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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months ago

Text

SIMPLE. (astarion ancunin x afab!reader)

based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.

warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.

wc: 7.4k+

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There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that.

No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.

Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back.

The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine.

“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.”

You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest.

This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue.

And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.”

You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it.

And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood.

“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.”

That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely.

Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game.

But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t.

All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger.

You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.

“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”

Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up.

Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-

You must stop thinking about Astarion.

You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette.

“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-”

“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?”

His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs.

“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”

His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.”

You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity.

“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion.

She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you.

“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates.

He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing.

“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.

“Is that so?”

You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-”

“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull.

Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin.

“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand.

“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.”

“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened.

Like a dog cornered.

Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.

“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.

I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.

You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence.

For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips.

“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”

Defeat.

It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you.

“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you.

“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being.

“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?”

The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness.

“Do what?”

“This.”

You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t.

“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”

For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.

Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”

“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”

“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”

“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”

“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?”

Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling.

He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”

Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”

And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool.

He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done.

“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.

“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.”

He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs.

When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours.

“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”

His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head.

One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it.

“Would you like to know the truth?”

A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you.

You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip.

“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”

Anyone else.

You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue.

There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now.

The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light.

Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip.

It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away.

“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs.

“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.”

Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you.

“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”

You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals.

“Room. Now.”

Of course, you don’t.

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion.

And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking.

Harsh, harsh, harsh.

All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.

Anyone else.

It’s been a long time coming.

You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.

Always yearning.

Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear.

The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down.

More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.

And then came the jealousy.

You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates.

The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger.

The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason.

The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences.

Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned.

You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words.

He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.

“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”

He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause.

“You make it sound so simple.”

The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.

You’re not even sure if you want to talk.

But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”

It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it.

He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city.

He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.

A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary.

You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence.

And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame.

“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”

You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.

It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips.

Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you.

He must feel it. He must taste it.

The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.

You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you.

Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip.

The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Simple. Mind-numbingly simple.

You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes.

“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen.

He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment.

You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?”

“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.”

He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to.

The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much.

When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him.

But he doesn’t.

The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs.

It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well.

These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.

He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout.

You’re mine.

The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making.

The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment.

“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.”

You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more.

His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two.

With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.”

You aren’t.

You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom.

And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you.

A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.”

His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones.

When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it.

More, more, more.

His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it.

Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke. For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean.

His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support.

You take that feeling away.

The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind.

You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person.

A terrible mon-

You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy.

Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.

Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes.

He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him.

He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom.

You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated.

Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.

You don’t care. He doesn’t, either.

Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out.

“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”

You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time.

You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t.

You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist.

The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you.

It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?”

His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?”

“I just needed to make sur-”

He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”

You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?”

“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.”

“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?”

He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly.

You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment.

“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?”

You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before.

I adore you, Astarion.

Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”

“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?”

He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond.

“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.”

It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you.

“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can.

You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.”

And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes.

Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter.

“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”

“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning.

#ghost's writing #kinktober #week 1: vampiric desires #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion x tav

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autistichalsin · 4 months ago

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Okay I know I've made like three posts about this one specific thing but I gotta say, anyone who calls Halsin a typical boring Druid either doesn't understand Halsin or doesn't understand Druids, because Halsin is very much an atypical Druid.

Just a few ways Halsin is different than other Druids:

He can't control his wildshape. He transforms involuntarily when under stress, which is not a thing other Druids experience, and he can't control himself fully in wildshape either. He retains traits, such as an enhanced sense of smell, out of his wildshape form, and has the ability to remain as a bear borderline indefinitely, instead of Druids usually only being able to maintain the same form for a couple hours at most.

He doesn't hate undead; he views them the same as living creatures, worthy of life. He cares for Astarion deeply, and is furious if the player allows the 7,000 spawn to die. (He's a little nicer if they do it for a mercy kill instead of the ritual, but is clearly only happy when they are released into the Underdark, the exact thing a Druid is supposed to want to avoid.)

He dislikes the city because it displaces nature, yes, but he VERY rarely says that. Instead, almost every time he laments the conditions of Baldur's Gate, what distresses him is how capitalistic systems harm sentient beings- especially children. He is more upset at the human(oid) suffering he encounters in the city than he is at how it displaces nature.

Halsin is on an obviously morally good alignment. While Druids are no longer required to be neutral, most still are anyway, especially those from the Emerald Enclave, which the Emerald Grove is part of.

Emerald Enclave Druids are encouraged to sabotage society; they breed aggressive animals and place them near settlements to deter development, secretly sponsor brigands to attack new settlements, and simultaneously interact with local populations by providing sweet drinks and teas to boost their public image, so that new developments are curtailed while nearby people think the Druids are kind and harmless. Halsin very notably never even thinks about doing such things, even though it would be trivial for him to do so.

While Halsin's explanation for wanting to stop the Absolute is initially far more in line with Druidic thinking (they're unnatural, obviously), he later grows to want it finished because he wants you, the player, and your friends to be safe.

Halsin has zero desire to ladder-climb in the ranks of the Druids, nor to grow more powerful; he was perfectly happy as he was before the Shadow Curse, and is quite upset he had to waste 100 years of his life "dealing with others' problems and personalities." BUT the fact that he was happy to just that as alderman of his commune suggests the problem was with being forced into the position and being relied on as the sole authority, instead of one trusted elder of many.

Halsin wants children desperately, but was kept from having them by his leadership role. This is yet another example of how, despite his deeply held beliefs, being a Druid ultimately made him less happy.

Halsin isn't very good at leading the Druids, to the point that many of his Druids resent him, many are swayed to a cult the instant he leaves, and he himself decides the best thing he could possibly do for the Grove is leave it and have a better leader come in and take over.

Nearly every struggle Halsin has in the game arises from a conflict with his Druidic beliefs- whether it's his need to cleanse the Shadow Curse causing him to be an ineffective leader of the Grove, his desire for a family being held back by his leadership role, or his love of humanity battling against his hatred for cities as unnatural blots on nature.

Basically, nearly every character beat Halsin has comes from him not being a typical Druid at all, and in some cases, from him being rather bad at being the things Druids are supposed to be.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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vspin · 1 year ago

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On Act 3 and the lack of companion reactivity and dialogue.

So, I officially hit 400 hours on BG3 yesterday (no lifing it lmao) and I've been thinking about some things I wish Larian would improve or wish that they had implemented. A big thing that comes to mind is how much companion reactivity and dialogue abruptly stops in Act 3.

Act 1 really shines with companion reactivity. They always have something to say to the MC, to NPCs, or even to each other! I love the interaction after you use your ilithid powers for the first time and it's a 4 way conversation between everyone.

Then we get to Act 3 and there's such huge drop-off. Some big offenses:

Very little reaction to quests and locations. When I killed Raphael I only got comments from Astarion and Gale! Seriously?? We just survived a trip to the Hells! This happens with multiple quests

Blank faces when Durge is killed by Bhaal.

Camp is lifeless. Everyone just stands in front of their bed, There are no interactions.

In my playthrough, the Emporer admitted to my Tav he was manipulating her and didn't really care. It was bummer I couldn't talk to the other tadpole gang about it.

I remember coming across a Druid in the city. He was trying to heal a tree. So I went back and grabbed Halsin because he was complaining no one in the city cared about nature or balance. So I thought surely, he would have an interaction here! Nope, nothing!

As soon as you finish a companion's personal quest that is basically the end of your interactions with them; even if you romance them.

What I'd like to see: (Disclaimer: Just my opinions. I have no expectation of any of this being added to the game)

More camp interaction between companions. Jahiera and Minsc had a great example of this. Let there be a quick cutscene of Minsc and Halsin arm wrestling. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion drinking wine. Anything. DA:I did a great job at this. It seemed like anytime I approached someone for dialogue they were in the middle of an interaction with someone else. Or events like the card game. It brought a lot of life into the party.

More random city encounters. They did a good job with Karlach; she has interactions with the steel watcher and her friend Fitz. Would have been cool to have some of those with Wyll, maybe he meets another noble or a flaming fist and has to deal with their shock of seeing him as a devil. Or with Gale in Sorcerous Sundries (he is a famous wizard after all!). Astarion mentions he needs to keep a low profile in the taverns; what if someone called him out!

More reactions to story events.

Expand on romances a bit more. We don't need it to be a dating sim but if you finish your LI's quest early on get used to just asking for small pecks and that's it. I would like to see more romance-specific dialogue for quest reactions.

And Finally:

We needed all companions at the final battle. Everyone should have been at the main keep before confronting the brain. You should have had your final conversations with them before you all potentially die in battle. DA:O style. A passionate kiss with your LI (not a tiny little peck lmao). This was a huge exclusion.

Anyway, these are my thoughts on the matter. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion romance #shadowheart #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #gale of waterdeep #halsin #bg3 critical #bg3 mine

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fics-a-plenty · 1 year ago

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Hurtful Words and Bear Hugs

Astarion x gn!reader x Halsin

Word Count: 1,411

TW: Spoilers for Astarion's story in Act 3, mentions Astarion's victims, reader crying

Hi! It's been awhile!

This game literally has me in a choke hold. I am so weak for these two men. I love that you can have a little romance between the three of you. 🥰

As always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to send any requests for these two as they own my thoughts at the moment!

The days following their victory over his past master, Astarion had struggled with his thoughts and feelings. He felt terrible for how distant he had become, especially as you tried your best to be supportive. Yourself struggling with how to balance giving him his space and wanting to just hold the lost man until his world seemed to piece itself together again.

The one thing stopping him from his full blow guilt was that Halsin was there to distract you at times. The larger man seemed to have a better grasp on his emotions than Astarion did, always seeming to pull you off to some task that needed your attention just at the right times or to lead you back to Astarion's tent with hands and hearts full from their adventures whenever he felt the weight of loneliness creep back in. The pale elf was even sure that at times the druid spoke to Scratch and the owlbear cub to cause small bits of chaos or demand attention from you when he could no longer keep your focus.

Astarion was especially grateful for the times the three of you could spend time together in peaceful silence, either walking around near the camp or just sitting near the fire while he read next to you as you focused on redoing the braids on the side of Halsin's head. While the days seemed to be getting better, and his heart seemed to fill in the empty spots left behind by his revenge and the past that had lead to it, some days seemed to thrust him right back into the deep of it.

He pretended not to see the sad glances you shot him as you racked your brain for some way to help. He knew you meant well and normally he would appreciate it or tease you for how wrapped around his finger you were, but today it just seemed to be to much. He hadn't meant for the groan of annoyance to leave his lips as you came by his tent for the third time today, wanting to check in on him.

"What is it you could possibly want this time?" He snapped as he slammed his book shut, shooting a glare at you from where he sat in his tent. "If you're coming to see how I'm doing, let me save you the breath. I'm the same as I was the other million times you've interrupted me today. Now do you have something to actually contribute to my time or can I read in peace?"

It took a moment for him to realize just what had been said, and by the time the guilt had built up in his chest, your eyes had gone glossy. You turned your face away, not wanting him to see your tears welling up.

"I was just coming to tell you that Halsin and I were going into the city to get a hot meal. I was gonna see if you wanted to come, but I guess I'll let you read."

He could have sworn that he could hear his cold heart crack at the shake in your voice. His lips parted to apologize, but his throat tightened around the words before they could leave. He sat in silence as he watched you turn to walk back to where Halsin was waiting nearby.

His eyes met the druid's before you got to him. The wood elf's eyes seemed to be conflicted, split between knowing Astarion hadn't truly meant to hurt your feelings and the disappointment that the interaction had gone so wrong. Once the two figures were gone from sight, the vampire let out a deep sigh and tried to go back to his book. The words just wouldn't come to him now, and every thought seemed to lead back to the hurt look on your face.

Tossing the book onto the ground next to him, he ran his hands through his hair, partially wishing that he could physically push the thought to the back of his mind or even out of his brain altogether. Deciding to take a walk around camp, the lingering eyes of the other camp inhabitants pushed him to walk further and further away until the camp faded from view.

He wasn't even sure how long he wandered, lost in the downward spiral his mind had fallen into. The tears in your eyes fading into the tears of the past victims as they realized the pain he had lead into. Visions of the lives he had ruined flooded his mind until he couldn't take it. An almost feral scream ripped from his throat as he swung his fist against the trunk of a tree he had wandered to close to, another innocent victim to the control he didn't have over himself.

The pain pulsing in his hand seemed to help ground him as he fell to lean his back against the hard bark. He would have been a sight to anyone wandering by, the pale elf with a bloody hand resting in the ground. His fangs bared in his open mouth, and his chest heaving to try to catch his breath. The now rising moon beginning to reflect off the streaks of wetness down his face.

As his red eyes stared up at the glowing rock, he began to push through the dark thoughts, trying his best to lock them back in the recesses of his mind they belonged in. The sound of your voice began to ring in his mind, helping to fend off the thoughts of self doubt and hatred that lingered. The countless times you had told him that he was good enough, that he was worth being loved and cherished. The times you had kissed his face until these same bad feelings were long forgotten.

As his heart and breath began to settle, the world seemed to know what he needed in that moment, and the wind shifted to blow gently against his face. His lips curled up slightly as the faintest whisp of your scent kissed his skin as if you were there with him. It dawned on him that in the hours he must have been gone that you were probably running yourself wild with worry. A short laugh forced itself from his lips as he imagined Halsin trying to quell your panic, probably saying something about some time in nature doing him good.

The walk back to camp was much quicker that he imagined, his feet pulling him home faster as your scent got stronger. It lead him straight towards Halsin's tent. The deep sound of the man's snore was almost as if he was walking into a real bear hibernating.

He froze for a moment as he saw you curled up against the bear of an elf. Your hand slowly moving back and forth over the hairy chest being the only sign that you were still awake. His feet moved him toward you before he asked them to, before he could even worry about if you would want to see him. He crawled in carefully behind you, not wanting to wake the other. His hand hovered over your side, hesitating at the thought that you may still be hurt.

Your skin against his brought him back to the moment as you pulled his arm over your waist. You thumb began to move side to side on his wrist, your wordless forgiveness warming his chest and releasing tension that he didn't know he was still holding.

"I'm sorry." The words were so quiet as they left his lips that he wasn't even sure he has really said them.

"I know." The quiet response was just as possible to be a fantasy.

"I didn't-" His throat closed again as you turned to look over your shoulder at him.

"I know." Turning your face back forward, you brought his hand to your lips before squeezing it slightly and clutching it to your chest.

The moment of peace was interrupted by the sleeping druid rolling over and throwing his arm over the two. As his thick arm tightened around them, each you and Astarion let out a groan as you were both crushed into the bear hug. The smiles on the three faces and the quiet laughs drifting from the tent seeming to right every wrong in the world for just the moment as the two of you joined Halsin in a well needed night of rest.

#astarion x reader #astarion x reader x halsin #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #reader insert #halsin x reader

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nysscientia · 4 months ago

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today I am thinking about how wonderful it is that Wyll Ravengard is unquestionably Good but he also has flawed judgment

like, there are several little moments throughout the game where you can earn his approval by doing things that have consequences he would NOT want

(minor Act I spoilers) he approves when you defend Auntie Ethel from Mayrina's brothers, even though evidence is starting to stack up that she's not what she appears to be. and if you do, it starts a fight with them—with innocents who are just trying to help their sister.

OR (slightly bigger Act I spoilers) he approves if you take revenge on Kagha over Arabella's death, even if you haven't uncovered the Shadow Druid plot. and challenging her openly like that, without first calling into question her authority, causes violence to break out in the Grove—hurting many of the tieflings he's trying to protect.

this is not at all to suggest that he has "bad" judgment, because I don't think he does. it takes precious little for him to realize that Karlach isn't the monster he expected, even with lots of voices telling him that she is (Mizora, the 'Paladins of Tyr') and a perfectly reasonable justification for dismissing her own self-advocacy (devils lie). I actually think he's very discerning in a lot of situations—like his insights into Raphael and Mol. or an even more direct example (Act III spoilers): the hero's tests with Ansur, where he can just tell you the answer to all but the lanceboard puzzle. he knows what he's about! he's been making these calls on his own, in the frontiers, for seven years!

so part of why I love those moments of imperfect judgment is because I think they're an incredible window into his interiority. they come up in moments where his sense of justice has been activated—where he feels a need to protect; to face down a threat. he's a little more hasty, a lot more willing to gamble, when he feels like the safety and wellbeing of someone innocent is on the line.

and I have no reason to believe this is on Wyll's mind in those moments, but it's certainly on mine: how would his life have been different, if 7 years ago there had been someone around willing to make a foolish mistake for the chance to protect someone who might be innocent?

because when Wyll looked at Ulder, no cultists or battlefield in his wake, wrapped up in a devil and offering no explanations—

Ulder used exacting judgment to protect his city, and banish an infernal threat. he made a call that Wyll himself considers utterly reasonable.

but what if he had done something a little stupid, and gambled on his son?

... so. this post is a love letter to Wyll being the hero that he himself needed, and all the complicated ways that both hinders and helps him

#wyll ravengard my beloved <3 #also this is NOT about blaming ulder for everything. they were BOTH in such a complicated position #and i have a lot of feelings about that situation as well as their whole relationship. but that's a different post #this is just about how wyll is good in a nuanced and flawed and layered way and i love that about him !!!!#wyll ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #nyssa says things #nyssa's gate video game tag

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bg-brainrot · 1 year ago

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Would You Still Love Me? (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: When you ask the question, 'would you still love me if I were a worm?' Astarion's response surprises you in more ways than one.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, silly goofy mood, act 3 unascended Astarion

Word count: ~1.7k

You’re chatting with Astarion over dinner at the Elfsong when a question strikes you. It’s an odd one, and you’re not sure if you should ask it. Your curiosity builds as you consider Astarion’s possible answers though and, by the next lull in conversation, you can’t help yourself.

“Astarion?” you ask, spearing a potato on your plate.

The vampire swirls his wine glass, watching the red liquid fall into place before answering, “Yes, dear?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” The question spills out of you, sounding even sillier than it did in your head.

Your lover blinks at you, as if he couldn’t possibly have heard that properly. But when your expression doesn’t change, your eye contact doesn’t drop, no admission of jest is to be seen, he finally says, “Darling, what kind of ludicrous question is that?”

“Well, would you?” you counter, pointing at him with your fork before popping the potato in your mouth.

His face grows pensive as he thinks. It’s a few seconds later before he asks a follow up question, “What type of worm?”

You finish chewing as you think of the worms you know. Not many admittedly– life in the city meant that free patches of earth are few and far between. So you answer the only worm that truly comes to mind, “The earthworm kind.”

“And I would know that it’s you?” he asks, leaning forward now. It seems like he’s invested in the question now, despite his initial reaction.

You nod, as if that’s a given. “Yes, you saw me transform.”

“Hells, I was hoping I could pretend not to know,” he says with a smirk.

“Wicked man,” you retort, shooting him a responding smile.

Astarion’s face looks thoughtful again as he considers the developing situation. “Could I turn you back?”

Now you shake your head vehemently. What use was the exercise if magic would fix you? “No, nothing could turn me back. I’m simply a worm from now on.”

“Hmm, and are you certain that you would love me?” He raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, as if he’s cornered you in your own mischievous little game.

“Of course,” you answer immediately. “I don’t think my little worm brain would be able to think of much else.”

“How sweet… I think,” he says, cocking his head. You suppose it is, though you had meant it as fact. “Well then, one final question, if you would?”

You nod, gesturing for him to continue with your fork. “Go ahead, I’m an open book. Or worm, in this case.”

“How long do worms live?”

You blink, having not expected such a question from him– and truthfully also due to not knowing the answer. “I don’t know. Maybe Halsin would?”

Astarion locates the druid, sitting a few tables away talking to Wyll and Karlach. He raises his voice to be overheard in the din of the tavern. “Halsin, be a dear, how long do earthworms live?”

“A fantastic question, Astarion!” The druid’s voice carries easily with excitement. “It truly depends on the conditions of the worm, but anywhere from a few years up to eight years.”

You balk at that fact. A worm can live how long?

“I’m happy to tell you all about ideal soil conditions–”

Astarion cuts the man off with a loud, “Thank you!” Then he turns back to you. “Well, there you have it.”

“Have what?” you ask in response, confused at the turn in conversation.

“You would live at most eight years. I’m immortal, my love. I think I can manage less than a decade of loving a worm,” he says, rolling his eyes at you.

You’re not sure how to take the casual way that he speaks of your impending wormy death, but you find it oddly comforting to know that he would in fact still love you. You honestly hadn't expected that. “So you’d keep me around? Made sure I stayed healthy and safe?”

He nods, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Naturally.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea of him keeping you as a pet worm. It seems almost unbelievable. “You wouldn’t throw me into the nearest patch of dirt? Or worse yet, let a bird take me?”

“Gods below, dear,” Astarion responds, aghast, putting a hand over his heart as if he’s been truly, deeply offended. “I would never.” Then he gets a far off look in his eyes and adds, “Well, maybe never. I suppose it depends on if I needed you as bait. But I’m certain I would be able to rescue you after the fact.”

“I would allow it,” you say, with a short nod. “If you’re using me as bait, it’s likely for good reason.”

"And after you pass? I would miss you terribly of course," he says solemnly, with his most maudlin, tragic expression.

"You'd better. And I expect the best soil for my burial," you say, pointing your fork at him threateningly.

“Of course, darling,” he says, only the hint of his smile visible from behind his wine glass. He takes a sip and looks at you again. “Now, why would you ask such a thing?”

You shrug, entirely convinced it was just a passing thought. But, as you poke and prod at your food, you find yourself answering, “I don’t know. What if, before this all ends, something happens to me. I already come with my own scars and problems, gods know how much worse it can get.”

Astarion stares at you over his wine glass, processing what you've just said before responding, "My love, believe it or not, I'm a vampire. I have 'scars and problems' of my own. If you think that anything could happen to you that I wouldn't be able to handle, you'd be sorely mistaken."

You hadn't expected him to say such words so sincerely, and you find yourself a bit taken aback. You love each other, you'd said as much on the night Astarion had been freed from Cazador, but it still feels a bit intimidating to know how deep that love could run. Apparently earthworm deep.

The idea that this man, who would rather bathe in blood than touch an inch of dirt, would continue to love you? Well, despite the inane premise, you find the warmth in your heart to feel very real.

"What about you, darling?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. "If I were to become a worm, what would you do?"

You answer quickly, "Easy. I would still love you, probably keep you on my person, and offer you blood or other sustenance when you need it."

Astarion looks at you aghast. "Sweet hells, do not put me in your pocket."

"And why not? I would be extremely careful, and then I would never lose you," you respond, explaining yourself logically. "Besides, even as a worm, who knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into."

"I should be saying that to you," he says, placing his wine glass on the table, serious now. "I can't believe you would put me in danger like that. I fully expect you to place me somewhere nice, like the lawn of some pampered Upper City noble."

You think about his proposition for a second before shaking your head. "But then I couldn't take care of you. What if you get stepped on?"

Astarion considers your counterargument with narrowed eyes. “Ugh, fine. I shall stay in your pocket. But I expect you to clean it regularly. And I demand that you get a new lining for it. Silk, preferably.”

“Easy enough to do,” you say, nodding along. “You would be most comfortable worm this side of the Chionthar.”

At that, the man looks pleased, picks his wine glass back up, and reclines back in his seat. “Good. And, for what it’s worth, I'm sure you would make a very cute worm.”

You’re not sure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, but you suspect it’s the former. “Thank you,” you say, smiling at your lover. “You would make a dashing worm yourself.”

“Are you both expecting to turn into worms any time soon?” you hear from behind you. You turn around to see Halsin standing tall over you. His tone is friendly, warm as he continues, “I would be happy to take care of either of you.”

You can’t help the blush of embarrassment that comes over your face. You’re also not sure how to take the words. Is he asking to adopt you both, as worms? Gods, how did you end up here… So you look back to Astarion who is now shooting you a look that says, Now look what you’ve done.

“Err, no Halsin. It was just an odd little conversation we were having. Sorry to cause you any confusion.”

“No need to apologize, my friend,” he replies. “Though if you ever do need help, you know where to find me.” He gives you both an affectionate smile before heading off.

While it’s nice to know that others would care enough to take care of you as a worm, you’d meant the question to be solely for Astarion. You’re left burying your face in your hands to hide your shame.

“So, darling… what did we learn?”

“To never ask Halsin about earthworms,” you mumble through your fingers.

Astarion gives you a ‘tsk’ before responding. “No, my dear. If either of us turns into a worm, we must hide that fact from Halsin." He scrunches his nose in distaste before continuing, "I refuse to live in whatever healthy soil he’s found for us.”

You snort at Astarion’s conclusion, but still find yourself agreeing. “Fair enough. Better yet, let’s try to keep ourselves at the very least bipedal.” The two of you share a laugh, but in the back of your mind you’re already thinking of your next question. I wonder if he would still love me if I were a mimic? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

#astarion x tav #astarion #fanfic #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #would you still love me if i was a worm?#there's no right answer ofc

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viridescentelf · 3 months ago

Text

In your debt - Part 3

Young Halsin x Reader

Art belongs to @ozumii-fucking-wizard, I also used their Young Halsin headcanon list as a reference :) i love the idea of him being a bit hotheaded in his younger years hehe

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here.

Slow burn, sorry. But the next part will get spicy, I promise. >:D

Song in this fic:

Warning: Swearing

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You awoke on a huge matt, covered in a thick quilt. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light as you scanned your surroundings. You were staring at a large tent peak above you, which swayed sleepily in the wind. You turned your head slightly, examining the area further. Smoldering embers cracked softly in the middle of the room, with various tiny cushions placed around it. A kettle peeped, hovering above the low fire, green steam escaping its mouth. Adorning the tent were many little trinkets: dreamcatchers, windchimes, wooden toys and engraved clay pots decorated the walls and small shelves. The ground looked slightly sandy next to you, furthering the softness of your position. The matt was far too big for you, so was the quilt. You looked like a little mouse had sneaked into the cat’s bed.

You noticed a stinging sensation and remembered what happened with the goblin.

Your hands drifted under the covers to your pulsating side. A thick piece of rough fabric met your fingers and as you pawed along carefully, you realized it was bandaging. The pain was dull, but made its evil presence known.

That’s right. You were with Halsin. In his village.

You had no idea what else the dreamy druid had done while you were knocked out. You must’ve looked like a corpse.

You noticed you were wearing different clothes. This long sleeve tunic wasn’t yours and neither were the wide pants you spied while lifting the covers.

Had he…had he changed you? You blushed at the thought.

Had he seen you naked???

You attempted to sit up, quickly, which turned out to be a mistake. Deciding to prop yourself up carefully, you hovered over your unwounded side, relying on the strength of your arm. You eyed the large mug of water close to you, bringing it hastily to your dry lips.

It tasted so clean. You realized how gross the water really was back in the city.

You finished the water in a few gulps and placed the mug back where you found it.

Just then, your ears picked up a distant conversation. The voices were agitated. You weren’t able to get up and walk towards the entrance, so you strained your ears to listen carefully.

You recognized Halsin’s voice, who sounded exceedingly frustrated.

“So, your solution is just to ignore the looming threat? How on earth can you be so thick?”, he growled at an unknown male speaker.

“That is no tone to take with me, novice. You’re in no position to question my decision”, the other man answered, his tone so low it made the hairs on your arm stand up. Who was this?

You heard repetitive, thudding footsteps. It sounded like someone angrily pacing.

Halsin spoke again, his intonation louder than before: “If they tried once, they will do so again. And with more devastation. More goblins! They want our children for some sick game and you would rather do nothing!”

“The only person making that claim is lying halfdead in your tent. You do not know them. I do not know them! I will not send a group towards certain death because a stranger made a groggy statement!”, the other man met Halsin’s tone, with warning etched within.

You felt your stomach drop. The terrified faces the children had made while Izick was fighting you flashed before you. You knew you were telling the truth, but how could they know that?

“Uncle, they are the reason our children are safely returned to us!” There was a slight pause and you heard him step towards the tent, perhaps pointing. “If they hadn’t intervened, the drow-“

“Silence!”, the man Halsin addressed as uncle bellowed, the echo reverberating through the area.

“I do not care what could or would have happened. I care about the facts of the situation. It was YOUR task to watch over them. And YOU left Zacharia alone so that you could feel like a hero. Zacharia’s death and the possible fate of your brothers’ and sisters’ is on your conscien-“

A mighty roar interrupted the uncle’s chastising. A second followed with thundering thuds and tremors. Slicing through the chaos, you heard an assertive, older woman’s command:

“ENOUGH! Halsin, Dafydd. Stop this nonsense!”

The vibration in the soil ceased slowly, with one still insisting on remaining.

“Halsin…!”, she threatened.

You felt the shaking of the earth stop, finally but reluctantly. With vicious pants from both of the arguing parties, you heard the woman speak once again:

“Halsin, go check on your patient. And you, Dafydd, go do something you deem important. We do not have time for pointless squabbles like this.”

A pause and finally a few grunts of agreement. You heard footsteps leaving and two sets walking towards your tent.

Why were you panicking? It was ok for you to be awake, right?

You hastily pulled the covers over half your face as you lay down a bit too bluntly. You didn’t want them to know you were listening.

The tent flap slid open and you saw Halsin hold it open for the other person.

An older elf woman walked in, her long grey hair tied neatly in elaborate braids. She had exceedingly kind, hazel eyes that met yours with a soft twinkle. Her dark skin glistened with tiny drops of sweat. Her attire was rather casual, it looked like she spent a lot of time outside, judging by her sun kissed, wrinkly nose.

She smiled and you returned it carefully.

“Ah, so this is the savior”, her voice matched the one who had scolded the two men before. Halsin didn’t say anything, but grumpily stomped to the other side of the tent to grab a piece of wood. He started aggressively carving at it with a knife that looked too small for his hands.

The elf lady rolled her eyes and kneeled beside your head: “How are we feeling this morning, duckling?”

You cleared your throat, blinking a bit confused at the last word, but sat up slowly, while she helped you up: “Uh… I think… ok?”

Your words sounded unrecognizably hoarse.

The older elf conjured a gentle, yellow light from her palm and lay her hand on your shoulder. Closing her eyes, you felt a wonderous thrum from her touch.

“Mmh, yes. Healing slow but nicely”, she opened her eyes, winked at you and turned her head towards the tall druid, who was still chopping viciously at the tiny block of wood.

“Good thinking with the ginkgo leaves, son. Their organs are healing quickly”, she kept her gaze fixed on him. He met her eyes briefly, let out a rough “Hm” as a response and continued shaving.

You looked at Halsin, too. His furious aura engulfed the entire tent. His brows were frowning so intensely that you could barely see his calming eyes. This was his mother? They looked nothing alike. And she was so much older.

The woman turned back to you, deciding to ignore the brewing giant in the corner.

“I’m Anwen, elder druid of the High Forest. I assume you know who the sulking moose over there is”, she gestured vaguely at Halsin, who grunted and continued whittling more aggressively.

You nodded, trying to stop yourself from laughing. The hissy fit was a bit comical coming from such a large man, but you understood where the anger came from.

“Y/N…” you lay a hand on your chest, indicating yourself. “Thank you for … uh…” you were looking down at the clean garb you were wearing.

Halsin blushed excessively in the corner of your eye, turning to face the tent wall.

Anwen grinned: “Well, well, now I know where my sleepwear went.”

You stared at her anxiously.

“Oh, don’t worry. You need it more than I do right now”, she placated.

Your eyes wandered to the back of Halsin’s head. You could see the blushing had increased. So, he had changed you…

“Duckling, I am beyond thankful that you came to my children’s aid. They all won’t stop talking about you and your rescue. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you properly, once your strength allows”, Anwen tugged at your cover, pulling it over you more and forcing you to lie back down.

You obliged.

“Halsin tells me you overheard something from the goblins. Something about the children…”, she patted the cover close to your chest.

You explained what you had heard before you intervened. Elder Anwen listened intently, nodding along as you described the attire the goblins were wearing to the best of your ability. She thanked you kindly and exited the tent, addressing Halsin to join her in prayer at sundown. This left you alone with the handsome druid.

He finally placed his craft on the sideboard next to his carving knife, leaning against the board and letting out a deep, irked sigh. You didn’t know what to say, so you just watched him.

The silence lingered between you for a bit, when he finally turned to you and tried to smile.

“Sorry. I’m glad you’re doing better.” He approached the side of your matt and squatted down. “I should change your bandage…”

You nodded after realizing you had been staring at him for too long and pushed the cover off your upper half. Hesitating slightly, you lifted the tunic to reveal your nursed belly.

Halsin sat down on the sand and started taking the binding off carefully. You let out small hisses, as he pulled the adhesive off your wound. You saw leaves sticking to the side of the band that lay directly on the most sensitive area. These were presumably the ginkgo leaves Anwen had mentioned before. He grabbed the teapot from the fireplace and filled a goblet with steaming, green water.

You beheld his work in silence, as he dabbed a soaking cloth on your abdomen. He conjured more healing magic with his hands, which hovered over your belly for some time. The comforting humming of his incantation joined the low purring of the fire. The dull light of the tent danced across his face, which seemed absent and deep in thought.

“Thank you for…all of this...”, you cut through the quiet, realizing you hadn’t really thanked him for saving your life.

Your words seemed to snap him out of something. He blinked hard and turned his head towards you, as his hand floated above your stomach.

His smile grew warmer and your heart skipped a secret beat: “You needn’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”

He returned his attention back to nursing you. Watching him work, you felt a gnawing in your throat that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“… are you alright?”, You had been wanting to ask about the conversation you overheard since he walked in.

Halsin hesitated for a moment, his eyes flitting from your face to his hands.

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with. You’ve done more than enough,” he murmured.

You thought about the words the other man, Dafydd, had chastised the young druid with. Halsin seemed to be struggling with immense guilt and a need to correct it.

You accepted his unsatisfying answer and let your eyes wander around the tent, as you heard Halsin sigh once more. You didn’t know each other. Why would he share his woes with you? You were just a useless bard that happened to stumble into an unfortunate situation.

You spent the next few days in his tent, having Anwen and Halsin visit you every hour to bring food, drink and give you healing sessions. You were feeling better every day, the throbbing pain slowly dissipating from your lower body. It got to the point, where you even forgot you were hurt to begin with.

Anwen told you stories about Halsin, whom she adopted as a young boy. Most of the stories were quite embarrassing and you enjoyed learning about his mischievous nature. He carried himself with immense grace whenever he was around you, but you secretly knew he had a massive fear of moths and used to hide in baskets or pots to avoid druid training. He grew more relaxed each passing day, as well, showing off his collection of wood carvings you’d been eyeing in the corner of the tent, realizing you were someone easy to speak to.

You left the tent from time to time, as well, and were allowed to join in meals and share stories with the rest of the villagers. The village had been damaged by the attack, but not by too much. The druids seemed organized enough to fix things swiftly. Everyone treated you kindly.

The children were enthralled with you. They had carved a new, albeit extremely creaky and sad-looking, lute for you as a thank you, which you accepted with warmth surrounding your heart. Their eyes stared up at you, adoringly, as you haphazardly played on your gifted “instrument”, the notes plunking out strained and harsh. Gods, it was ugly. But you loved it anyway.

You learned Dafydd was the archdruid of the High Forest and Anwen’s brother. He was a lanky, older, but tall elf with the same eyes as Anwen, yet lacking her kindness. He had an intense authoritative energy and barely smiled, only nodding to greet you when you joined the circle. The only person he truly listened to was his sister and he was extremely harsh with the rest of the novice druids whom he trained, especially Halsin.

The children begged you to join them in their barn one night, where you learned Halsin slept while you occupied his tent. They dragged you to the heaps of straw, showing off their own attempts at carvings. You spied a larger wooden object hiding under a thin, massive blanket. That was most likely where Halsin slept, judging by the size of the bedroll. You decided not to pry.

The kids requested you sing them to sleep, as the orange sunrays drifted through the small cracks in the wooden walls. They were all snuggled together, glittering eyes blinking expectedly up at you, as you sat on a large bundle of hay.

How could you say no to them?

You started humming softly, watching them curl up closer to each other and stare at you with their little faces. You thought back to a gentle lullaby you had thought of, while you were wandering through a small village, which had a tradition of burning old keepsakes, in order to release them to the spirit world. You had been writing it below the Oaktree you always visited in the High Forest.

You didn’t need an instrument to keep the rhythm going, as the music flowed from your lips naturally:

I smelt smoke

On the wheezing of the wind when I awoke

A pyre of memory

Some fly-tipped treasury

Out there burning slow

Dark soaked fields

And the snuffling wet noses at my heels

Suddenly hackles raise

At the crackling of the blaze

Out there burning slow

And sometimes I catch him

With his axe in

The shadow

So secretive and private,

But I’m breathing in his life when

He’s out there burning slow

You repeated the lines a few times, until you noticed every chest of the children moving slowly up and down in a sweet cadence.

You heard someone behind you and turned to see Halsin leaning against the open door, the dark night behind him, his arms crossed:

“Beautiful tune. Been long since I’ve heard it.”

You blinked at him in stunned silence. He had heard it before?

He chuckled, noticing your confusion: “I told you Thaniel is fond of you. He likes to sing me your songs. The children do, too. Now I’ve had the pleasure of hearing it from the origin’s mouth, as intended.”

“Oh, wow… I didn’t know a forest spirit liked music…”, you pondered that thought, wondering what this Thaniel being was. If he had been listening all this time, where had he been hiding himself while you played on the riverbank?

Halsin joined you, sitting down on the hay ball. The might of his body made your side move up a bit, leaving your legs to dangle. He watched the children sleep, with a permanent smile on his face.

“Aren’t they precious?”, he cooed and you nodded with a silent chuckle, as one ork boy snored gently.

“Oh wait, one moment!”, Halsin stood up and tiptoed to the large bedroll, pulling the woodwork from under the draping.

He hid it behind his back, which worked amazingly, since he was so wide.

“Close your eyes,” he grinned.

You complied and waited with a secret shortness of breath. He had made something for you?

“Open,” he purred, sweetly.

As you opened your eyes, you were met with a beautifully crafted lute. The wood had been engraved with lovely vines and flowers.

Your mouth dropped open.

Halsin hurriedly sat beside you again, the hay ball raising you once again, as he handed you the intricately constructed instrument. The feel of the soft oak gave you goosebumps and the redness in your face was impossible to hide.

The strings were firm and carefully strung into place. You plucked a few softly. It sounded heavenly.

“This- what- how- why-…” you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together. Halsin chuckled.

“The children told me you sacrificed your lute to save them. The one they made for you is ...cute... , but I thought you needed a proper one.”

You gaped at him. You had never gotten such a thoughtful gift in your entire life.

You felt tears bite your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“Gods…thank you Halsin…I- I don’t know what to say. It’s marvelous!”

His smiled widened: “It’s the least I can do, I’m in your debt, remember?”

You smiled back, gazing at the artwork.

Moments passed as you both watched the sleeping children quietly. Your heart was still racing from the tremendous gesture.

You felt Halsin’s shoulders tense up as his face collapsed into the thoughtful one you first encountered in the tent.

You gulped inaudibly and decided maybe now he would be more open to talking to you. You had this urge to soothe him, especially after receiving the lute.

“Are you still bothered by what the Archdruid said?”, the words just spilled out of you. You realized it would indicate you had overheard the conversation and your throat closed up. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” your hands fidgeted around the lute as you nervously babbled on.

Halsin let out a brief gust of air between his nostrils. He nodded a bit, unbothered by your question.

“It’s just…”, he stopped himself. You saw his hands tremor slightly, “Dafydd is such a…such a…”

Your brows furrowed in concern.

Halsin took another deep breath, calming his slight shaking: “I didn’t abandon Zacharia. He told me to go and help. He told me he would take the children to the thicket and hide. I didn’t know those damned goblins were tailing us.” The words tumbled out of him with quiet agony staining his intonation.

You sat up a bit straighter, put the lute down on the ground and turned more towards him, unsure what else to contribute, but offering your ear.

Halsin balled a fist, as he watched one of the girls turn over in her sleep.

“Dafydd won’t go after that filth that tried to steal them. Says it’s pointless and risky and hotheaded. But what if they come back? Perhaps with an army of drow instead of stupid goblins. What if they get their hands on them and…” You heard his knuckles crack as he flexed his fist more.

He realized what he was doing with his hand and released his grip.

“I have to do something. I can’t just sit by and hope for the best.” His eyes scanned the barn floor, then finally met your worried gaze. The jade hue sparkled in the moonlight. You buried the thought about how handsome he was, while you focused on his problem.

You let his words swirl in your mind for a while. You never had any contact with Lolth sworn drows, just the kind ones that had escaped that fanaticism to Baldur’s Gate. At least you assumed they were Lolth sworn, you didn’t know of any other drow group that would do such a thing.

You agreed with Halsin. It was a terrible threat and a danger for the children to have the sheer possibility of another kidnapping exist.

“The thought haunts me, too. So, I understand how you feel”, your voice was almost a whisper, in fear of waking the sleeping souls, “It’s a huge risk to let them conspire in the dark.”

Halsin nodded. He leaned forward, holding his weight on his legs with his elbows.

He seemed to be at war with himself, unsure if he should tell you something. His eyes scanned you and you felt your body shake. A thought of what his lips tasted like invaded you, which you blinked away ashamedly.

Focus.

You attempted to hide your racy thoughts with a stupidly fake cough.

Halsin sat up again and bit his lip. Then he grabbed your hands and held them within his own. A brush of heat sizzled up your spine. He was so close to you.

“I’m going after them. I need a few nights to prepare, but then I’ll track those miscreants down. Frelma and Danan have agreed to come with me. Three is better than one. I have no idea if we’ll survive such an assault, but it’s better than sitting here and waiting for the next attack. We’re still concocting a plan. The drow are too dangerous to let live.”

His eyes bore into yours, a shred of relief after finally telling someone clouding them: “Please. Do not tell anyone, especially not Dafydd.”

You stared into his forest eyes, that quivered with anticipation at your response. You tried your absolute most not to lean in and clasp your lips in his, although every sinew within you yearned for it. Why was he so Gods-damn fine?

FOCUS.

“I’m coming with you.”

The phrase escaped from you. You couldn’t believe what you just said. Neither could the druid, who still held your hands gently.

He tilted his head, pacifyingly, his eyes softening sweetly: “You are braver than anyone I’ve ever met. But that would be quite foolish. No, you will stay here until you’re fully heale-.”

“I insist.”

OH MY GODS, SHUT UP.

Your insides were screaming at you, what the fuck were you thinking? What would you contribute? Battle music? You would only be in the way.

Halsin let out a soft laugh, lowering your hands but still holding onto them. He shook his head and gazed at you:

“You’re a fascinating person, truly. But I cannot allow you to-“

You released your hand from his grasp and held up a finger. An idea sparked within you. An extremely stupid idea.

“I know I can’t fight. But I can run.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, waiting for an explanation.

#halsin bg3 #halsin #bg3 #halsin x reader #halsin x you #young halsin #young druid halsin #halsin silverbough #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #halsin fanfic #Spotify

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