do you belong to?” He demanded, his voice low and rough. Behind his words, hints of jealousy ring through, the pains of the past days a haunting reminder for both of you.

You take his face in your hands, looking him in the eyes.

“You, Astarion. I am yours. Completely.”

He gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin as he thrust deep inside you. You cried out, forgetting how close you were to the street as he drove himself into you with abandon. The pain of him splitting you open and stretching you out twisted to pleasure as your arousal coated his cock.

“Fuck… I… please, Astarion…” You begged for nothing and everything at the same time as your nails found purchase in his back, clawing his skin.

Astarion needed to have more of you, to take as much as he could. He hooked your knee up into the crook of his arm, slowly raising it to his shoulder so he could thrust deeper into you.

His cock filled you completely, hips slamming into your body in a greedy, starved rhythm. The merciless use of your body had you clench tightly around him, pleasure coiling tightly in your core.

You felt your orgasm building within you, rising up like an unstoppable wave threatening to crash at any moment.

Astarion felt it too. He brought his hand between you to rub circles on your clit in an effort to bring you to your climax along with you. Sparks rippled throughout your body as you arched your back to help meet his every thrust. You bit your lip, hard, to stop yourself from crying out in a twisted sense of pain and pleasure. Astarion clashed his lips against yours, capturing the blood that bloomed beneath your teeth.

Your body writhed with pleasure that burst from your core. Your cunt pulsed and clenched tightly around Astarion’s cock as he tumbled over the edge with you. His hands gripped tightly on your hips, locking you in place as he pumped into you, filling you with his cum. He pressed his forehead against yours, panting.

Eventually, he pulled himself out of you - though you wish you could have stayed there forever, tangled up with each other. He rolled to lay at your side, and you nestled into the crook of his arm. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as you both looked up at the stars. You laced your fingers with his across his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered against the top of your head.

“Hmm? For what?”

“For being here. For being with me. For accepting and loving me, even after everything. I would do anything for you - give up anything for you. I hope you know that.”

***

You greeted the next day slowly, lazily, without a care in the world. You saved your friends from Avernus, and you were happy. So, so happy. You deserved a break - and hopefully a repeat performance of last night.

Eyes still closed, you stretched your arms above your head and let out a gratuitous yawn. You didn’t want to open your eyes and end the most perfect night you’ve had in such a long time.

Wait.

This doesn’t smell like home. This smells like something else.

You press your fists tighter against your eyes, sending flashes of color against your lids. You refuse to let this reality sink in.

You know this smell.

Fire, sulfur, and cherries.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x dark urge #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut #wyll x karlach #baldurs gate fanfiction #archive of our own #baldurs gate astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader

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carmilla-millie-morningstar · 6 months

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Carmilla "Millie" Morningstar/"Mircalla": [27]

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save-a-forest-ride-a-bear · 2 days

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╰┈➤ Welcome !

Raven/Ray | he/they/it | 20 y/o | number 1 halsin & gortash enthusiast requests: open (requests can be sent in EN/PT/ES)

╰┈➤ Rules

I write for: All companions (minus Minsc), Gortash, Orin, Raphael, Kar'niss, Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor, Alfira, Jaheira, Durge, and probably some others i forgot about </3

needless to say I won't do stuff like pedophilia, zoophilia, non-con or anything like that. I also won't do yandere.

NSFW however is totally allowed.

honestly just don't be weird. if you don't know if I'm comfortable with something, send it in and I'll let you know.

the reader is always gender neutral unless stated otherwise

I delete asks when I don't have any ideas for them, so if I didn't answer yours, this is why. You can send smth else though!

╰┈➤ Masterlist

HEADCANONS

- ,, # Astarion x Rogue! Reader - ,, # General Dating Headcanons (Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin)

DRABBLES

- ,, # All I Want (Astarion x Reader) — Where Cazador's spawn find out about your secret relationship despite Astarion's best efforts to hide it and keep you safe. - ,, # Masochism Tango (Gortash x Durge! Reader) — He throws a ball with only one purpose in mind: to see his favourite assassin again.

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lovelybluebirdie · 5 months

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The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish.

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you.

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama.

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles.

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you.

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you.

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see.

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him.

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness.

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust.

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities.

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side.

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known.

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you.

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late.

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels.

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult.

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium.

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you.

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted.

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face.

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins.

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing.

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again.

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need.

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now.

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him.

What if you would die right now – just like that?

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered.

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze.

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way.

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain.

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you.

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally.

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you.

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat.

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment.

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder.

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound.

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.”

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition.

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent.

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again.

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed.

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him.

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain.

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot.

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin.

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you.

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real.

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts.

“Asta...rion?”

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?”

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice.

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings.

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

Masterlist

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bhaalsbabe · 6 months

Text

This bed has seen everything

Pairing: afab!Durge Reader x Enver Gortash

Label: nsfw

Word count: ~2k

Summary/warnings: MDNI, afab!durge, durge is a magic user, unprotected sex, piv, creampie, some biting on both sides (and both sides like it), choking (receiving), the glove stays on, Gortash is a simp for durge but what's new, Gorty is more dominant here

Author's note: long expected part two of This desk has seen everything. Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3

You need to focus or you'll get yourself killed. The Emperor's stern voice rumbled inside your head, the force of his mind pushing your urge back, enough for you to see clearer again. You were standing next to an open manhole. Looking around to figure out where you were, you noticed an undead beggar you ran into after entering the Lower City a day before. You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way back to the room you had acquired in Elfsong Tavern. As soon as you entered the main square, however, you were stopped by one of the steel watchers.

"Citizen, lord Gortash is looking for you. Please return to Wyrm's Rock Fortress immediately," its robotic voice said.

"And what if I don't return?" You asked, not in the mood to deal with both Gortash and this annoying piece of metal.

"Then you'll be escorted there against your will."

You frowned, thinking about your options quickly. You hated having to follow anyone's orders. At the same time, you weren't in a position where you could take out the entire city's guards, and while you could turn invisible to slip out of this steel watcher's grasp, you would have to show yourself eventually and be captured then.

"Fine, I'm going there right now. Happy?" Your voice was dripping with malice that totally went over the steel watcher's head. It continued standing there menacingly, watching you as you made your way out of the city again. You walked as slow as possible, wondering what awaited you.

Gortash wanted you. That much was evident. The surprising part was that you wanted him too. This man, who was ready to doom so many people for his god and hunger for power, who hurt Karlach so much and sold her to Zariel... You should hate him and be planning his assassination, putting a stop to all of this. Yet instead, you were thinking of how familiar his touch felt on your body, how it made your heart sing in a similar way as killing did. Even without the memories that would explain the reasons for it, you craved him, his brilliant mind and his reverent touch.

As you entered the fortress, you were greeted by the mechanical voice of the steel watcher, telling you that "lord Gortash is awaiting you in his chambers". Two guards, these made of actual flesh, then lead you to what you assumed were the doors to his chambers. You waited until they left before entering, your heart speeding up in anticipation.

The room was big and expensive looking. It screamed 'important person resides here'. Currently dimly lit through various hanging lanterns, you could still make out the prevalent colours, red and black, with occasional sprinkle of green. All the way back was a king sized bed with canopy, with its owner sitting on its edge.

"You gave me quite a scare back there. I thought you'd start a bloody rampage in the open." He chuckled but you noticed he sounded almost relieved as his eyes set on you. You felt a pull towards him, your feet leading you to the bed on their own.

"I warned you I'm not as in-control as you might think." You replied, stopping in front of him. The dark lighting of the room made him look more imposing and you had to admit, it suited him. Black was his colour. His smile widened as he caught you staring at him.

"Can't help yourself? I don't blame you~" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead choosing to ask the question that's been burning in you.

"What exactly were we?" You winced at how unsure and vulnerable you sounded. Gone was your usual confidence. When it came to your past, you were lost and helpless and it scared you. Part of you berated yourself for showing a weakness to an enemy of such status as Gortash.

But he didn't take advantage of it. His eyes softened and his flirtatious smile changed into a melancholic one. You had a strong feeling not many people had seen this particular expression on him. He stood up, taking both of your hands into his while gazing into your eyes.

"Allies," one of his hands left yours to wrap around your waist and pull you against his lean body. You let him do it, intuitively putting your free hand around him too.

"Friends," he leaned close to you, his next word whispered to your ear as if it were the most precious secret.

"Lovers." You heard him take a deep breath, almost like he was taking in your scent, his hold on you tightening for a brief second before he pulled away, reluctantly letting you go and stepping back.

Hearing him actually say it made a bit of your doubt and guilt go away. Of course your body recognised your lover, even if your mind struggled. You weren't betraying your friends by wanting to be close to Gortash. How could they possibly blame you for wanting someone you used to love?... You could easily do more mental gymnastics to defend your following actions if necessary.

Your breathing quickened as you pushed him back, making him fall into the bed, before climbing over him. "Good. Now I don't feel so bad for wanting to fuck you."

His eyes widened as he took you in, looking up at you as if you were a god, a self-satisfied smile stretching over his face.

"Old habits die hard~" He said before using his strength to flip you over. "You should know your place, however," his voice was deeper, his clawed hand wrapping around your neck, making it harder to breathe. You glared at him in defiance, displeased that he'd dare to do this.

"Oh, are you imagining slicing me open now? Frying me with you spells?" His eyes and voice were laced with amusement. He put more pressure on your neck, the sharp claws digging into the soft skin of your neck. He leaned close to your face. "Good."

The moment your lips connected, he released his hold on your neck enough for you to be able to breathe better again. His other hand made it's way under your shirt, mapping your body to his memory again. He sighed contentedly, almost getting lost in the simple kiss-

And then you bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood and to make him recoil in shock. He pulled away, touching his bleeding lip gingerly before looking back at you. His eyes seemed to get impossibly dark as he watched you lick your lips, stained by his blood. His pants got more tight as you gave him a mad grin, one that used to be on your face so often before your disappearance.

"I didn't think you still had it in you," he chuckled, looking way too happy for someone who could've lost his lip.

"You seem to be enjoying the pain. Aren't you supposed to be a tyrannical sadist?" You teased him, dropping your gaze at his quite visible bulge before looking back at him.

"Oh I can be, trust me, dear. You're just too special." He got near your face again, scanning over your features with his eyes. You could see the imperfections on his skin in return - the soft wrinkles around his eyes, the laugh lines, the scar on his chin - and as you shared this moment, you truly felt special.

You started kissing each other once again, more passionately and ferociously, both of you needing to feel, touch, taste each other. Gortash pressed his clothed erection against your core and you moaned into the kiss, your legs wrapping around his body to pull him closer, to stimulate the spot that was crying for attention. All of a sudden, none of you had the power to continue your playful banter. You needed him, and he needed you.

He started undressing you, his nimble fingers making quick work of your clothes and he didn't even have to stop kissing you for a moment. His hands kept exploring your body, squeezing in all the right places. He knew your body well.

His mouth left yours to kiss your jawline and continue lower, to your neck, your clavicle, and even lower, to give some welcome attention to your nipple. As he sucked on that piece of flesh, one of his hands started its journey over your inner thigh all the way to your cunt. He only dragged his finger through your folds, spreading your slick, and your hips buckled.

"Fuck... Enver, just fuck me already," you panted, your chest heaving heavily, your nails digging into his shoulders. He left your nipple with a 'pop', his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you before him, all desperate and needy, although he wasn't doing much better and you uttering his name didn't help.

"As you wish, my dear," he mumbled, removing his pants and underwear hastily. He didn't bother with prepping you, knowing you enjoyed the sting of his cock splitting you open and so he inserted his dick in you in one fell swoop. You tensed up, unused to this kind of pain, trying to hold back any sounds of discomfort. Gortash noticed it, kissing you softly on the lips, before whispering into your ear:

"You're doing great, my love, just relax." His fingers started playing with your clit, mixing the pain with pleasure and soon you were urging him to move again. He didn't need to be told twice, his hips pistoning into yours immediately after getting your permission.

He was thick, making the muscles in your vagina strain as they tried to accommodate his girth. It helped that you were embarrassingly wet, the squelch audible every time his dick moved in and out of you. Gortash buried his head in your neck, letting out whimpers that made you feel less humiliated about the noises you made.

"Ah, I've missed this. I've missed you. Thought I'd never see you again..." he mumbled into your neck, his breath hot against it. He cradled you close, as if you could slip between his fingers at any moment, his hips picking up speed. He wanted to enjoy this more, he truly did, but he was desperate to state his claim on you again, make you his once more. He made sure to rub circles into your clit in an effort to bring you to climax along with him. You were so responsive to his touch, like the first time you gave yourself to him, and he wanted to make sure you'll come back for more.

His clawed hand that held you close kept leaving bleeding scratches behind that you didn't mind at all, not when everything in this moment made you feel so alive. You thought killing felt great but this was actually better than that. He then bit your neck, groaning at the same time, his hips stilling, and you felt a warm sensation in you as he filled you with cum. With the continuous stimulation in and around your cunt, along with the small bits of pain he brought you, you followed him over the edge soon after, a silent prayer of his name on your lips.

You were both breathing heavily, still wrapped in each other as you tried to recover a bit of lucidity. Gortash finally pulled out, making his sperm spill out of you onto the expensive bedsheets but he couldn't care less. He laid next to you, pulling you against his chest, and he kissed your head sweetly. It felt unreal, that a supposed tyrant like him had the capacity to be so gentle, to an enemy no less, and yet here you were.

Well, let's just say you're heavily considering your alliance now.

#after dark #bg3 x reader #gortash smut #bg3 enver gortash #bg3 gortash #bg3 smut #enver gortash x reader #gortash x dark urge #gortash x reader #durge x gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash

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thedreamlessnights · 5 months

Note

Hi! I’ve got a request for Astarion and Dark Urge Tav. Like they got together through act 1 and 2 and confessed their feelings for each other, but when they go to see Gortash become Arch Duke Tav realizes that she used to be lovers with Gortash before her memory was wiped. Queue angst and hurt/comfort and fluff and hhhhh Gortash loses plssss

I absolutely loved this concept and had so much fun writing it! Dark Urge's route changed me as a person, and I honestly feel like it's a perfect match for Astarion. Thank you so much for sending this in, and I hope you enjoy!

Aching (Astarion x F!Reader - Dark Urge)

Warnings: Major spoilers for Act III of Baldur's Gate - particularly for the Dark Urge playthrough. Mentions of blood, killing, death, and suicidal ideation. Dark Urge being Dark Urge. Hurt/comfort, self-loathing, angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 4.6k

Like so many other things, the sight of Lord Enver Gortash tugs at a painful spot in your skull.

You’ve come to differentiate them: the gaping, aching tug of your lost memories and the sharp, swift yank of the tadpole. Somehow, his presence pulls at both of them in equal measure. There’s something on the edge of your tongue, but it won’t be said. A memory behind your eyes, but it won’t be seen.

One thing is clear enough - you know this man. For better or worse, the two of you have met before.

Karlach clears her throat behind you, and you return to yourself: not lost in the dark void of your memories, not consumed by the itch for blood. Wyrm’s Crossing.

Gods, you’d nearly forgotten. You’re in the middle of a throne room, surrounded by dozens of people, here for the coronation. Wyll’s father stands in the center of the room, all but a meat puppet under the Absolute’s control.

The Absolute, which Gortash is a part of.

The soon-to-be Archduke sees you, and something shifts in his gaze. His expression softens. Given all the trouble you’ve been causing for him, that expression comes as a shock - but what he says next is jarring to your core.

“Dearest patriars, but a moment,” he requests. “I must greet a most important guest.” He strolls toward you, arms spread wide as he steps forward, and smiles. “Crawling back from her bloody disgrace - it’s my favorite assassin! Gods, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

And suddenly, you are two pieces of a whole. One longs to step forward, knowing him, wanting him. The other longs for nothing more than to jolt away from him - from the misery you know he’s been causing. Not only to you, or even Karlach, but to your home; Baldur’s Gate.

“Hang on,” Karlach says. “What? You know each other?”

As if you could have possibly known that. As if you’d been willfully keeping it from her. As if your amnesia is a silent betrayal.

“We have important matters to address,” Gortash says dismissively. “My reunion with Karlach can wait.”

Gods, it’s all too much. You’re trying to think, but your mind is swimming in front of your eyes. Your skull throbs. Your heart thuds unevenly in your chest. Something in you is fundamentally disrupted.

“Don’t talk to me,” you manage to spit out. “Talk to her.”

After all, she deserves it. Ten years in Avernus, a flaming engine in her chest, a slow, painful oncoming death that none of you can prevent - or at least, not while she’s refusing to go back to the hells. She deserves a talk with the man who betrayed her. More than anything.

But Gortash won’t be swayed so easily, it seems. “No offense to my old friend,” he says, not even bothering to look at Karlach, “but it’s you I have been dying to see. After all, you abandoned us some time ago, leaving a rather uncomfortable hole in our plans.”

Fond. His expression is unmistakably fond.

You don’t know what plans he’s talking about, though. What to say to him? Should you treat him like a friend, exploit his familiarity down to the hilt for the sake of the information you might obtain? Should you be honest and find out more of your lost self? Do you even want to?

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter what you’re planning to say. Gortash sees your face, and that’s enough. “Oh, I’d forgotten,” he remarks, “your memories are quite lost, aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you.”

Orin. A picture flashes in front of your mind. Warm blood, oozing from a gash in your head, streaming down into your eyes. A sharp, fierce tug of betrayal that digs into your chest, sours in your mouth like milk.

Then, another image. A recent memory: Orin. A gruesome suit of skin. A bloodthirsty tongue. The Netherstone in hand.

But Gortash is still talking.

“To think you and Karlach traveled together all this time, and she hadn’t the faintest you were one of my nearest and dearest,” he’s saying.

Karlach tenses, and you suddenly feel sick. Your hands go slick with sweat, and you can feel, not see but feel, the others silently fuming behind you.

All of this is adding up to one big, horrific picture. A conclusion you despise but can’t deny. Something affectionate in your chest. The admiration in his gaze. The way he’d greeted you. Nearest and dearest.

Lovers. You and Gortash were lovers.

The walk back to camp is the most painful of your life - that you can recall, at least. You’d rather be feral again, tied up like an animal on your bedroll, attempting to bite Astarion.

Part of you wishes you’d decimated Gortash the moment you’d laid eyes on him. If you had, all of this could have been avoided. The swirling guilt in your stomach for something you don’t even remember. The sting of reproof from nearly every single one of your companions. The betrayal in their eyes.

You’d done this. All of it. The Absolute, the march on the city, the tadpole now squirming around in your brain. You and Gortash had planned this out, and now you’ve fallen victim to it.

It seems like a disconnected idea, a person you can’t imagine being. The further you go on, the less you recognize your old self. The more you despise it.

Gale had certainly chewed you out. Karlach isn’t talking to you. Gods, even Shadowheart is angry. Shadowheart, who should know more than anyone else what this is like.

Astarion, at least, doesn’t seem as upset as the others. He’s liked his tadpole for the most part. Is some odd part of him grateful for your role in this? For the power it’s given him? You can’t tell.

You should be able to tell, shouldn’t you?

When the silence becomes unbearable, you grab a bottle of Berduskan Dark as a peace offering and join him at his tent, crawling through the entrance and sprawling yourself over his various pillows. “Do you hate me tonight, too?” you ask lightly.

He raises a brow and rolls one of his shoulders, feigning annoyance. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing and casual. “It’s not often I find out the woman I’m with is behind a horrible, malicious scheme to control an elder brain.”

Your words of penance fall flat even before they’ve touched your tongue, so you pour him a glass of wine in response.

He smiles. “Trying to win me over, darling?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’ve caused quite the commotion around camp, you know. Gale is positively furious.”

That sensation of guilt comes again, but this time, it’s overpowering. It makes you want to crumple in on yourself, to erase the horrid, evil parts of you that are left like bloodstains on a white shirt; things that won’t be scrubbed away, present and never-escapable.

“I didn’t know,” you start, firmly but barely kept together. “I swear, I had no idea-”

“Relax, dearest,” Astarion says. “As you know, me and the tadpole are the best of friends. No need to explain.” He pauses. “Although,” he says, suddenly becoming very interested in inspecting the brim of his glass, “you and Gortash seemed to be old friends, too.”

You know what he’s asking you, and you don’t have it in yourself to lie to him. Instead, you slowly nod, pouring yourself a glass of the wine, too. Gods, do you need it.

“We were lovers, I think,” you finally answer. “I can’t remember anything about it, but… the way he talked to me. It seemed like we were more than friends.”

He pulls a face. “Well. I certainly hope he won’t be serving as my competition. You can do so much better.”

You stare at him: the sudden tension in his shoulders, the pasted-on, confident smile that plays on his lips, the dark glint to his gaze.

“You’re jealous.”

He scoffs. “Jealous?” he exclaims, laughing a little. “Of course I’m not jealous. Honestly - it’s hilarious. A Bhaalspawn and Bane’s chosen. In another life, I would have been rooting for the two of you.”

But there’s a crease between his brows, and he won’t quite look at you. You reach out for his hand, and his expression softens. He playfully rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand all the same. “And what is our vicious little mastermind thinking about?” he asks, leaning toward you.

“I’m thinking,” you say, “that Lord Gortash could never compare to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, moving in a little further. He loves preening for compliments, and you love treating him to them. “Do go on, dearest.”

You trail your thumb over his knuckles. “Well, he’s clearly nowhere near as handsome as you are.”

Astarion tilts his head. “Of course he isn’t. The man couldn’t hope to compare with a… world-endingly handsome vampire.” He squeezes your hand, lifting a brow. “Anything else?”

You can’t help smiling now. “His taste in clothing is awful. Didn’t you see his boots?” you ask. “Tacky.”

He scowls. “I did. Horrendous, honestly. And at his coronation, no less,” he remarks, tutting. “Well. I’m glad to see your standards have improved, darling.”

“As am I.” You take a sip of your wine, swirling it in your hand, enjoying the feel of Astarion’s grasp in the other.

With him, you can almost forget the worst parts of yourself. The others, as much as you love them, only make your crimes seem so much worse. There’s a constant forgiveness sought with each conversation, a debt you can never repay that lingers underneath the way they see you. But not with him.

He mirrors you. He sees you. What you really are, not what you were, not the echo of your old life. All your past grievances, well… those don’t matter to him. Everything you’ve done, he considers himself worse.

Part of you thinks - if the two of you actually make it through, that is - that bit by bit, you may actually heal. Maybe, you’ll actually have a life with him beyond the tadpoles, and beyond Baldur’s Gate. Maybe, the two of you will build something far beyond those who once controlled you.

And then the night comes.

You leave Astarion in his tent to trance, telling him you mean to sleep even though you have no intention of doing so. You never rest well, but it’s aggravated, lately. The Urge is always at its worst during the night. The shadows reflect your darkest self back at you, and your fingers itch for blood. Your mind becomes a haze of gore. Your teeth fix on a tender part of your cheek and press down until you taste iron.

You’d like to say that this part of you is a clean split from the other - that it’s easy to tell where the Urge ends and you begin - but it’s not. Your thoughts so often drift. You’d been the one feeling that sickening sense of satiation when Alfira lay dead at your feet, her blood drying on your skin. And it’s you who feels a strange tug toward Gortash - some lingering yearning that won’t be scrubbed away.

And you try. Gods, do you try. You take a rag and sit at the river and rub until your skin is raw, trying to get the metaphorical blood off your hands, trying to cleanse yourself of the want that pulls at your chest when Gortash slips into your thoughts.

But it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work at all.

The way you want Astarion feels different. It’s grounded. Natural. Being around him feels as easy as breathing. Gortash, though: there’s something so very strong there, something ripened with time and obsessive, almost. Something that wants him no matter what you tell yourself.

You want to win this. You want to look at the faces around camp and tell them that their faith in you is not misplaced; that you are capable of what they want you to be. You’re more than the monster in your thoughts. When you’d resisted killing Isobel and Astarion despite your butler’s commands, you’d thought there was a chance for that to happen - for you to become something outside of your murderous tendencies.

Now, you’re not so sure.

Your role in the creation of the Absolute has changed things. This feels… unforgivable. Not that Alfira’s death wasn’t already unforgivable, not that you haven’t already sinned enough, but… it’s tallying up to a truly heinous amount of perversion that you can’t fathom anyone here tolerating, much less accepting. Astarion, maybe, but he deserves better than this.

You’ve already tremendously ruined things, and on top of that, you find out you were responsible for turning all of the people you care about into thralls?

It’s enough to shake you to your core. Enough to sow doubt in your mind, spreading like a slow poison through the veins of your thoughts, slowly choking them away, slowly consuming you.

You really might lose.

Gods, are you strong enough to win the long-fought battle against yourself? Do you have it in you to completely turn away from your past? You won’t give in without a fight, of course, but what chance do you have against Bhaal when he’s in your very mind, rooting himself into every inch of you?

In the days, you have hope, but in the nights, when you’re alone, you feel certain you’re doomed. That perhaps, this side of you will take over, and you’ll be absolutely helpless to stop it.

The true question is this: when the darkness takes over, will you still exist; forever trapped in the body you once had control over? Or will Bhaal’s presence ravage you, body and soul, and leave nothing of the thing you once were?

You really can’t decide which is worse.

You’re used to your hands shaking, by now. Your fingers have often trembled around the hilt of your blade, itching to drive your knife deep into sweet, bleeding flesh.

This is different.

It’s fear that takes your body, not the Urge. Fear that compels you, not Bhaal. Are you afraid to lose to Orin, or afraid of what you might become?

Astarion stands behind you, observant but tense. The two of you have come so far now that it almost seems foolish to think of losing. He’d defeated Cazador. He’d resisted the Ascension. If he’d found it in himself to turn away from his darkness, can’t you?

Yet, some part of you still thinks you might disappoint him. Some part of you still fears the monster that lies within yourself.

Astarion rests a hand on your shoulder, knowing you all too well. “You can do this,” he says, lightly squeezing. “I know you can.”

And the sheer, beautiful belief in his eyes - belief in you - is enough to have a little hope again. Not much, but some. You can do this.

You step into the center of the circle, hands around your blade, and you believe.

It all goes by in a blur.

Orin is a viper, tightening her strokes around you, striking fast and hard. Her movements are rapid and graceful, her dance lithe and experienced. Even in her slayer form, there’s a deadly beauty to her actions. Every slash, every wound she inflicts on your skin, is a vicious reminder that she’s nothing but practiced in this regard.

Perhaps she’s forgotten, but you are, too. And, this time, your pride doesn’t blind you to the threat she poses.

Your body moves instinctively; for once, you let the Urge guide you freely. You leap out of the way of her claws, dig your blade into her side. When the scent of blood hits the air, you rejoice. When you feel pain, you bask in it.

Flashes of your past echo in front of your eyes - being in the pod, blood gushing into your eyes. You remember the agony of her betrayal, the fear as you’d smashed your skull into the glass again and again and again. Anything to escape what she’d done.

It’s despair that takes over you, not fear. It’s your fury that deals the final blow, not the Urge. And when Orin finally falls, your blade in her ribs up to the hilt, you feel no relief, no satiation.

Only grief. Nothing but grief.

You don’t know what you mourn for - your old self? The life she’d robbed you of? No - no, you despise your past. You despise who you were. So what tugs at your chest this tenderly? What force brings you to your knees?

For just a moment, you almost forget about Bhaal.

Of course, he won’t be forgotten - not here, not in his own domain. Not when you’re his creation. Sceleritas Fel is in front of you, applauding your victory, calling you the Chosen One.

“He is near,” he says. “He comes for you.”

Fear flutters through your chest. Bhaal’s Chosen. It tempts you, even now. The Urge has slithered into the very heart of you, kept somewhere in your ribs, so dark and alluring that you can barely breathe.

It salivates at the sight of the blade slicing through your butler’s chest, sways at the sight of his blood. His body rises, limp and lifeless, and it’s all you can do to stare, still breathless from the fight, still silently devastated, as more blades cut through the skin one by one - impaling him until his blood seeps onto the stone below; dark, crimson liquid shining over the cold floor.

And in his reflection, you find Bhaal.

He is everything you’ve felt in the Urge and more - the sweet whispers of death in your ear. He’s the honeyed tone that compels you to serve him, compels you to bring forth destruction in his name. In chaos, he triumphs, and in blood, he revels.

This is a gift. An offering to you, his Chosen.

You could accept. You could stop fighting against your destiny, against this thing you were born to become. You could do what he asks, and wreak beautiful havoc on this world. You’re exhausted. Every muscle in your body aches - not from Orin, but from this never-ending fight against yourself.

How strong you could become, remedied of these burdens. How well you would please your father. It would be so easy. All you’d have to do is accept…

And then you see Astarion.

His face is paler than usual, a tension in his shoulders, a quiet exhaustion in his eyes. You see him now, as he is, and you see him as he was in the ritual chamber: the temptation of power right beneath his grasp, begging to be taken. He’d sacrificed so much. The light of the sun on his face. The relief of hunger. The burial of his shame. All of these, he’d refused, but he’s finally free. He wants that for you, and you want it, too.

No matter the cost.

So you refuse. You look Bhaal in the eye and refuse his gift, knowing what it will mean for you. And when he threatens your life, you refuse again. No matter the cost, you think. Death is freedom in its own way.

The sudden agony that wracks through your body is unlike any you’ve ever known. It boils through your blood, singes body and soul, brings down you to your knees with the very force of it. Your chest seems to cave in on itself, expelling your inheritance to Bhaal with every beat of your heart.

Even when he lifts a hand and raises you into the air, you feel crushed - suffocated. Your teeth grind against each other, your skull throbs in agonzing waves, blood flows steadily over your tongue. Your heart slows, your essence fades. Sharp, blinding pain overtakes your vision until all that’s left of you is the shallow, scraping breath in your lungs.

All at once, everything fades, and you’re left in darkness.

And in the darkness, there is finally peace.

Being revived feels like a cruelty. Death is sweet and calm and simple. Emptiness. Oblivion. It is silent, and you are grateful.

Until you’re not.

You’re not, because you’re no longer dead. Something rips you from your painless sense of stillness - throws you back into the misery of life. You fight against it, but it’s pointless; you have no say in this, and it will take you where it desires.

You find yourself in flesh again, find the familiar sensation of your tender skin. You find yourself before Withers, bruised and broken, but reborn.

He’s a sight for sore eyes, but there’s something else that lies in your chest. A silence that hasn’t been there since… since before you’d woken up on the nautiloid, confused and alone, not a memory to be found aside from meaningless scraps and a face you didn’t recognize.

The Urge is gone. All that’s left is you.

It feels empty.

This should feel heroic, this return of yours that leaves you panting with the throes of death, covered in blood and on your knees. You’re back, you’re alive, and gods, you’re glad to see your friends and your lover, but it’s empty.

You deserved to die, didn’t you? It was your horrible knowledge, the one you kept tucked away even from Astarion. That never-ending guilt. After your crimes, after all the horrid things you’ve done with these hands, this body, before you’d lost your memory - you’d most certainly deserved to be put down.

You don’t dare look at Astarion, but you look at Withers. Surely, he must know what you are. Surely, he must know what you’ve done.

“I deserve to die,” you tell him, your voice shaking as much as your body. “For all the evil I have done.”

Withers stares at you, his expression unchanged. “The sole way to atone for thine actions is to do better, in a new dawn,” he says - and gods, he smiles. He’s proud of you, you realize. Proud of your resistance. “That dawn has come,” he announces.

And if he will not be swayed, you suppose you won’t, either. You’re alive, whether you like it or not. Whatever pieces are left of you and the life you might live, you’ll put them together. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.

The important thing is that you’re finally free.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee,” Wither observes, “but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew. The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of you that hath grown during thy travels. That part, Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

“You get to start over,” Astarion says. He gazes at you, a mixture of leftover fear and relief and care. “To be the person you want to be. Not what someone else made you to be.”

And gods - even in the worst of yourself, you know that he sees you - wants you, all the same. If you’re at his side, you’re sure you can do anything.

“Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none,” Withers says, and for once in the shabby remembrance of your life, the guilt that haunts you finally sweeps away.

Gortash knows you’re coming, you think. After your stint at the Iron Throne and the foundry that now lies in ash, he must. Your memories are mostly lost to the aether, but you do know this - he’s no fool.

Still, when you see him again, there’s that strange, leftover twinge of your past. It’s dead now; whatever warmth there was in his presence has become ice. Your old self has died along with your Urge, rotted away like your need for blood. After all, the part of you he cared for was maniacal. Brutal. Not as bad as Orin, perhaps, but deranged. It sickens you to know he cared for someone like that, when you’ve despised yourself so.

It sickens you even more to know that he knows no guilt for his actions. How much have you suffered over your own deeds? How often have you awoken in sweat, drenched from head to toe with the fleeting remnant of your past deeds tainting your mind?

And here he is, smug and so sure - of himself, of this path, of Bane. And he knows no regret, or guilt, he makes no apologies. A part of you may have once loved him, but no more. Whatever he’d once seen in you, it no longer remains.

You wonder if he can tell. After all you’ve done to him, after the havoc you’ve wreaked on his plan, does he realize that the person he cared for no longer exists? He seems not to. Not until Karlach launches at him and you draw your blade, willing to kill when it’s necessary but not craving an ounce of blood more.

The fight is long and brutal, but it’s familiar. You have your friends at your side, people you trust even more than yourself. It flies by in a blur, only ending when Karlach’s axe sinks into Gortash’s gut and he crumples to his knees, letting out a final rush of air before he goes still.

Like so many other events, this should feel triumphant, but it doesn’t. Like so many other things, this isn’t fair. Gortash is gone, yes, nothing more than a body on a floor, but there’s no celebration, no relief.

Karlach has gotten her revenge, but she will never get her life back. She will never regain what he took from her.

You have the Netherstones, yes. But gods - that doesn’t stop the sickening feeling deep inside.

You head home with nothing but grief and an aching body, your hand held tight in Astarion’s, and you finally allow yourself to fully mourn the life you’d lived - the things you’d done, and the people who no longer live because of you.

With Gortash finally gone, the air of the camp changes. You’re so close to your goal, but there’s an underlying tension that fills the air. It has you making your way to Astarion, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck.

He holds you close, his thumb trailing over the nape of your neck, and the action slackens the tension out of your muscles.

“So,” he starts, “how are you feeling, now that your old lover is gone?”

You huff, shaking your head. The action brushes your nose with his skin, and you can smell him all over you. The warmth of brandy, the sharpness of rosemary. “I don’t remember any of it,” you say, words soft. “I… don’t really feel anything.”

You recall his numbness after Cazador. Dame Aylin’s emptiness after smiting down Larroakan. Karlach’s grief after killing Gortash. Even after your fight with Orin, there hadn’t really been relief. Just… a sense of loss.

He gently takes your face in his hands.

You’re scared, really. You’re so close to succeeding, so close to getting the tadpole out of your mind, and yet, you’re terrified out of your wits. What the hells are you supposed to do, now that failing holds the most weight?

“Do you really think we’ll win this?” you ask him. Your fear slips into your voice and breaks it, and you wince.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I have no intention of dying again.” He presses his lips to your forehead, the gentle touch soothing away your fear. “We’ll get through this. Trust me.”

And, despite the fear, the pain, the loss - despite every curve that life continually throws at you, every defeat you muster through, you know he’s right.

You’ll get through this; just like you always do.

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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aerynwrites · 6 months

Text

Make is Right

Gale x Dark Urge!Reader

A/N: Had this idea come to me when @thedreamlessnights told me that Gale yelled at their dark urge after talking to Gortash in Baldur’s Gate. Hope y’all enjoy the angst and fluff that follows.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR BG3. Spoilers for dark urge plot specifically. Angst, emotional Hurt/Comfort, major character death, resurrection, fluff, happy ending.

You’ve been in a spiral ever since the Nautiloid crashed, your mind a jumble of blankness and confusing violent urges you can’t hope to control. Your sleep plagued with terrible dreams and that infuriating butler. Urges that have made you do terrible things and almost make you do worse.

But now…now it feels as if everything has come crashing down around you. You’d hoped coming to Baldur’s Gate would give you answers to your past, hopefully bring to light memories that are still lost to you.

You never expected it to be worse than you thought.

You never expected to be on the receiving end of Lord Gortash’s cunning smile as he greets his favorite assassin. You didn’t think learning of your past would make your heart drop to your stomach.

But as you stand here, in this grand throne room and listen as Gortash tells you of your bloody past…you feel bile rise in your throat.

You watch numbly as Duke Ravengard crowns Gortash as the archduke of Baldur’s Gate, acutely aware of how your companions shift uneasily behind you. You accept begrudgingly when Gortash offers you an alliance, that sickening smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer to you.

“I tolerate Orin,” he tells you, a strange fondness in his eyes that makes your stomach roll. “But I liked you.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Go get the stone. And don’t come back until you have it in hand.”

You obey his command, not because you want to listen to him, but because you want to get as far away from here as possible. Your feet carry you faster than you expect, and soon you’re out of the oppressive building that is Wyrm’s Crossing making your way across the bridge.

It’s only then that any feeling comes back to you at all, and you’re acutely aware of piercing gaze burning into your back. You stop in your tracks, turning to see Gale as the source.

The look he gives you…The man who you’ve come to love and who you thought felt the same…His eyes are full of nothing but betrayal and anger.

You reach out to him, fear gripping your heart like you’ve never felt before. “Gale, what-?”

He recoils from you, lips turned down wards. “Don’t.” He says, the one word coming out harsher than you anticipate, making you retreat into yourself as he continues. “The absolute, the tadpoles…it was because of you?”

That last word is said with such venom it makes your heart fracture in your chest. You’ve never been on the receiving end of such vitriol, at least not from him, and it makes tears burn at the back of your eyes.

“Gale, please…I didn’t even know-“

He cuts you off with a raised hand, eyes falling shut as he turns his head away from you, as if it pains him to even hear your voice.

“I think you’ve said and done more than enough,” he lowers his hand to a fist at his side, still not looking at you. “Leave me be.”

He offers nothing else as he brushes past you, walking back towards camp with a rigid set to his shoulders. You feel your lower lip wobble, and out of instinct look back to your other companions for guidance, hoping for anything other than hatred.

You at least get that much. Not even Karlach will look right at you, her hands clenching at her sides as she too walks past, uttering something about catching up with Gale. Astarion offers one of his humorous quips, but even that does nothing to help.

Only Shadowheart seems truly sorry, her eyes meeting yours in a knowing way. You suppose she’s the only one who understands being a slave to your blank past and eventually finding out the brutal truth.

But even her…you can see the thin set of her lips, and you know. You know on some level she blames you too.

And as they all leave one after the other, you’re left alone on the wooden bridge, the wind whistling around you, and your mind still infuriatingly blank.

————

No one approaches you at camp that evening, all of them being pleasant enough but losing that usual camaraderie that typically fills the air.

It’s only after dinner has been served and eaten that you move to seek out your partner, your bowl of stew left untouched by your spot at the fire.

Gale is in front of his tent, deep in one of his books as he usually is. Normally the sight would bring a smile to your face, but now as you approach, nothing but dread settles in your stomach.

The man doesn’t even acknowledge you as you walk up, eyes never leaving the pages of his book as you stand in front of him, shifting nervously in your feet.

“Can we talk?” you finally ask, voice soft in the night air.

Not looking up from his reading, Gale turns a page as he answers, “I don’t see what there is to talk about.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears welling up at bay.

“You know what.”

Gale scoffs, finally closing his book with a resounding snap as he finally looks at you. His eyes are ablaze with anger but deep below the surface you can sense a sadness. He feels betrayed.

“Oh yes,” he says, “I suppose we do need to address the fact that you are the reason we are all in this bloody predicament. Where would you like to start?” He asks cruelly. “The fact that you’re actually a bloodthirsty assassin set on fulfilling your fathers diabolical wishes? Or should we discuss the tiny detail that you were seemingly cozy with none other than Enver Gortash?”

Frustration bubbles up in you then, and finally the tears spill over - hurt and anger and utter confusion proving too much for you to handle.

“You act like that person is me!” You cry, wavering. “Like I haven’t proven again and again since I’ve met you that I’m not…that. I don’t want to be that person anymore I don’t…I can’t be.”

Gale says nothing, so you continue. “I can’t control who I was but until today I didn’t even know that was my past but I -“ you choke on a sob, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “We’ve done so much good. That has to count for something.”

You watch as Gale softens ever so slightly, but it’s so slight that if you didn’t know him as well as you do, you would have missed it.

He sighs, eyes clenching shut as he turns his face from you again. “Sometimes…Sometimes our past is not something we can separate ourselves from.” He says simply, hands falling limply by his side. “I…I need time to think. I think it’s best if you go.”

His words feel like a stake to your heart, the pain radiating out to your fingertips and making your knees weak.

You want to scream. You want to fall on your knees and beg for him to understand, for him to not push you away. But you know it would do no good. So instead, you only nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you retreat to your bedroll by the fire.

You avoid the sideways stares the others give you, no doubt having heard your fight with Gale.

The bedroll is cold beneath you, even the fire doing nothing to warm the icy hurt seeping through your veins. Minutes tick by into hours and soon everyone retires to bed.

But you remain awake.

Astarion and Karlach lay on the other bedrolls near you - but the one across the fire is achingly empty.

As the night draws on and the flames of the fire dwindle to nothing but smoldering embers, your mind runs endlessly.

You try fruitlessly to counjure up memories of your past, the past Gortash laid out for you. But there’s nothing. Nothing but blankness and and cloud of black anger bubbling in your chest.

Orin.

She’s the only thing that keeps fighting it’s way to the forefront of your mind. Since you’ve been in the city she’s already made it clear she’s watching you, and after what was revealed to you, you know why.

She did this to you.

She created this vast expanse of emptiness within you. Made you forget your past and took your place as Bhaals chosen, but maybe…

It was for the better. You know this, and silently you thank her for doing it. For orchestrating your fall from grace so to speak. Because now…now you’re someone else, someone better.

All at once an idea forms in your mind. One that would hopefully solve all your problems.

Orin took your place when she got rid of you…what if you could do the same. But instead of taking her place when she falls…you can deny your father his chosen.

You’ll have two of the stones, Orin out of the way and one step closer to righting the wrongs you’ve unknowingly created.

You’re on your feet before you can overthink it. You enter your tent and don your armor and weapons in a mindless haze, only when you exit your tent do you pause, your eyes trailing over to the familiar blue tent across camp.

You approach quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping body inside, and you carefully peel back the tent flap. Gale rests on his side, face lax with sleep as his chest rises and falls slowly.

For a moment you’re struck with a pang of fear. What if this venture ends in your death? What if you never see the man you love again?

These thoughts run through your head as you gaze softly at your sleeping lover, and before you can let the fear control you, you lean in and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.

He barely stirs, eyes fluttering lightly before he settles once more. You smile sadly before reaching into your pocket, your fingers wrapping around the cool red stone before you pull it out.

You place the netherstone beside his pillow where he’ll be sure to see it. If this does go sideways…they can still continue the mission.

You stand, giving one last glance at Gale before you let the tent flap fall shut and turn to go face your past head on.

———

Orins arrogance is her downfall, just as you hoped it would be.

She could have easily overpowered you. Taken advantage of your worn down state from trying to find the temple. She could have used the handful of cultists around her to aid in her battle against you.

But she was arrogant, bloodthirsty, and ready to end what she had started.

That had been her mistake.

The fight was not easy, there were moments where you thought you would fall, a few injuries too close to fatal for you to be too haughty in your victory.

But as she lay, broken and bloodied at your feet, you can’t help but be acutely aware of the vast emptiness still yawing within you.

You thought killing Orin would make you feel something. Maybe a sick sense of satisfaction, or possibly even trigger some memories of what she did to you or what you’ve done.

But there’s…nothing. There’s nothing but the sound of your own breath as it bubbles wetly in your chest.

Somethings wrong, you’re injured worse than you’ve ever been before but at this moment you can’t find it in you to care.

Will this be enough?

Will Gale forgive you for your wrongs? Or, when you return to camp with the second netherstone, will it just prove that he was right? That you can’t in fact separate yourself from your bloody past.

That you’ll never be more than the spawn of Bhaal, created to do one thing only.

Will you ever truly be free?

Your answer comes in a wave of telekinetic pain, washing over your mind and nearly bringing you to your knees as a voice speaks through you.

There’s a tinge of familiarity as it speaks, and it’s only then you realize who is speaking.

Bhaal.

The god of murder. Your father. The thing that made you who you were - who you are.

You stand there, that pain slowly ebbing away as he offers you greatness. Offers you the title as his chosen once more and showers you with false praises.

You feel that all too familiar urge tug violently at your mind, begging - screaming at you to accept your rightful place.

You almost give in, your despair and emptiness almost winning out. But then…then you remember the way Gale looked at you, the way they all looked at you. With pain and fear and betrayal in their eyes.

And suddenly the emptiness is gone. The vast yawning cavern of blackness in your mind no longer feels like a burden. You may not remember who you were but…You aren’t them anymore. You’re someone new. Someone kind and loving and caring. You’re someone who laughs around the campfire at Karlach’s jokes and teases Astarion about his always perfect hair.

But more than that…You’re someone who’s known love.

Gales face flickers before your mind then, that kind small smile when you ask him about his magic. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his hands feel against your skin as he holds you, or the way he stayed with you as you fought your urges.

Your mind isn’t empty. It’s so full. Just as your heart is. Full of love and hope and brightness despite the urges that tempt you everyday.

You’re not his anymore.

You reject his gift as powerfully as you can muster and you feel the way his power reels back in anger and hatred.

How dare you refuse me!

His voice rages in your mind just as you feel the tendrils of pain seep into your bones.

Your name echoes off the cavernous temple walls, and through the pain and the voice screaming in your head it takes you longer than usual to realize where it’s coming from.

You turn to see your companions, your friends, rushing towards you from the entrance of the temple, shouts of your name and other jumbled words greet your ears.

But then you see Gale.

His eyes filled with worry and regret, reaching for you, fingers outstretched towards your quaking form.

They’re closer now, each step bringing them closer and closer to your bleeding body. You reach out your own hand, limbs quaking with effort against the ever crushing weight consuming you.

Your fingers just barley brush Gale’s, his eyes glossing with relief.

But it’s too late.

His hand slips into your own as Bhaal strikes you down.

Bones cracking, sinew snapping, and blood rushing out of you as darkness swallows you whole. The last thing you remember as death surrounds you, is the pain in your throat as you cry out Gale’s name.

————

It feels like mere moments after the pain and darkness that light erupts around you.

Warm tendrils of light wrap around the emptiness that was your life and soul forming you once more back onto the mortal plane. It blinds you, making you unable to see what happens until you materialize and your boots hit solid ground, your knees buckling beneath you.

But instead of meeting the cold hard floor beneath you, warm arms catch you as you fall, your body falling against a much sturdier one.

Your mind is muddled as your sense come back to you, a multitude of faces swimming before you. You see Karlach and Halsin hovering off to the side with Shadowheart. Even Astarion’s face swims with worry.

But what catches your attention most is the familiar face of your lover right above you, tears clinging to his lashes.

Tears?

You’ve never seen Gale cry, never seen him so much as sniffle or whimper. But now…

Small, warm tears drip onto your cheeks as he leans down to press his forehead against your own, his arms crushing you to his chest so fiercely you nearly can’t breathe.

“Thank the gods-“ he chokes on a sob, “you’re alive. You’re alive. I…” he pulls away from you then, reaching a hand up to wipe the moisture from your skin. “I watched you die and all I could think about was what a fool I’d been - how unfair and cruel I was to you.”

You shake your head, bringing a hand up cradle his cheek, wiping at the tears there as you furrow your brow.

“What happened?”

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but another raspy echoing voice answers. You turn your head just enough to see Withers standing a few paces away.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee, but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew,” the being says plainly, voice lacking any emotion. “The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of thee that has grown during thy travels.” You swear you see the bag of bones smile. “That part Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

He continues. “The heart of a savior hath overshadowed the mind of a murderer” he clenches a fist triumphantly. “Thou hast vanquished thy Urge.”

It's then, when his words truly settle in that you sense it - or, don’t sense it.

There’s…nothing. No primal bloodlust, no violent tug at the edge of your mind.

It’s gone.

Hope swells in your chest as you look back to Gale, eyes swimming with tears of your own now.

“He’s right I - I can’t feel it. The urge. I think it’s gone, for good this time.”

Gale shakes his head, pulling you ever closer as his lips fall to your cheek. “I don’t care,” he says firmly, causing momentary panic to tug at your heart.

But Gale is quick to sooth, pulling away to look into your eyes. “I only mean that I do not care if your urges are with you or not. I would love you all the same and I-“ he closes his eyes, shoulders tense with regret. “I was a fool for making you think I felt otherwise. You stuck by me even when I didn’t deserve it and I…I did not give you the same respect or care.”

His voice is soft and broken as he speaks, eyes opening again. “I love you, more than than even my goddess, more than the stars that litter the night skies and I - I can only beg for your forgiveness, though I would not begrudge you for holding it from me.”

As his words sink in, you faintly recognize that the others have retreated quietly, even Withers has taken his leave, allowing you and Gale a moment of privacy.

Slowly you move so you are kneeling before Gale who mirrors your position, his arms still wrapped around you. You bring your hands up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth slowly.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes watering with tears once more. “That’s why I…I wanted to make things right - prove that I wasn’t that person anymore.”

“But you have!” Gale says, voice striken with grief. “Time and time again you showed us who you truly are, proved that the urges you felt were against your will and yet I still-“ he laughs bitterly, “I still let the revelation of your past cloud who I know you truly are. I was cruel. And there is no excuse for the harsh words I uttered. I only hope to show you the error of my ways, no matter how long it takes.”

You smile at him - your lover, your partner, the only person you want to spend your future with - and kiss him.

You pour all of your love and desperate aching need for him into that one action, heart swelling with warmth as he responds in kind.

You only part when you need air, moving to rest your head against his own, your breathes mingling together.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper. “Just stay by my side until the end as I will you.”

Gale smiles, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“I would love nothing more.”

#Gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #bg3 gale x reader #gale x dark urge #Dark urge #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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shoddynomenclature · 2 months

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hiii ... idk if you do requests exactly but if u wanted id love to hear about the companions w/ a werewolf reader ? maybe its a full moon and reader has kept it a secret until now . but instead of being in a mindless violent rampage they are just kinda ... dog brained

thank u in advance ... take ur time or dont bother if u dont wanna :)

BG3 Ladies x Werewolf!Reader

I finally got a day off yesterday and I used it to write for like 8 hours so enjoy your second day of content in a row.

A lot of people have asked for companions react to Bhaal smiting the dark urge and I’m working on it, but unfortunately I’m only on act 2 of my durge run. So that one will be a while.

In better news my Minthara folks can expect a very spicy piece at some point this week!

Shadowheart

As soon as Shadowheart sees you in your wolf form, she is terrified and runs away from you as fast as she can.

It’s only when you cautiously approach camp that her mother actually points out you’re a lycanthrope. She picks up on it pretty easily given her husband shares the same affliction.

“They don’t seem to be aggressive, though” she observes, slightly confused. She tentatively taps her legs, beckoning you to come.

When you happily pad over to her, she scratches you behind the ears and you give a satisfied smile.

She sits down on the ground and continues to pet your head.

Shadowheart is still curled up on the bed, unwilling to take part in any of this.

“Oh come on Shads, you must admit, it’s kinda cute.” Her mom says as your tongue lulls from your mouth.

The closest she gets to comfortable with you that first night is a brief game of fetch. She’ll throw the ball as long as she doesn’t have to wrestle it from your maw.

The game is over though when the ball gets too slimy for her liking.

It’ll take a little while, but perhaps it’ll grow on her eventually.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel doesn’t really know much about wolves or dogs, but she’s not particularly fond of the one that’s following her around camp.

She tries to pawn you off to Karlach, but you want her so she has very little luck with that.

When it starts to get really late, she starts to worry. Where have you gone? You’ve never been out this late.

She eventually puts two and two together and realizes you are the dog that keeps pestering her.

Once she figures it out, she just tries to treat you like your normal self, which is immensely confusing to your little dog brain.

Lae’zel gets very frustrated very quickly. It takes Halsin to calm her down and teach her how to interact with you appropriately.

Every time you do something new she looks at Halsin to tell her how to react.

You flip onto your back. “Can I just keep petting them here?” Halsin nods.

In the morning, she requires quite a hefty apology and explanation as to why you wouldn’t tell her about this.

Karlach

Karlach is almost too welcoming to stray wolf that wants to wander into camp. But it’s certainly not the oddest thing that’s come into camp.

She treats you like a normal dog at first, but after persistent whining and leading her to your bed multiple times, she finally catches on.

“You didn’t tell me you were a werewolf! That’s so cool!” She exclaims, but then her faces starts to grow concerned. “Wait, you’re not gonna flip out on anyone tonight, are you? Do I need to lock you in a cage or something?”

You whine and lay down on the floor.

“Aww, you’re not gonna hurt nobody are you, sweet puppy?” She sits on the floor next to you and rubs your shoulders.

She spends the rest of the night playing with you like she would any other dog, chasing you around camp, wrestling, and petting you.

That night she snuggles up next to you, cuddling you in her arms as you lay on your side.

You wake up just as you do any other morning, in her arms, fully humanoid again.

Minthara

Minthara is unsure what to do with this dog that keeps following her around.

You do your best to actually follow her commands to keep from pissing her off, but you’re really trying to get her to understand it’s you.

You wind up going to your tent and picking up something of yours. One of your shoes should work.

When you approach Minthara with the shoe hanging from your mouth, she grows increasingly agitated with you. “Put that down! That’s not yours!”

You whine and set the shoe down, putting your paw in the shoe to indicate it’s yours.

“Are you… a werewolf?” She asked, confused. You bark in affirmation.

She spends the night allowing you to follow her around, and, as long as you follow instructions, she’s actually quite fond of your dog form.

Most of the night she spends reading a book while occasionally throwing a ball for you to go fetch.

She doesn’t see the point of the game, but you seem to enjoying yourself and it’s only mildly inconveniencing her.

At the end of the night, you move to climb up onto her bed, but she stops you with an “absolutely not” and motions for you to lay on the floor beside her.

Jaheira

As a Druid, Jaheira can speak with you even in dog form.

Once you explain the situation to her, she rolls her eyes but smiles. She should’ve known you were a werewolf.

She doesn’t worry too much about you going fully into beast mode, as you show no signs of aggression or agitation.

But you do stink. And she tells you as much. She’s gonna give you a bath.

Your dog mind causes you to protest. You don’t want a bath. There’s no way she’s getting you in a tub.

It takes a little deception and some meat from the camp supplies to get you in the bath in under 5 minutes.

She cleans you off despite your constant whining and by the end you’re actually surprised you feel better. Less itchy.

She dries you off with a towel and you give yourself a couple good shakes.

Once you’re all clean and dried, she wild shapes into a wolf so you two can spend the night curled up around each other.

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tragedybunny · 5 months

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If you are in the mood for writing and taking requests, could you pls write a short fic about crying f!Tav and Astarion comforting her?

Hello! I hope you like it. This was actually a scene I had been thinking about for awhile as it fits in with my Tav's story. Thank you to @satanicspinosaurus for the beta.

Lean On Me - Astarion x F!Reader

Your group stepped through the Basilisk Gate after your confrontation with Gortash at Wyrm’s Rock, entering Baldur’s Gate properly for the first time. The clamor and crowds of the city were overwhelming, smothering you in an alien way of life you’d only glimpsed in bits and snatches from the Patriar’s ivory walls of the Upper Gate.

were familiar, and yet not, and entirely overwhelming. You almost stumble as you glance around, trying to take everything in. Muscles tense as it all blurs together and you frantically try to figure out how to navigate the section of the city you’ve rarely seen. Someone soundlessly hovers at your shoulder.

“Everything alright, Darling?” Astarion whispers to not draw the attention of the others.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter before stepping away. There isn’t time for you to be anything else, so you breathe deep and take a step.

“Should we start at the Elfsong? Could be a good base to operate from, and there’s always information to be found there.” Wyll’s point is solid, and the Emperor already urged you to stop there.

“Good call.” There was just one problem.

“Lead on, fearless Leader,” Wyll says jovially, but you’ve frozen where you stand. “You do know the way to the Elfsong right?”

“I…” Frantically, you try to recall anything you know about the Lower City.

“I thought every Baldurian knew where the Elfsong was,” Karlach asks, without malice, but genuine curiosity.

You open your lips, but instead of words, a small noise comes out. It’s not their fault, they have no way of knowing, the Lower City was worlds away from your gilded cage. A place forbidden, it was below you. Or so you were told.

“You're not familiar with the area, are you?” Wyll offers kindly, sensing something is wrong and trying to take some of the sudden pressure off.

He says something else, but you can’t even hear him. The busy streets fade into visions of dark, cold rooms with windows to a world you can never touch. Tears embarrassingly prick your eyes as you’re drawn back into a place where fear motivates perfection, where hurt is a price paid to be molded into who you need to be. Eyes that mirror your own, blue and icy as a winter storm, stare at you with disdain. The message is clear: you’re not enough.

Vaguely, more voices flit across your consciousness, but you can’t focus, until one voice in particular breaks though. “Go on ahead, I’ll take care of her.”

Cold hands clasp yours, a momentary calm in the storm. “Can you hear me, Love?” Wordlessly, you nod. “I’m going to lead you into this alley, just so we get out of the street.” The insistent pull is easy to follow with nothing to anchor you.

The clustered buildings block the daylight, plunging you into shadows and shade, any progress of Astarion’s reassuring voice is lost. Daylight is a reward for obedience, and there is none of it here. Mother’s voice is in your ear, the matriarch of ice. You want to leave, but the door is locked, useful trinkets can’t be left to their own devices, lest they be lost. You feel yourself trembling, and you know you’re still crying. “You’re not there, you’re safe. Just focus on my voice. You can do that for me, right, my Sweet?”

Eyes squeeze shut, and you yank your hands away from his to rub fitfully at the scar on your wrist. You never could get away from her, you're drowning in frigid water, you can’t breathe. She wouldn’t let you go, even when your heart stopped beating. Foolish to think you’d ever escape. “I’m going to take your hand again. I won’t hurt you.”

Astarion makes a strangled gasp when he pries your hand from your wrist, but he holds it gently, rubbing softly with his thumb. “Come back to me, Sunlight, I’m right here.”

Sunlight. “...you’re bright, and warm, and beautiful,” you can still hear those words of his as clear as the night he said them. Warm, bright, nothing like what you’re supposed to be. Because you’re free now, you’re no longer currency to be traded, your life is yours to mold.

“Astarion,” you force your eyes open and struggle to get more words out between ragged breaths, burying your tears back down inside yourself. Wide crimson eyes stare at you with open concern, traveling down to where your nails have worried jagged, red lines in the skin of your wrist. Pulling it to your chest, you tuck it out of sight, wanting both of you to forget what you saw. “I’m fine. We should get going.” There’s so much that needs to be done.

Astarion is never good at hiding his emotions from you, and hurt flickers across his face for a moment before he regains control. “But you’re not, and you don’t have to be all the time.”

Deep breath, reassuring smile, the composure of a leader. Everyone is counting on you. That’s why they love you, you lead where they can’t. “Really, I’m alright, I-”

Gently, he pulls you into himself, and runs fingers comfortingly through your hair. “I know what it’s like, remember?” Gods, you’d almost forgotten who you were trying to convince. Instincts want to fight him still, to go on, to stop making a scene. But his comforting touch persists, and he raises your stinging wrist to his lips, laying the most delicate kiss on it.

The tears you’d so successfully banished well back up, and you find yourself sniffling into his shirt, building to genuine gulping sobs.

Composure shattered, there’s no going back. All your weight leans into him as you cry. “Sorry, I’m sorry, really, I’ll be fine.”

“Shh, no apologies, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Lips kiss the top of your head, and you bury your face against him, still ashamed of breaking down.

Time slips away from you as you let the fear and hurt drain away in tears. Astarion’s hold never waivers, soothing words falling from his lips in a low whisper until you finally quiet. There’s an emptiness where it all was, but it’s better than the pain. “I-”

“That had better not be another apology on that sweet little tongue of yours.” He lets go just enough to pull back and study you, concern written on his features, despite the lighter tone to his words.

You offer him a shaky smile. Despite his faults, Astarion tries to be a good partner. “It burns like failure. I should be better.”

“Hmm, that sounds like it comes from your family I'd wager,” your eyes go wide at his deduction, “it wasn't hard to figure out from the little bits I've been able to get from you. But they're not here, and I am. And I say you're so very strong already, you deserve some time when you’re not.”

Silently, you let your head fall back against his chest. You don’t have an answer for him because you want to argue. That’s a pointless endeavor, though, both because Astarion is nearly impossibly stubborn and a little part of you is starting to think he’s right. “Maybe,” you finally say.

“You know I’m right Darling, like always,” it’s such a typical Astarion way of ending a heavy moment, you give him a genuine smile. “But I suppose we should catch up with the others, gods know what trouble they’ve gotten into without us.”

If only you had time for just the two of you right now, it will have to wait though. More than just your friends, a whole city is at the precipice of disaster. And who knows how many more than Baldur’s Gate will suffer if you fail. One more kiss and you stand up straight, finding the will to press on again.

A hand catches yours, a reminder you’re not doing this alone.

Tag list:

@micropoe10 @spacebarbarianweird @writingmysanity

@mxxny-lupin @azu21 @tallymonster @dependsonthedream

@sunfire-ancunin @bambamwolf87 @fayeriess

@lumienyx @lisrelly @elora-the-slutty-songstress

@astariongf

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader #x reader #asks #my fanfiction #my writing #baldur's gate 3 fanfic

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