#minthara x reader

[p0rkbun]

"We're not even together." — reader

"But you belong to me."

Emma Frost, Quinn Fabray, Cate Dunlap, Amber Freeman, Carmilla, Mother Miranda, Hera (BoZ), Valeria Garza, Zoya Nazyalensky, Daenerys Targaryen, Delores Laferve, Rebekah Mikaelson, Wednesday Addams, Wanda Maximoff, Lena Luthor, Minthara, Baek Harin

[wysteria-bloom]

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

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

↪"Say that again?"

Bg3 companions x reader

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

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

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

▢ astarion

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

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

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

▢ shadowheart

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

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

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

▢ gale

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

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

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

▢ karlach

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

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

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

▢ lae'zel

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

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

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

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

▢ wyll

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

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

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

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

▢ halsin

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

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

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

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

▢ minthara

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

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

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

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

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

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

▢ raphael

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

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

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

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

▢ rolan

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

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

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

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

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

[moonselune]

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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

[gaysindistress]

Things Minthara says

Minthara eyeing you up and down, chuckling in a teasing tone, “you wish to consult me now? Did the wizard not provide you with a sufficient answer as I predicted?”

Minthara having a mocking attitude when you ask her about her thoughts on your companions but her voice wavers for a moment and becomes softer when she says, “you…you are different than I originally thought. I did not expect that you would be the one to save me from Moonrise given our first interaction.”

Minthara rolling her eyes and groaning whenever Gale so much as breaths in her or your general vicinity.

Minthara ordering lowly as you approach a hook horror, “stay low, stay quiet, and whatever you do, do not leave my side. You may be formidable on the surface but this is the underdark.”

Minthara mumbling over her maps with a furrowed brow and tight set jaw.

Minthara glancing over at you when you call her name quietly and making room for you to look at the maps with her as she hums, “Our enemies are everywhere, my love. How should we proceed?”

Minthara moaning with a her head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed, and a crooked smile as you glide your fingers over her ears.

Minthara drawling, “perhaps you do not belong as our leader. Perhaps your place should be here; on your knees before me, striped bare, and willing to accept any pleasure I give you,” as she slips her hands in your hair and gathers the strands into her fist.

Minthara grazing her nails down your bound form as you wiggle against her, growling, “Scarcely worth the effort, my love.”

Minthara cradling your head in her lap, her hands pressing on your wounds, whispering with tears in her eyes, “Have no fear, you will survive this. You will fight another day.”

Minthara pretending to not understand why you slapped her shoulder in horror, “Enlighten me, my darling; was I wrong in my assessment that Gale has the aura of a third child about him?”

Minthara gripping your wrist tightly as you try to leave her tent one night and staring at you with wide pleading eyes, murmuring, “I did not intend to imply that you’re a distraction or that my feelings for you are. You must know that you give me strength and courage to continue this fight. Without you, I do not know where I would be.”

[triptanite]

Headcanons: night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions

it's done! we did it! enjoy :3

Pairings: Reader X (Alphabetical) (Astarion - Gale - Halsin - Karlach - Laezel - Minthara - Shadowheart - Wyll) (Gortash - Raphael - Rolan)

Content warning/s: none

MASTERLIST

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Headcanons below

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The Companions (Alphabetical)

ASTARION

Something that may surprise you is Astarion's preference for personal space when he sleeps. Given how enthusiastically he pursues you early on (and his reasons for doing so), you thought that he would be clinging to your side as soon as your tent flap closed.

Instead however, you find that Astarion appreciates a very active goodnight cuddle before separating to sleep. You're both lying down on your sides, facing each other. Your bodies curl into one another, legs overlapping. Astarion traces over the silhouette of your body as you talk about your day, the softest touch of his fingertips bringing goosebumps to your skin. He hovers over the area where neck meets shoulder, lightly scarred from his previous feedings.

You rest your hand comfortably at his side, taking advantage of his stillness to really study his features. The smile lines in his pale skin, the length of his pointed ears, the sliver of collarbone under his shirt. He's constantly on the move during the day, so you drink in the details while you can. He debriefs to you as well, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. His body is cool, and you notice his tendency to press up closer to you on to sap your body heat.

Once it's time for sleep, you untangle from each other and sleep pretty normally. He's not much of a sleep-snuggler. Though, with your nightly conversations you're not left necessarily wanting for more (not that you mind either way). You sleep in your regular position, and he on his back in the typical elven meditative pose. It's comfortable, safe, familiar.

GALE

Your nightly routine with Gale revolves around a lot of tending to the day's wounds and mishaps, paired with a constant flurry of comfortable conversation. A tear in your trousers gets patched up while staffs are cleaned and reinforced. Adjustments for tomorrow's spells are made, trails are planned. Gale sifts through your alchemy pouches, answering your questions about herb origins with gusto. You move as a unit, like two gears in the same machine. As you move about, there are other conversations occuring, subtle ones, silent ones. Gale presses his forehead to yours to stop you from scowling as you mend; you hand him bits of twine and leather as he passes by, knowing that he's looking for them.

Even as you lie together, there is movement. You're tucked under Gale's chin as he lays on his back. If you're quite still, you can feel his pulse in his neck. Gale busies his ever-moving hands by drawing on your back. Alchameic symbols, runes he's seen, trails you've walked. He illustrates his thoughts and your adventures, your body his canvas.

When you start to fall asleep, you'll wriggle your body down so that your temple rests atop his chest. He traces the curve of your neck to your shoulder. Gale switches to words, messily writing incantations over your skin like a tattoo. If you pay attention, you catch him writing 'I love you' over and over, but you elect not to say anything as he does. Before you tuck your arm around his side, you trace love hearts over his stomach. Your head over his heart, you feel it beat a little faster, then slow as you both fall asleep.

HALSIN

Halsin enjoys being present. He drinks in the sight of you slowly, revels in the ability to simply take his time. After living such a long life lived already and the turmoil of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he has an even greater appreciation for the smaller things in life. You've not lived quite as long as he, but you've already seen and done more than seemingly entire villages of people. Time and circumstance has worn you both down to a point. Resilience bounces you back, but a healthy regular dose of affection helps too.

At night, you both sit close to the fire. Halsin whittles, chipping away slivers of wood to carve out tiny pieces of art. He looks up, stretching his neck, and watches you as you map the stars above. You scrawl over maps and spare parchment, trying to write and doodle down your memories lest you forget them. When you look over to Halsin, your eyes meet, and you chuckle a little being caught off guard.

Taking you by the hand, Halsin leads you to your shared tent. You undress him, taking your time to smooth his hair back, to run your nails over his biceps. He returns the favour, cupping your curves with his large palms, spreading warmth all throughout your body. He lays on his side in the bedroll, one arm bent and tucked under his head. You use this as a pillow, enjoying his scent so close; wood and musk. Halsins free arm drapes over your midsection to pull you in closer. You push your knee through his legs and you slot together like puzzle pieces. You begin to talk about your latest mapping, your need for more parchment, and plans for tomorrow. Halsin kisses you on the forehead, entire being relaxed. You'll sleep squished together like this, encompassed by heat and comfort.

KARLACH

Cuddle supreme. You bet that once that engine is pacified enough to touch that Mama K is all over you like green on grass.

Prior to this, Karlach was sure (if not overly cautious) about maintaining a healthy distance between you. She was excessively worried about setting you ablaze during the night, and often opted to sleep just outside of her tent while you claimed her bedroll inside. Her claims of worry were partially genuine, but she also enjoyed how you left her tent. The smell you lingered on her sheets, and you often left little things behind like a water canteen or a book you'd been reading.

Once her engine was quelled though, the things she imagined could finally come to fruition. You often cuddle facing each other, changing positions like the moon over the sky. Most comfortably, Karlach settles her head under your chin, face pressed up against your neck and chest. Her arms wrap all the way around your middle, her legs crossing over yours. You curl both arms around her head, trying to leave enough room for her to breathe, and use your free hand to run through her hair. When you start gently scratching over her scalp, you get a snoring Karlach in an instant.

You find that you need to leave the tent flap partially open to vent out some of the warmth; even the most frigid nights are no match for Karlach's body heat. With how impossibly close you're smooshed together, there's little room for the cold to find you anyway.

LAEZEL

Given her dedication towards training and being the youngest in the group, it shouldn't be a surprise that Laezel is quite inexperienced when it comes to affection. Before she met you, and even during, quiet intimacy is somewhat foreign. When you first explained what cuddling was, Laezel thought it was some kind of defensive grapple.

When you both settle for the evening, you find yourselves prepping in comfortable silence for the days ahead. Laezel counts rations and sharpens blades. You condition leather and secure packs. Sometimes, she admires you silently as you focus on your tasks. She smiles to herself at your willingness to help, your competence, she feels security in your choosing her as a partner. Once it's time to settle into your bedrolls, you spend a few precious moments facing each other. She grips your hands in hers and studies your face. She stares with such intensity that it's like she's trying to commit every freckle and line to memory forever. There is some truth to this. When she closes her eyes in peaceful moments, she meditates on the things in her life that bring her joy; her accomplishments, her goals, and you, her partner.

Laezel most often sleeps on her back, leaving her more ready to react to ambushes in the night. She refuses to let go of one of your hands though, with you acting as a kind of anchor for her. Laezel's mind is constantly buzzing with what's to come next, reflecting on what's already happened. It's rare, and precious to her, to indulge in quiet moments of care.

MINTHARA

For practical reasons, Minthana rarely falls asleep with her limbs restricted - it's much harder to stab an intruder if one of your arms is cuddled under your lover. A light sleeper, Minthana doesn't mind sleeping on her side with you. She enjoys being the big spoon, and is certain to let you know that it's not solely because of the protective factor as she deems you just as capable as she (though internally, there's certainly a reflexive protective factor at play here).

Before you sleep, Minthana will curl around you, pressing the entire front of her body to your back. She commits your scent to memory, and recalls the days events aloud. You hold one of her hands in both of yours, mostly paying attention. She enjoys the way you massage her hands, rubbing your thumbs against her wrist, testing the sharpness of her nails against your skin.

When it's time to sleep, Minthana untangles from you, laying on her back or side. She likes to know that you're there though, so she crosses one of her legs over yours in some way. Her ankle rests over yours, or your thigh against her hip, or even just your heels touching each other. Enough closeness to feel your presence, enough space to breathe freely.

SHADOWHEART

You and Shadowheart vary your nighttime routines. Most times, you'll be engaging in mutual and self care, reflecting on the day, prayer, and washing. You offer to brush through Shadowheart's hair, carefully working through knots and bumps and smoothing it into something comfortable to sleep in. The feeling sends tingles down her spine, and she shivers like a cat purring, feeling sleepier and sleepier. She, in return, examines your hands. She cleans over them with a warm washcloth, applying healing balms and ointments to your cuts and bruises, filing your nails to shape.

You both spend time setting and resetting your shared bed space. Being adventurers, and with Shadowheart's past, you're used to moving around often. Your bedroll, your belongings, everything is set up ready to pack at a moment's notice. Though, if you take the time you notice small personal touches that make it feel like yours. A dense hairbrush adorned in silver, Shadowheart's. A thick, hand-woven blanket made in fibre native to your home, yours.

When you begin to collapse from exhaustion, more often than not Shadowheart will settle in behind you. You don't mind being the little spoon, indulging in Shadowheart's body heat and mindlessly playing with her fingers in yours. Shadowheart enjoys pressing her face to the back of your neck, sharing your body heat. She feels somewhat protective of you in the night. Quietly, she worries every now and again that something in the dark will take you away forever. You sense that fear sometimes, the way she drifts off in thought before squeezing you a little tighter. It's a feeling you're not unfamiliar with. She falls asleep to the sound of your voice as you tell her of your adventures past. She dreams of your adventures together in the future; this is something you have in common.

WYLL

Wyll enjoys holding you close basically any chance he gets, and bedtime is no exception. You both keep a reasonable distance while doing simultaneous night routines: Wyll polishes and stores your days' weapons, you pack and prep bags for the next day. As you flit past each other, there are subtle passing touches. A lingering glance at your exposed shoulder, the tips of your fingers grazing against his night clothes. Some are less so, you rake your fingers over his hair and horns, pressing your faces together. Or he'll stand behind you as you wipe down your face, body pressed impossibily close to yours. He teases you about the blush that crawls up your neck.

As you lay together, Wyll finds that sleeping on his back with some tactically stacked pillows works best for his horns. You rest your head at his collarbones, holding his hand. It calms you to feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes, and you never pass up an opportunity to ask him about his seemingly endless adventurous stories. Wyll watches you doodle on his palm, his other hand holds you at your waist, occasionally slipping his hand under your nightshirt to caress your skin.

Lying on your side, you fold your leg over his. You relish in how he squirms slightly depending on where your thigh ends up. Revenge. Most nights, you both fall asleep just like this in each other's embrace. Surrounded by a nest of pillows and a light blanket, you fall into warmth. Comfort in the night that takes you away from the horrors of the day.

Bonus!

NPCs (Alphabetical)

GORTASH

Routine is something both you and Gortash appreciate but rarely achieve with your busy schedules. If Gortash gets a moment at home, you're out in combat. If you come back at a reasonable hour, he's in meeting after meeting. The one thing you try in earnest to maintain though is a nightly routine when your times do align.

You both debrief and undress, spewing out the stress of the day with little regard for whether it makes sense or how many tangents you go off on. Gortash stands at your back as you sit in front of your vanity. He loosens your hair while you clean your wounds, chuckling about the injuries you'd inflicted in reply. You take Gortash's hand in yours and sit him down on the mattress. You run your fingers over his temples and he melts like snow. His muscles are tight as you massage over his neck, his shoulders, leaving light scratch marks over his skin.

In bed, you both lie on your sides, facing the window. The night sky casts the dimmest light into your room, the air outside is quiet and still. There is respite here. You curl around Gortash's back, spooning him as he clutches your hands tight in his. This is your routine, your normalcy. Here, neither of you are bloodstained, neither are performing. Comfort is a strange and rare indulgence in your plights to take over the world; but whether here in your chambers, in a bedroll camping in the forest, or in a jail cell, it's the one thing you can find in each other.

RAPHAEL

Raphael is fond of studying you, examining every inch, every curve of your being with all the patience in the Hells. He's currently asked you to pose for a portrait, draped loosely along a red velvet chaise while the light of the outside world shines just right over your body. It's difficult to catch your face, your eyes especially, in paint. Raphael finds your eye contact far too inviting to concentrate for another quiet hour, so he ceases.

Placing his brushes down, you sit up and crack your neck. You stretch the stiffness from your limbs and extend your hands out to encourage Raphael to join you. He kicks off his dress shoes, climbing atop you with his knee inbetween your legs. His spine curves as he lowers down, lips brushing over your ear as he embraces you.

With some effort, you wrap your arms around him, smothered by warmth and the faint scent of sulphur. You do get used to it after a while. An open window allows a gentle breeze in the room, slowly drying the paint. The light diffuses through sheer curtains, and it makes you sleepy. Time is confusing and unruly here, but you crave a lazy afternoon (at least, that's how it feels) nap. Stroking the back of Raphael's hair, you relax back and close your eyes. Despite his reservations, Raphael soon joins you. His face stays buried against your neck, every breath embued with your smell. You're surrounded by each other, neither of you especially keen to move away.

ROLAN

Finding a place to sleep in Ramazith's Tower wasn't the difficult part, choosing where to sleep was. For the first few weeks, you and Rolan explored a great depth, you'd never climbed so many stairs and walked so many invisible platforms in your life.

One night, you'd decided rather adventurously to sleep up high on a balcony. You'd made a nest of sorts with Rolan, harvesting pillows and blankets and a mattress. The weather was clear and mild as the sky slowly turned to black. Rolan had set up approximately four hundred fail safes to ensure neither of you would fall in your sleep.

You both huddle down into the swathes of fabric. You remark to Rolan how different this was to the camps you'd slept in when you met him, or the Emerald Grove where he and his siblings had stayed. You face each other, legs interlocking, and Rolan places both hands on either side of your face. He remarks that it's to keep you warm but the air has barely a chill. You shift slightly to point out constellations in the sky, and Rolan's hands move downward and settle at your sides. He plays with the hem of your nightshirt, eyes affixed to wherever you point and gesture. The spell of night overtakes you both, and you fall asleep with your foreheads pressed lightly together.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

waa we did it gamers my first multi character piece!! Originally this was supposed to be a short and sweet dotpoint-style headcanons post but apparently I can't help myself. Because of how many characters there were to write and because I'm me it took a little longer than expected but I'm really happy

I've been committing myself to doing even just a little tiny bit of writing/creative stuff every day (with some gaps obvs I'm only human) and I gotta say it really does help

so if you're reading this, go write something. Or draw, or edit, or whatever but just do a little bit of something today. its good for the soul

take care! :3

[thehistoriccemetery]

Companions React to Reader Sitting on Their Lap

It’s another pretty short one this week, as I’ve had terrible Minthara brainrot and I’ve been able to write nothing but filthy smut 😔

Anyway, this one is some family friendly head canons about the ladies with a bonus Dame Aylin and Isobel!

Shadowheart

Shadowheart doesn’t say anything at first, but you do notice her skin get slightly redder, and you watch a tiny smirk grow across her face.

She’s not typically one for public displays of affection, but something about lap sitting is different.

It’s like affection with plausible deniability. What else was I supposed to do? Sit on the floor?

After you’ve done it once, Shadowheart considers the barrier broken and takes every opportunity to sit on your lap.

Sometimes you think she must have a sixth sense that tells her when you sit down, because she simply appears on your lap.

If you cross your legs or do anything else to prevent her sitting in your lap, she gives you a little cough to let you know you should remedy that as soon as possible.

Depending on who’s around, she’ll sometimes lean back against you, pressing her whole body to yours.

She likes it when you wrap your arms around her and rest your head on her shoulder.

While she prefers to be the one sitting on your lap, she’s still more than happy to let you sit on hers.

Lae’zel

The first time you try sitting on her lap, she pushes you off. Why are you sitting on top of her? Weirdo. You roll your eyes and sit on the ground.

But then she decides that it’s weirder you’re sitting on the ground so she gives you her seat.

But then she doesn’t want to stand anymore. Tsk’va. Whatever. Guess she’s gonna have to sit on you.

Lae’zel only ever sits on your lap, never the other way around. She oddly never picks up on any of the possible implications of that.

If anyone calls Lae’zel a bottom she’s gonna throw hands.

She doesn’t lay up against you or anything. To her this move is strictly practical, or at least she acts like it is.

You let her have it. As far as you’re concerned, you have a lovely girlfriend on your lap so you’re not going to complain.

Karlach

The first time you nonchalantly sit down in Karlach’s lap, she’s so chill and unfazed.

At least, that’s the vibe she’s trying to give off. She can be cool about this. So cool.

It’s less than a minute before her body starts to betray her. Her legs bounce up and down excitedly under you. As soon as you turn to face her, her stoic expression cracks into one of pure delight.

After that, Karlach pulls so many tricks to ask you to sit in her lap without actually having to ask.

Oh no! There’s no more chairs! Wherever will you sit? Looks like it’ll just have to be in her lap again. Ignore those broken chairs hidden in the corner, this isn’t about them.

You catch on pretty fast. Only so many chairs can disappear before things start to get suspicious.

You sit yourself on Karlach’s lap, watching the goofy smile grow across her face. “You know you can just ask, right?”

Her skin flushes and she buries her face in your neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately, she’ll never sit on your lap because she’s too afraid to crush you. Even if you’re bigger than her. You’re too precious to risk it.

Minthara

Minthara is always taking up as much space as she desires in any given situation, so it’s not uncommon that she takes up the space of more than one person.

Luckily she’s always got a place for you to sit, whether that be in between her legs or on them.

She’s never bashful about pulling you into her lap, even when there people are around.

If anything, an audience actually encourages her. You are hers, and that is most clear to everyone when you’re perched on her thigh.

Other times she will be slightly more subtle, tapping her inner thigh in a silent invitation, queuing you to join her.

There are very few scenarios in which Minthara will sit on your lap though. At least, in public.

If you try to get her to sit, she’ll shoot you an “I know that you know this isn’t how this works” look, leaving you to let her take your seat and take your position on her lap.

Jaheira

It really depends on the day with Jaheira.

Most days she going to tell you to get an extra chair. There is no need for you to be sitting in her lap right now.

Sometimes, even if there is no extra chair she would have you sit at her feet in front of her before she let you into her lap.

But on those particularly long and hard days, when you come back looking exhausted and beat, she will allow for some extra tenderness.

She’ll gently guide your head to rest on her shoulder or against her chest and stroke your hair.

If you’re in a more comfortable space she will even slide her hand up under your shirt to rub your back.

More often than not, you fall asleep almost instantly, even if everyone around you is still making a ruckus.

She’s still not going to carry you to bed though. You can walk yourself there.

Dame Aylin x Isobel

Isobel is a princess and Dame Aylin is her throne. It’s more common than not the Isobel is on Aylin’s lap.

For Aylin, it’s like displaying a beautiful trophy. She needs everyone to look at her beautiful girlfriend right now.

The notion makes Isobel blush, but she’s just as proud to have Aylin as Aylin is to have her, so she’ll allow it.

Aylin doesn’t sit on Isobel’s lap, nor would she ever allow her to give up her seat, but Aylin will sit at her feet and gaze up at her with awe and wonder while Isobel smiles down at her and runs her hands through the aasimar’s hair.

And Selune forbid there’s no place for Isobel to sit. Aylin would sooner get down on one knee and let Isobel sit on her leg than leave a tired Isobel to stand.

Aylin’s shoulders are also an acceptable option. She can hoist Isobel up there with ease. She’ll never have to walk for any longer than she wishes.

Granted, it makes them like 10 feet tall, so there’s only a few places it’s applicable before Isobel has to be on alert for low hanging obstacles.

[xthescarletbitch]

As a lesbian, I'm obsessed with how you write Minthara. Thank you for doing her justice ;0; if you're taking requests by chance, how about some possessive Minthara reactions to female!tav getting hit on?

aww, thank you so much!! i’d love to do this. i just hope i did minthara some more justice. <3

18+ under the cut.

no, no. minthara doesn’t like that. how dare somebody hit on who is clearly hers? has she not made her intentions and/or love for you clear enough? she already knows how magnificent you are–she doesn’t need a reminder, and she certainly doesn’t need anyone trying to take you away from her. you are all hers, and something would have to be done.

minthara doesn’t usually show her possessive side, but witnessing somebody else hit on you has made her angry.

upon witnessing the act, she is immediately by your side, pulling you close by her arm around your waist.

she’ll go easy at first and flash the guilty party a toothy smile, urging them to cease their flirtatious remarks lest chaos be brought down upon them.

generally, the menacing smirk is enough to make anybody shake in their boots, but again, she’s fully equipped to do more if she must.

if her target still doesn't get the hint that you are taken, she’ll grab you by the face and bring you in for a heated kiss, only pulling away with your bottom lip between her teeth.

once the hint is received, minthara is eager to remind you of what’s what.

“i am yours, and you are mine.”

another kiss is sure to come along, followed by more public displays of affection. 

so long as you’re okay with it, minthara is one to grab your ass and hips in front of others to essentially tease them and show them what isn’t theirs.

it’s sort of like she’s showing off this exquisite grand prize that everybody can see, but not touch (you are absolutely her prize, after all).

she relishes in their reactions—the way their eyes follow her hands as they roam your body, claiming you.

and don’t put violence beside her, either.

she might have to teach that punk a lesson later for trying to come between the two of you.

their head on your mantle may be necessary.

it’d be an excellent piece to admire while she claims you further in the bedroom.

but for now, she’s dedicated to making her mark and deterring future attempts that threaten what you have.

that’s why minthara wastes no time in leading you to your tent.

she’s quick to dispose you of your clothes, eyeing you up and down and indulging in the sight.

she ponders on how she’ll claim you tonight, and the intense craving she has for you is no help—it’s consuming her.

she’s just so caught up in what just happened and needs to take it out on you—preferably from between your legs.

she will have you gripping the bedsheets and screaming her name as she buries her face into your cunt, chanting the same dialogue as before: “i am yours, and you are mine.”

she’ll withhold your orgasm until you say the same right back.

it must be affirmed, and all must hear who you belong to.

she will have you begging her for more, which is exactly where she wants you.

she’ll leave you so satisfied that you won’t even think about looking anywhere else.

she wants you so intoxicated by her love that you crave her 24/7, just as she feels for you.

she can get intense, but that’s just the effect you have on her.

it comes with being all hers.

[madschiavelique]

Could I request nsfw headcanons for poly tavrem where everyone is jealous of some guy trying to flirt with female Tav but she's doesn't know it's flirting at all please?

ohoho they maddd (not proofread)

content warnings : jealous bitches, mayhaps a bit yandere if you squint, voice kink, knife play, biting, pnv sex, hair pulling, cunnilingus, they're all feral word count : 1.1k

you had stopped at a tavern to treat yourself to a well-deserved meal after a busy day killing enemies. knowing everyone's orders like the back of your hand when it came to their drinks, so you volunteered to go to the counter and order for everyone, leaving the rest of your group to sit at their table. however, while you were standing by the counter waiting to be able to place an order, a young man came up to you, and all pairs of eyes on the table found themselves riveted on you both.

wyll didn't appreciate the way he introduced himself, the young man coming to grab your hand to bring it to his lips without ever taking his eyes off you as he presented himself to you and you nodded. you weren't specifically attentive to his behaviour from what he could see, just smiling politely, but the idea that this fool's simple saliva could have a place on your body led wyll to grip the scabbard of his sword hard.

shadowheart wasn't keen on the fact that he was trying to get so close to you, to have a conversation while his eyes were roaming the length of your body a little too freely for her taste. how dare he gets so close to you? her nose wrinkled in anger when he came to whisper in your ear, and that as he stepped back you were laughing softly.

gale crossed his arms over his chest, frowning and huffing a breath of mockery while the young man performed a meager beginner magic trick to impress you and created a flower that he came to place in your hair. he could do better, he had shown you, even made you learn much better, and the tips of his fingers tingled as he itched to cast a spell on him to turn him into some kind of critter that he could crush.

karlach's body was spitting and crackling little flames of frustration as the fool ran his fingers through your hair, smiling at you when he probably wasn't listen to a single word you could say to him. until recently, the idea of being able to touch you for her was only an idea that she could never reach, and the mere thought that he would allow himself to touch you so simply made her engine growl.

astarion bit the inside of his cheek when the young man had the indecency to approach his hand to your neck, tracing with the tips of his nasty fingers the two marks that the vampire's bite had left on you the night before. what a nerve he had, to let his disgusting mitts approach where he had kissed your skin and whispered praises to thank you for the gift you offered him every night.

lae'zel could not prevent a tchk from escaping her as he pointed to one of your daggers and asked you to show it to him, its blade that she herself had sharpened passing over his unsightly fingers. your blade was far too beautiful to end up in the hands of a microbe like him, and if he pursued this way, it could soon make him discover the taste of the metal of her own sword.

halsin was not jealous by nature, otherwise he would not be able to relish in the relationship that you all had, but there was something in the young man's attitude that deeply displeased him as he put his hand on your shoulder. he had the urge to get it out of the way, to simply stand and walk up to him so that his size alone could lead him to step back from you.

minthara was already imagining how she could capture him and give it as a pittance to her spiders when he took a piece of paper and began to write on it his room number for the evening and he passed it to you. did he think that you were just a body to add to the list of his nocturnal conquests? that you could be worn out like a vulgar puppet for his good pleasures?

the order finally arrived, and you found yourself carrying a huge tray of all kinds of drinks. the young man suggested his help to you, but you refused it as you returned to your companions' table and put down the tray.

“I didn't know they made men as annoying as that anymore,” you sighed before taking a loaf of bread and taking a deep bite from it.

everyone at the table smiled, relief taking them as they all toasted and their frustration subsided, but they were not about to let this go so softly. once you'd came back to the camp, clothes had been thrown off the minute you had settled.

wyll's lips were all over you, kissing your every knuckles and fingers individually before he came to kiss you lips, nibbling the skin of your lower lip as he hummed in relief. if he had to cover the entirity of your body with his own mouth and saliva, he would.

shadowheart was kissing your ear, whispering sweet nothings to you and taking great pleasure to the way your skin covered in goosebumps by the simple sound of her voice and the effects her words were having on you.

gale had made vines grow to hold your body right for them all, your wrists and ankles tangled in plants which perfumes' made you feel all fuzzy and soft and needy for any touch they might provide you.

karlach's hand combed through the hairs on the back of your neck before she pulled on it, arching your back so good for her while her hot tongue licked your lips and jaw with hunger.

astarion's fangs grazed the soft skin of your inner thighs, biting relentlessly and leaving in the trail of his mouth marks after marks that he knew only him and his partner would see and touch on you.

lae'zel had taken your dagger, trailing the new cleaned blade on your body, the cold metal kissing your skin and making you shudder. she covered the handle of it with your slick, thrusting it in you as your back arched.

halsin halsin towered over you, his massive hands keeping you in place by holding your waist and shushing you down as once the dagger got removed his own length took its place.

minthara's tongue was lapping at your cunt, curling around your clit in madening circles before she came to suck on it, her eyes never leaving yours as her nails digged in your thighs.

[avocado-writing]

For the bg3 requests how about the companions realizing they love tav in the middle of a battle(love your work!!!)

partner piece to this!

Astarion

realises when he sees you cut down someone in battle to save him.

you don’t think twice about beheading the cultist, or shooting them full of a magic missile, or stabbing them in the guts from the shadows - whatever you do is equally wonderful.

his eyes go wide as he watches you make the killing blow. warm blood spatters on his face and, when you shout to ask if he’s alright, his heart does a funny little dance in his chest.

he’s alright. he’s the most alright that he’s ever been, actually

kisses you suddenly, the taste of the kill dancing between your lips, and stares at you very sincerely.

“I love you.” then back to the battle before you can press it any further.

Gale

if you’re a spell caster, he falls for you because of your capability using magic. you have a knack for it he finds delightful.

the twirl of your hands, soft speaking as you recite verbal components, all of it - it’s all perfect.

he stares at you, distracted for a moment, and then gets a club in the side of the head and is catapulted back to battle.

if you’re not a mage then it’s when you do something he taught you, silencing an enemy wizard by cutting them off when you realise a somatic component. you shoot him a thumbs up and he feels his whole face go bright red.

you listen to him. you care about him. and he loves you.

Wyll

you’re fighting back-to-back, fending off enemies as they charge towards you, yelling out directions for the other one to be watching.

“wyll! big guy on your left!”

he turns and stabs, running through an orc, and hears you laugh from the exhilaration of battle.

he realises then how much he loves you, how he’d never have any other life than this heart-pounding, blood-pumping excitement with you; and he’d do anything to keep you safe.

there’s no time for him to confess right now… but he does reach behind himself to give your free hand a little squeeze with his. just so you know. just so he can come back to it and confess later.

Karlach

raging, so it’s less her thinking through it and more a series of realisations which come to her all at once.

you: fighting. you: protecting. you: protecting her. you: capable. you: loveable.

oh, it all slips into place. she can’t do anything about it right now because her axe is buried in the face of an ogre, but after the battle when she’s calmed down she seeks you out.

is a bit awkward about it, finds reasons to be near you, but you manage to work out what it is she is desperate to say.

give her a kiss, and she squeals with excitement. she thinks you’re just perfect!

Lae’zel

ahh, lae’zel. would she fall for you at any other time?

has always watched your form in battle but there’s something about today, this fight. she can’t keep her eyes off of you.

you are flawless. perfect. dispatching enemies with ease.

she realises she feels not just fondness for you, but love. something she did not believe that she’d ever experience.

she is a little distracted and gets hit, but that just makes her focus back on the battle. you check in with her afterwards and she brushes you off, stomping away to go and mull her feelings over.

is… scared to confess to you. may do it one day. not today.

Shadowheart

runs over to heal you during a battle, your wounds are great, but you shake her off:

”you’re in far worse condition than me! heal yourself first!”

she realises how hurt she is for the first time. she sort of learned to deal with the pain as she was raised sharran, but… you’re the one who’s taken notice of her. nobody has ever done that.

suddenly she is overwhelmed with feelings for you. she’d been soft for you before, but now she is overwhelmed with emotion.

she does heal herself, and then you - luxuriating in the feel of your skin under her hands.

Halsin

he’s already fond of you, but the thing that really gets him is during one particular battle.

you’re fighting and he can see you’re doing your best to protect something behind you from your assailants. during a moment when an enemy is down he sees what’s behind you: a baby boar, terrified.

not the most pleasant creature, covered in mud and squealing, but you still are attempting to shield it from the battle, and when the fight is over he sees you use magic to talk to it and calm it down, check it over for wounds.

he realises how smitten he is with you in that moment. how much you care. you are perfect, and he wants to spend his life with you.

Minthara

probably falls for you during an act of violence, a particularly bloody kill.

you show no mercy to your opponent, opening them from throat to navel, eyes bright as you see them bleed out.

you are an angel of death, vicious and proud. you smile at your kill and minthara finds herself smiling too.

charming. you are charming, and that’s all there is too it. she smiles through the rest of the battle at the thought of you.

[happysparklingshadows]

𝙱𝚐3 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎

Note: I love you all for your support for my Bg3 headcannons and I want to let everyone know my requests are open (also open for TLOU and Yellowjackets)!! Also, comment if you would like to be added to the bg3 taglist! I love you all!

Lae’zel

-She finds it ridiculous when the two of you stumble into a pleasure house.

-She hates outward displays of desperation for sex or yearning outside of the person you are trying to lay with. She was a steel face as your party looked around the rows of items. She is not interested in any of them.

-behind her back, you couldn’t get anything without a sharp look sent your way. There are more critical things to do instead of istiks desperate need for a flesh bond.

-You are scared to tell her you had bought a strap-on. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was just something that had tickled the back of your head. So, you saved it for the right moment for you to introduce something new to your sex life with your overly serious githyanki lover.

-After a hard day of fighting, covered in sweat, blood, and dirt. She came to you. Her eyes are sharply intense as she looks over your form. She says, “I want to lick every inch of your skin of your scent. Tell me, do you tease me on purpose or just to make my hunger for you to grow?”

-You smile and play coy, knowing now that it does rile up Lae’zel, and say, “I am guessing I am not bathing tonight?”

-“No.” Lae’zel says as she holds her arms across her chest. She stares you down and doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to.

-So, you slip away and grab your bag whenever everyone is asleep. When you reach her, she gives you a stern look of confusion and dislike at you doing something unexpected.

-You sit down beside the bag and pull it out. You explain to Lae’zel that it is just for sex and that it is only needed to have sex differently.

-“Am I not pleasurable enough for you, then?” She asks in a defensive tone of venom, and you just smile and look up to her from your spot.

-“No, the opposite. I wanted to know how it would feel if you had a penis.”

-“But I don’t.” ????

-You chuckle as you look up to her, “Have you never wondered what it would be like if you could be inside me? Like, claim me differently, my champion?”

-The comment of claiming clicked in her mind. She insisted she would be wearing it and using it on you.

-You help her put it on when she gets frustrated with the straps.

-Lae’zel doesn’t even let up for a moment after hearing the whimper out of your mouth when she entered you. It was like something primal clicked in her head. She was going to claim your body and soul.

-Lae’zel licks your neck and chest with a soft growl, her hips slapping into yours without mercy. She hums low, moans in her breath as she thrusts into you. Your hands tangled into her hair and small braids, your breasts push against her lips as your back aches.

-Lae’zel becomes obsessed with the sounds out of your mouth. She holds your head down as she looks over your face intensely when you cum. She nearly cums against the strap when your name comes out in a shuttered breath.

-Lae’zel fucks you with the strap that night until the night sky crawled its way out of the sky. She groans at the fact she has to stop fucking you. She smells herself and you all in the air.

-Lae’zel will steal the strap and keep it with her. She may or may not smell it when she wants to smell you when you aren’t near.

-Lae’zel will not be using the strap often, but she will use it when she wants to have a little more dominance over you. To show you that she was the source of every bruise and ache in your body.

-Her strap would be flesh-colored, or she would have never had it near her body. What do you mean that she can have a glittery purple strap???

-She is a Mean Dom who praises your good behavior. She is always razor-focused, always on top of everything in her life, and ready for battle at a moment's notice. She has no problem correcting you or making you understand the consequences of subordinates. Expect to have a few marks on your way out.

Karlach

-The second she enters the pleasure house with the party, she wanders off on her own. Searching, wondering, fantasizing. She doesn’t want to get too pent up, so she leaves a little earlier than you do, not noticing you seeing her eye the strap on with blush on her cheeks.

-A devilish thought came to mind, and you got the one she was eyeing. It was a larger one that made you blush at the thought of it being stuffed inside you.

-But, because Karlach and you can’t have sex until her next upgrade and a miracle, the strap is long forgotten in your crest.

-Once Karlach got her upgrade, IT. WAS. POUND. CITY!

-You and Karlach fucked in your tent, on the tent, by the campfire, by the campfire with your friends around you (very difficult to be quiet), in the river, in ruins, in the forest. There wasn’t a moment that went by that Karlach’s hands were not trying to touch you.

-One night, while eating dinner at the party, you remembered what you had bought a few weeks earlier. You stay quiet as a blush comes over your face at the memory.

-When everyone retired to their tents, you entered your shared tent to find her humming away to a love song and sharpening her axe.

-“Hey, soldier, I have been waiting for you all day.” She puts down her axe with a great smile to look at you. She notices the way you coyly stand. She leans back on the tent wall with a slight smirk growing, “What brings you around?”

-You melt to her face immediately and crawl closer to her with a devilish smile, “I missed you today. I wanted to give you something.” You say as you crawl in between Karlach’s legs. Inches away from their lips.

-“Oh yeah, baby, what’s that?” Karlach asks, clearly lusting after you again, and watches you intently.

-You run a finger up her stomach and to her heart. It burned like a cup of hot water, and you let your eyes worship the woman you love. “You remember when we went to that pleasure house?”

-Karlach’s breath hitches when she feels you touch her. She only says shakily, “Yeah?”

-“Well, I noticed what you were eyeing and bought it. I was wondering if you wanted to use it on me?” With your eyes meeting her, you asked her, and your hand planted itself on her strong shoulder.

-The same shoulder you hold on her for dear life as she fucks you standing up with the strap. She trusts you with the growls she uses in battle. She ferally fucks you as you cling onto her with yelping moans.

-Karlach looks down to see the black strap disappear into you like a magic trick. She had a big, goofy smile on her face.

-Karlach has you screaming, writhing, and desperate. You become lust drunk quickly, even have a moment where you just stare at her in reverence in the way she fucks you to bliss.

-Karlach didn’t know her strength most of the time with you and didn’t mean to manhandle you when she did. You never complained, though. You liked the feeling of her effortlessly lifting you up and down with her biceps under your thighs, or the way her hand completely covered your throat if she held you there, or when she grabbed your chin firmly to kiss you.

-“Gods, I fucking love you- I am never letting you go! Fuck baby, look at me like that.”

-Karlach cums the moment you start to shake when your climax approaches. She shivers and ruts the strap into you like she was trying to push cum out of it.

-You are a writhing mess for her as you are placed on the floor, your toes still curling even after they have left your body. It was a delicious feeling. You bite your lip as she stares down at you, still standing and panting. The strap still in the air.

-“Did I do alright?” She asked. She wiped the sweat from her brow.

-You look up at her towering form and massive fake cock staring you down and say, “Karlach, you are a fucking amazing. Please- Please, will you fuck me again?”

-And she did.

-That was the night Karlach discovered she was the STRAP GOD.

-Karlach would get a big black strap if she had any say in what she wanted. She wanted something that seemed to fit her body, which happened to be big.

Shadowheart

-Shadowheart blushes when she comes inside the pleasure house with you and sees all the items for sale.

-She looks on with wonder and excitement at items for pain that caused pleasure. Nipple clamps, bondage rope of satin and silk, or wands made for shocking a person with a command word. It was all interesting to her, although she kept calm as she walked beside you.

-You look at her, and she meets your eyes silently. Your eyes point to a strap-on and back at her. You secretly speak to her about your wants.

-Shadowheart blushes and looks back at you. You can tell she says yes back to you. She loved this new secret language you two have created to speak intimately in public.

-You sneakily buy the strap-on without Lae’zel or Astarian noticing, keeping this secret for her. Which she dramatically approves of.

-You two act as though nothing has happened, and it is an ordinary day, an average day of adventuring through your quest. Shadowheart watched your behind all day, wondering what taking you from the back would be like. It excited her and made her happy.

-The day ended with conversation and planning the next move, where you will go tomorrow, and who to kill. You finally come over to her tent.

-Shadowheart smiles and asks, “I have been waiting for you this evening. Do I have you to myself now?”

-You didn’t even say anything else before you kissed her lips. You softly push the two of you into your shared tent and want to use this now. The anticipation was killing you.

-The two of you make out on the sheets of the ground passionately, but you two fail to stop kissing each other when you move to open your bag.

-Shadowheart surprisingly wants to use it on you first as she takes it from your hands and puts it on herself. She looks down at you as she puts herself together, “I want to have you. First, I want to see your face twist for me,” she says as she slowly lowers to kiss you again.

-She flipped you around out of nowhere. As she grabbed onto your hips, she kissed the back of your neck. She rubs herself against you as she gently enters you from behind.

-She watched in fascination at the way your ass jiggled and bounced with her thrusts, she liked the way your thighs slapped against hers, and she could just watch it all. Watching your wetness spread on your cheeks and thighs as she fucks you passionately.

-When you have cummed on the fake cock, she kisses your neck and begs for you to do the same. She takes it off, helps you put it on yourself, and lays it down for you to be on top of her. You passionately kiss her and fuck her back as her soft moans filled the tent.

-You take turns with the strap; sometimes it’s her using it, or you are using it on her. It was a reoccurring character in your sheets, and it becomes beloved very quickly upon both of your first climaxes with it together.

-Shadowheart would get a purple glittery strap if she had any say in it because it was simply pretty and did its job while being pretty.

Minthara

-Minthara doesn’t react much to the pleasure house or the inside items. She glanced over the items with a carefree attitude that made your heart beat fast in your chest for some reason. She surprises you by asking the employee to let her see this item beyond the display case, and she, without shame, “(Y/n), come here.” She softly orders in front of your party. You blush softly as you do as she commands, and she asks to see the different sizes and colors.

-Minthara Baenre was raised to be a proud Matron of Menzoberranzan and has the qualities similar to nobility of Faerûn, She was bold with her sexuality and desires. She actuallly gets a kick out of embarrassing you in a manner like this, to her it was amusing how people without status acts towards sex.

-She asks you for the size you would like and smirks as she asks for one a size bigger. She picked a deep red strap with satin ropes and added it to her bag like it was nothing at all. You leave the interaction and shop with heat pooling in between your thighs.

-Minthara doesn’t waste time with her new item. She waits for that night. It doesn’t matter what happened or what needs to be discussed with the party members, and you need to gag on her cock.

-Minthara waits in your shared tent and has it proudly on herself, adjusting the straps as you walk in.

-she has you on your knees in obedience and has her hands running through your hair as she thrusts into your mouth to see how it looks.

-Minthara says, “Such a good lover, so obedient with those eyes looking at me, just like that.” As she bucks her hips into your open mouth.

-Minthara has you propped in her lap in a death grip on your hips, thrusting up into you with the strap. Minthara had her eyes fixated on your face, watching it twist in helpless pleasure to her manhandling.

-Minthara kisses and sucks on your breasts as she listens to you writhe. She wanted to be covered in you, wanted to be stained in you, forever scarred by your love and lust.

-Minthara is the queen of overstimulated and mocking pouts, “I know, Ust-nor, I know. You got a little more to give me. I want it.”

-Minthara has you cum on the strap a total of four times before she feels settled and ready to let you off her strap. But she would steal one more after seeing your spent face as you lazily lay on the pillows of your bedroll

-Minthara happily cuddles you after. She loves you intensely and lays her head on your chest. She pets your body tenderly as she whispers to you about how well you did, how powerful she feels after, and how the two of you will dominate the under dark hand in hand.

-There is no surprise that Minthara is a brutal mean dom without mercy. She likes to be in power and be actively

[lilith-and-baldursgate]

Minthara: There's a word that describes our situation you know

Shadowheart: It starts with an L...

Y/N: LESBIANS!!

Karlach: *laughing her ass off*

Shadowheart: Lost, Y/N, We're lost

Karlach: *still laughing* Technically they're not wrong

Minthara: Amongst other things, We are lost

[wysteria-bloom]

↪"you're lucky I...adore you."

Bg3 companions if they've been affected by succubus magic

Bg3 x bard!reader

Warnings : nothing that I can think of.

Genre : fluff, just pure fluff

A/n : still haven't finished this damn game and it's nearly been a year. You don't want to know how many hours I've spent on it I'm genuinely so disappointed in myself 🥲

▢ lae'zel

Gone was her usual stern demeanour, this woman was huffing and puffing to try and hold herself back. Her mouth pulled into a grimace as the words tumbled out of her mouth against her will.

"Tav.... your battle prowess is... most pleasing to witness..." Her eyes were hazy as she leaned down slightly to your level, brows pulled tightly together despite the contrasting words coming from her mouth," Were you a githyanki, I might even consider... taking you as a mate."

You just sort of blink at her, string pulled taught against your finger as you were trying to fix your violin. A slow smile made its way to your lips," ... you're certainly direct." You cooed out, brows raised suggestively as you look her up and down," I'm flattered, really, but perhaps you should save the mating proposals for when you're not under the influence of succubus magic, hm?"

The githyanki huffs, embarrassed but still utterly bewitched, her nostrils flare," usually... a gith would take offense at such a vehement rejection..." Her forehead presses against yours as she frowns deeply," You're lucky I... adore you." She gritted out with much difficulty.

"It was a spell. Nothing more. Forget it happened unless you want to see your innards splattered across the dirt you stand on."

You smirk, pressing your forehead back in response," Lucky, indeed~"

-

"My pretty lips are sealed, milady."

▢ shadowheart

She leans casually against a nearby tree, watching you with that adoring green gaze of hers that she tried to hide underneath her awkwardly mysterious aura.

She listens to the soft tunes you play with your lovely fingers, humming slightly and almost drunkenly," You know.... your music isn't the only thing enchanting about you."

These strangely uncharacteristic words made you pause in your playing, raising a brow up at her in surprise.

She, herself, didn't know what she was saying but she just couldn't stop herself as her lips twitched into a smirk," perhaps we should compose a duet of our own?"

The blatant flirting amused you to no end and a hand shot to your mouth to suppress a laugh," a duet?" You repeated," As memorable of a performance that would be, I think it best for you to sleep off whatever magical nonsense that succubus casted on you."

Shadowheart gave you an incredulous look and tried to play it off, shrugging with a pout," Oh no, this is... all me." She tried, but the words trembled," totally natural."

"... Let's never talk about this again."

"What a ball of charisma you are."

-

"I've already got a tune decided for our duet. No backing out now, little cleric~"

▢ gale

The wizard approaches his dearest bard with his usual theatric flair, but the lines falling from his smart mouth were far more dramatic than usual as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear," your beauty... it's like the stars themselves - unreachable, radiant, and yet somehow, you make even the Weave seem mundane in comparison."

Your hand removes itself from your instrument to pinch the bridge of your nose. Despite your exasperation, you couldn't hide your amusement," Gale... that succubus has broken you. You don't need to keep... weaving poetry to me."

"Ah, but for you, my dear, no spell is required for me to express my-"

You cover his mouth with your hand and you swear you see hearts in his eyes," mhmm, let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Ahem... I maintain that my delivery was impeccable, spell or no."

-

"Didn't make me swoon, however. Maybe you should give it another try."

▢ karlach

You pause in analysing what spells you had when a shadow fell upon you, making you look up slowly to see Karlach's wry grin shining down upon you like the rays of Lathander himself.

Her infernal engine was humming a lot louder than usual, her enthusiasm palpable," look at you, soldier! All studious n' shit." She cooed as she crouched down, but she still towered over you. Her head canted to the side, hair falling wildly along with her," You're hotter than the hellfire burnin' in my chest... and that's saying something."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head with a flush rising to your cheeks. Whether it was because of Karlach's heat or her words? You couldn't tell. You didn't care either.

"That might be the most intense compliment I've ever received... did the spell possessing you come up with a list of pickup lines to read off of? Or is this all just you?"

Karlach's eyes glinted with affection and amusement as she shrugged," all me, babe." She lied before catching herself, looking up at the sky to think,"... or.... uh, the spell." She tapped her chin in thought, brows furrowed," maybe both?"

"Don't hurt yourself, love."

"Tav, you have to admit, the hellfire thing was pretty fuckin' good!"

-

"True... I'd like to hear you say it without slurring your words, this time."

▢ wyll

His confident strides never faltered despite the magic clearly affecting him, his usual charming demeanour was cracked up to tenfold as he leaned forwards to you, a soft little smile spread to his lips.

"You know... your voice could tame a dragon, and your smile could slay a Devil." He took your hand into his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand," let me be your Knight, forever at your side."

You giggle, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and you had to ignore the flip of your heart when he instantly leaned into your touch," Wyll, that's sweet, but I think you're laying it on a little thick here, sweetheart." The pet name made his head buzz," I'm impressed, honestly... did the spell teach you how to swoon like a bard?"

His hand moved to your one resting on his shoulder and squeezed with purpose, brows furrowed with a lovesick grin curled to his lips," no spells required, my love."

You snort," sure, and my lute plays itself."

"I... apologise for whatever nonsense spewed from my mouth. I was merely playing the part, you understand-"

-

"Hmm... nonsense, was it? And I was so looking forwards to you being my Knight. A shame, really."

▢ astarion

A finger twirled your hair as you strummed your instrument absentmindedly, trying to come up with a catchy bar tune.

Astarion was staring hazily, his usual smirk had actually fallen as his crimson eyes glinted,"... did you know your blood smells sweeter than the finest wine?"

You give him a deadpan look, pausing in your strumming to look up at him which immediately prompted for his hand to move to your chin," Astarion... did the spell make you forget how incredibly creepy that sounds?" You grimace.

He blanched at you, a hand pressing to his heart rather dramatically but his eyes were still infatuated with your every crevice and cranny," creepy?? No, no it's a compliment, I'll have you know!" Then he frowned as he thought of his words and quickly added on a," in a vampiric sort of way..."

You snort and grabbed his wrist, rubbing your thumb up and down it gently," let's revisit this topic when you're not spellbound... or thinking about my blood."

"But it's such lovely blood, darling!" He whined only to be interrupted.

"Nope. We're done here."

"Well, I regret absolutely nothing."

-

"That's because the things you said weren't anything out of the ordinary you freak."

▢ halsin

The uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye is what made you pause as he approached with his usual gentle facial expression. He opened his mouth and you were enraptured with every word-

"I was missing you... and found a lily of the valley," he held out the flower cutely, the size of it compared to him made your heart clench. What a pure man he was," they truly remind me of you... delicate, radiant and captivating."

You reached out and gently took the flower from him, cradlingnit as your cheeks flush warmly," You adorable man." You then moved your hand and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, but before you could pull your hand away, he pressed it to his cheek," Halsin... this is lovely but I'd prefer if you did this whilst not being under the influence of a spell. It's turned you into a poet."

He hums, half-listening to you as he closed his eyes, trying to memorise the temperature and feeling of your hand," poet? Not quite... just a humble druid who's helplessly ensared by your otherworldly beauty."

You sigh and smile, shaking your head as you pinch his cheek, grin widening at the displeased groan that he emitted," helplessly ensared, hmm? Well, let's just hope this spell wears off before you start building me a shrine."

He seemed to lift his head at attention when you said that, moving your hand to his chest and pressing it against his beating heart. The serious look in his eyes sent a flutter through your entire body, his voice a low rumble as he leaned close to your face," would you prefer one of oak or stone?"

You grimace but your face was certainly burning," Oh no, it's definitely time for you to snap out of it."

-

"Tav... forgive me if my words earlier were... overzealous. It was the spell, of course, though they were not entirely untrue."

"Not entirely untrue, huh? I'll keep that in mind the next time you're waxing poetic about flowers and shrines."

▢ minthara

Minthara, usually composed and calculating, strides up to you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. However, her voice takes on an unusual softness that left you weak in the knees.

"I believe now is the chance for me to express this... you are a weapon forged by the gods themselves - sharp, striking and impossible to resist." Her deft fingers ran up and down your arms softly, soothingly, hypnotically," Were I to claim you..." Her eyelashes lowered," none would dare challenge us."

You could only blink with that shit eating grin you always took on when you irritate her," That's flattering, Minthara. But you should save this for when you're not enchanted."

Her voice lowered," I do not make declarations lightly, Tav. You belong at my side. Drenched in the blood of our enemies."

"Whoo... at your side, huh?" You liked the images she created," what, no throne or crown to sweeten the deal?"

God, the smirk that twitched to her lips was utterly mind boggling. You wished you could sew her mouth to permanently stay that way," Oh... there would be both. Gold and blood, in your honour."

You coughed out a reluctant," I'll pass for now, thanks."

-

"Whatever foolishness I said under the spell - forget it. I would not waste words on such sentimentality."

"Of course not, Minthara. The throne and crown offer was purely strategic, I'm sure."

[moonselune]

OOooOOOoooOOO can i PUHLEASE get the companions hit by a lovebug or lust curse and all they want is you but you aren't allowed to be intimate because it would spread to you. They pursue you heavily and you can't help but indulge when they are being so whiny and pathetic. I love love love your work miss seluney xox

yessss i freaking love this trope

CW:dubcon themes

part two!

Karlach:

You spotted them stumbling back toward camp just as the last rays of sun dipped behind the hills. At first, you thought something must have gone terribly wrong. Shadowheart’s robes were torn and half-soaked, her hair plastered to her cheeks, water dripping from her sleeves. She was muttering under her breath, her face twisted in pure, seething exasperation.

Behind her was Karlach — and gods, Karlach was smoking.

Actual tendrils of steam rose from her skin, curling lazily into the cooling evening air. Her plates of infernal metal armor hissed softly where droplets of water struck them from the conjured raincloud above her and evaporated on contact. Her flushed face was bright, gold eyes huge and wild — and locked squarely on you.

The moment she saw you, she lit up, a beaming, breathless smile splitting her face. Her tail thumped excitedly against the ground, sending little puffs of dust flying, and she lurched forward with dangerous intent.

You grinned, starting forward automatically — happy, relieved—

"STOP!" Shadowheart barked, raising both hands like she was halting an angry owlbear.

You froze mid-step, one hand half-lifted in greeting. "Uh—?"

Shadowheart stormed up, water dripping from the hems of her robes, her expression done in a way you hadn't seen since Wyll tried to "fix" her armor once with a hammer.

"She's cursed," Shadowheart said flatly. She jerked a thumb back toward Karlach, who was bouncing on her toes. fangs peeking out from the wolfish grin on her face, still visibly smoking. "Lust curse. Picked it up poking around the ruins."

Your mouth opened. Closed. "...Lust curse?"

"Yes," Shadowheart looked like she wanted to strangle someone. "If she gets intimate with anyone, the curse will spread." She jabbed a finger toward you. "And she really wants to be intimate with you."

You glanced past her to Karlach, who gave you an innocent little wave and a gigantic, toothy grin. Steam rose from her hair, framing her head like a crooked halo. She gave a low, eager whuff, like a hound scenting its master. Your heart melted—and then seized with alarm as Karlach started sprinting toward you.

"No!" Shadowheart snapped, and with a violent flourish of magic, threw Karlach sideways into the river with a massive shove of divine energy.

Karlach hit the water with an enormous splash and disappeared under the surface for a long, heart-stopping second before popping up, sputtering and laughing. She shook her head like a dog, sending water flying, her tail splashing gleefully behind her.

"You—" you turned a stunned look on Shadowheart, who wiped her hands cleanly.

"Don't thank me yet," she said grimly. "You need to stay close to her, or she might explode. Literally." Shadowheart's voice dropped to a near-growl. "But no kissing and gods help you, no sex - at all."

You stared. Shadowheart stared. In the river, Karlach was floating happily on her back, trailing little plumes of steam, grinning at you like you were her salvation incarnate.

"Babe!" she called brightly. "Come in! It's nice and cool! Promise I won't even smooch ya!"

You folded your arms, fixing her with your best stern look. "You're the worst liar I've ever met."

Karlach grinned, all teeth and mischief, and paddled closer to the bank, water sloshing noisily. "Swear on my big ol' heart! Just coolin' off!"

You hesitated. Shadowheart gave you a flat look that screamed, You deal with this. With a long, suffering sigh, you knelt by the riverbank, arms still crossed.

"Karlach," you scolded. "You stay right there."

Her lower lip trembled in an exaggerated pout. "But I miss you..."

"Still nope," you said, firm.

For a moment, you thought you might have won— And then Karlach lunged, her infernal strength letting her surge out of the water like a breaching dolphin, grab your arm, and drag you bodily into the river with her.

You hit the water with a yelp and went under. Freezing-cold river water closed over your head. You flailed, resurfacing with a gasp, hair plastered to your forehead—

And Karlach was there, clutching you tightly, steaming body pressed close to yours.

"See?" she said sweetly, breathless and hot even in the chill water. "No kisses. Just cuddlin'."

You spluttered and glared at her, wiping water from your eyes. But gods, it was hard to stay mad. Her expression was so earnest, her tail a slow, lazy wag behind her in the water. She nuzzled against you, purring low in her throat.

You let yourself relax — just a little.

Karlach hummed contentedly, squeezing you closer, lips brushing over your neck. You could feel the rumble of her heart against your chest, the press of her cheek against your temple. Her hands slid lazily over your back, tracing idle patterns.

"You're so warm, well, warmer than usual," you murmured, shivering a little despite yourself.

"Only for you, baby," she mumbled, practically glowing with affection. It was almost sweet—almost safe—

Until you felt her hand slide lower. Far too low.

"Karlach—!" you warned. But she was faster. She ducked forward, caught your mouth in a searing kiss—

And the curse snapped between you like a struck match, flaring to life inside you. You reeled back, gasping, as the maddening heat took root deep in your chest, spreading outward in molten waves. Karlach pulled back just far enough to beam at you, her tail wagging furiously, steam rising from both your bodies now.

"Now we both got it!" she said triumphantly. "So no we can-"

You pushed her back, hard enough for her to resubmerge under the water. Your chest was heaving, the curse was already clawing through your veins, making your skin buzz and your thoughts slip dangerously sideways. Karlach reemerged, eyes peeking out of the water as she took in your flustered form.

"You—" you sputtered as you splashed her, "You menace!"

Karlach stood, now fully surfaced and laughed, carefree and delighted, and hugged you so tight you thought she might crack a rib.

"You're lucky I love you," you muttered into her soaked hair, heart hammering as you already began prying off her armour.

"Damn fucking right," she whispered, holding you tighter than ever. Around you, the river hissed and bubbled with the heat of two bodies who wanted nothing more than to melt into each other. Ignoring Shadowheart's screeching and Gale deciding he could wash the pots later.

Minthara:

The moment the curse hit her, Minthara changed. Gone was the cool, ruthless drow general. In her place was something furious, wild — and whining.

"This is insufferable," she spat, pacing the ruined clearing like a cat in a cage. Her armor was already half-discarded, her hair clinging to the sweat on her brow. "Fix it. Fix it now!"

You leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, biting back a grin. "Minthara, you heard Shadowheart. No touching. No kissing. No... other activities."

"I don't care what that prissy cleric says!" she snapped, spinning toward you, her crimson eyes alight with rage and need. "You belong to me — and you are going to satisfy me!"

You laughed — actually laughed — and that made it worse. She stomped toward you, hands clenched into little fists, trembling with pent-up frustration.

"Do you think this is funny?" she hissed, standing barely a breath away, her chest heaving. "I am suffering!"

"You'll live," you said easily, though it was getting harder and harder to ignore how flushed and gorgeous she looked like this — desperate, vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be.

"I will not live," she whined — actually whined — the sound raw and furious. "I will wither away! My body is burning and you just stand there like a fool!"

Minthara tried to grab your tunic, to drag you down to her, but you stepped aside, letting her stumble slightly past you. She whirled around with a gasp of pure outrage.

"Stop running from me!" she barked. "You are mine!"

You chuckled under your breath. "You should see yourself right now. You're like an angry kitten."

"I will kill you!" she screeched — and then immediately slumped, groaning, running both hands through her hair in pure agony. "I need... I need..."

You watched her struggle, and you almost — almost — pitied her. But it was far too amusing. Minthara glared at you from under her bangs of white hair, breathing hard. Then something in her broke. Her expression shifted — determined and furious and done with your games.

"Fine," she growled lowly. "If you will not help me..."

She launched herself at you. You tried to dodge, but she caught you around the middle, shoving you against the tree with surprising strength for someone so desperate. Her mouth crashed against yours in a messy, furious kiss.

And the curse spread.

It hit you like being punched in the gut — that raw, aching need suddenly clawing under your skin, setting every nerve on fire. You gasped against her mouth, your knees buckling slightly from the force of it.

Minthara pulled back just enough to smirk, victorious, her lips swollen and smug. "Then now you suffer with me."

You growled low in your throat, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her, pinning her against the tree instead. She gasped, wide-eyed, laughing breathlessly — but she didn’t resist.

"You little brat," you muttered, pressing your forehead to hers, your hands locking around her wrists. "You just couldn't be patient."

"I do not do patience," she whispered, shivering against you. "Now take what is yours."

You did. Oh, gods, you did. And Minthara, for once, had nothing to complain about.

Shadowheart:

You were still chuckling about Gale’s lecture as you wandered deeper into the woods, a basket under your arm for the handful of herbs and berries you intended to collect.

Everything was fine, he had said. Shadowheart said she would sleep it off, he had said.

You plucked a sprig of wild mint and tossed it into the basket, trying to shake off a lingering doubt gnawing at the edge of your mind. It wasn't until the third patch of violets that you frowned, thoughts darkening.

A lust curse.

Not a fever. Not exhaustion. Not some harmless little enchantment. A curse that preyed on every base, starved desire you harbored. A relentless, gnawing thing that tortured the mind until you either gave in or went mad from the wanting.

And Gale—bless his trusting, naive heart—had taken the word of an ex-Sharran that she could just sleep it off?

You stood there, basket dangling forgotten from your hand, heart beginning to race. You turned on your heel, about to sprint back toward camp—

Too late. There was a rush of movement, a flicker of shadow—

And then Shadowheart was on you, slamming you back against a tree trunk with surprising force, arms locking around your shoulders. Your basket hit the ground with a soft thump, forgotten.

"Found you," she breathed, her voice low and velvet-thick, dripping with sultry satisfaction. Her silver hair tumbled around her face in wild disarray, her cheeks flushed a dangerous pink.

Before you could react, she ducked into the vulnerable curve of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin—hot, insistent, needy.

"Shadowheart—!" you gasped, hands immediately trying to push her off, but she clung to you with desperate strength.

"You don’t understand," she whispered between kisses, her body pressing closer against yours, her thigh slipping between your legs with wicked, slow friction. "I need you. I’ve needed you for so long..."

You struggled, trying to slide sideways out of her grip, panic clawing up your spine. "You’re not thinking straight—you’re cursed—"

"I am thinking straight," she insisted, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Her eyes shimmered, dark and feverish. "I’ve never thought clearer."

She leaned in, lips parting for a kiss—

You slapped both hands over your mouth, wild-eyed. Shadowheart froze, then blinked in stunned silence—and then laughed. A low, throaty sound that sent a fresh bolt of terror and heat straight through you.

"Oh, you sweet thing," she murmured, amused, a wicked glint lighting her gaze. "If you won’t let me kiss you..."

Her hands slipped lower, tracing down your chest, your stomach—

You tried to dodge, heart pounding, but she sank to her knees before you with unholy grace.

"...then I’ll just have to be more creative," she purred.

You tried to catch her wrists, tried to pull her back upright, but in doing so you moved your hands away from your mouth—

And Shadowheart seized the opportunity, surging up with the swiftness of a striking serpent to catch your lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

The curse hit you like a fist to the chest. You reeled, staggering back against the tree, gasping as molten heat roared through your veins, setting your nerves alight with agonizing, insistent want.

Shadowheart leaned into you, sighing happily against your lips, her whole body pressed tight against yours.

"There we go," she whispered, nuzzling your jaw, utterly delighted. "Now you understand."

Your muscles trembled with the force of it—the raw, gnawing need, the hunger. You clutched her, helpless to push her away now, both of you burning, breathless, utterly doomed together in the deep shade of the woods. And somewhere, far away, you cursed Gale’s trusting heart.

Lae'zel:

You found Lae'zel pacing back and forth in the clearing just outside camp, her whole body taut with restless, twitching energy, her usual ironclad composure cracking under the strain of something far greater than anger or frustration — something much more primal, much more dangerous.

The moment she caught sight of you, her golden eyes lit up with a hunger so naked and intense it stopped you dead in your tracks, the force of it nearly knocking the breath from your lungs — and not just because she looked devastating like that, all fury and longing wrapped into a single coiled body.

"You," she growled, stalking toward you like a predator, her boots kicking up little clouds of dust as she moved, "you will suffer with me."

You blinked, struggling not to laugh at the sheer affronted outrage burning off her in waves; Lae'zel was many things — proud, fierce, unrelenting — but this was something new, something almost petulant, and it was difficult to take her threats seriously when she looked one wrong word away from either tackling you to the ground or throwing a tantrum.

"Lae'zel," you said carefully, trying for calm even as amusement bubbled traitorously in your chest, "you're cursed. You know what will happen if I touch you. It'll spread."

Her snarl was immediate, low and impatient, and she crossed the space between you in three long strides, reaching for you — but the curse, while sharpening her need, had dulled her grace, and she stumbled slightly, catching herself with a furious hiss that made your grin slip out despite yourself.

She pointed an accusatory finger at you, chest heaving, armor glinting under the sun like she was some glorious, furious war goddess undone by something as stupid and human as desire.

"You!" she barked again, scandalized. "Always you wanting closeness. Always you demand soft touches. And now, when I offer, you deny me? Treachery!"

You couldn't help it — you barked a laugh, folding your arms and stepping just out of her immediate reach, savoring the way her scowl deepened to something almost childishly wounded. She was practically vibrating with indignation and unspent energy, her whole body trembling not with fear or anger, but with the unbearable, consuming need for touch she could not have.

"I’m trying to protect you," you said with a chuckle, dancing back another step as she lunged at you again — and this time she almost caught you, her fingers brushing your tunic before you twisted away, leaving her growling in frustrated defeat.

The next time she pounced, though, she was quicker — or maybe you had gotten cocky, letting your guard down, forgetting for a moment that Lae'zel was still, at her core, a creature of instinct and willpower so ferocious that even a cursed, sluggish haze couldn't slow her forever.

She tackled you bodily to the ground with a heavy thud, landing squarely atop you, her legs bracketing your hips, her hands braced on either side of your head, her face close enough that you could see the fine tremble in her jaw, the wild desperation in her gaze.

You opened your mouth to protest — to reason with her — but then she did something so shockingly tender it knocked every thought clean out of your head.

She nuzzled into you, slow and clumsy and soft, like a cat seeking warmth, rubbing her cheek against yours with little needy sounds, her body trembling with exhaustion and need and something perilously close to affection.

It was so adorable — so utterly unlike her — that for a moment you just froze, caught between horror and hilarity, unsure whether to push her off or simply melt into the moment.

"Lae'zel," you croaked, trying to push at her shoulders — but she was heavy and stubborn and clinging to you like her life depended on it, and gods, she was warm, too warm, and you could feel the heat of her skin even through the thin layers of your clothing.

She chuckled — a low, dangerous, amused sound — and before you could gather enough strength to shove her off properly, she shifted, catching your face in her hands with surprising gentleness, and leaned down to kiss you full on the mouth.

You struggled, you really did — hands scrabbling at her arms, trying to pull away — but her mouth was hot and insistent and hungry against yours, and before you even realized it, you were kissing her back, drinking in her desperation, her devotion, the way she seemed to pour every ounce of her frantic, cursed longing into you.

And just like that — the curse exploded through your veins, searing hot and overwhelming, dragging a gasp from your lips as it took hold.

Lae'zel pulled back just far enough to smirk down at you, victorious and radiant and unbearably smug.

"There," she said, satisfaction dripping from every syllable as she pinned you to the ground, her golden eyes gleaming with wicked glee. "Now you suffer too."

And gods help you — you didn’t even mind.

Not when it was her. Not when you could feel her heart hammering against yours, beating the same wild, desperate rhythm. Not when it was Lae'zel.

Jaheira:

You had been warned, of course — Gale, ever the scholar, had cornered you before you even approached the campfire, looking harried and flushed.

"It’s a lust curse," he said in a low, urgent whisper, as if speaking it aloud might make it worse. "Jaheira's been hit with it. She's lucid — for now — but you know how these things go. If you’re touched in... certain ways, it will spread to you immediately."

You had nodded solemnly, assuring him you would be careful — that you knew better than to tempt fate. But then you saw her.

Jaheira was sitting on the log near the fire, her head tilted back, the flames painting her golden-tan skin in a wild, living light. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in a way that was utterly hypnotic, and when she caught sight of you, her lips parted slightly, her entire body almost reaching toward you without thought.

"Come here," she said, voice low, a velvet growl that made your stomach twist with longing.

You hesitated, heart hammering painfully in your chest. She was never like this — Jaheira, fierce and composed, always so in control, so sharp, was looking at you now like a starving creature denied its only salvation. It was a rare and almost reverent sight to behold her so undone, so needy, every inch of her screaming for you in a way she usually hid behind duty and pride.

It undid you.

Without thinking, you took a few steps forward, drawn in helplessly by the intensity of her gaze, the way she opened her arms in silent invitation, the promise of her touch more tempting than any spell or enchantment.

"Jaheira," you breathed, voice cracking slightly. "You're cursed—"

"I know," she said, almost laughing, a breathless, broken sound. "I know, and I do not care. Come to me."

You were close enough now to see the fine sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her fingers trembled where they gripped her knees, how every muscle in her taut, battle-hardened body was coiled and trembling with restraint. She looked utterly wrecked by want, and it was all for you.

You almost gave in right then and there, ready to throw caution and Gale’s warnings to the wind. What did it matter, when she was looking at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that could save her?

But — somehow — reason clawed its way back through the haze.

"No," you said firmly, stepping back with an effort that felt like tearing yourself in half. "Jaheira, not like this. You're not yourself."

The look she gave you then was devastating — betrayed, furious, needy all at once, the kind of look that might have felled lesser mortals on the spot.

"You always want me," she said bitterly, pushing to her feet with a grace that was only slightly marred by the trembling of her limbs. "Always watching, always waiting for me to allow it, to put aside my duties— and now, when I offer myself to you, when I need you— you refuse me?"

Your mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but no words came. She was right — gods help you, she was right. And yet — you stood your ground, hands fisted at your sides to stop yourself from reaching for her.

Jaheira's eyes narrowed, that calculating sharpness returning to her gaze even through the haze of the curse.

"So," she murmured, stepping closer, slow and measured. "You would deny me. Even now."

She was in front of you before you could think to move, her scent — the warm, wild scent of earth and leaves after rain — overwhelming your senses. You turned your head away, squeezing your eyes shut like a child refusing medicine.

That was your mistake.

She moved swiftly — decades of battlefield experience turning even her cursed need into a strategic assault — catching your face between her hands and forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Look at me," she whispered, and gods help you, you did.

The kiss, when it came, was brutal — desperate, raw, full of a need that threatened to drown you both. Her mouth crushed against yours, and the moment her lips touched yours, it was like fire licked across your skin, the curse seeping into you with dizzying, searing heat.

You gasped into the kiss, hands flying to her waist to push her away — or maybe to pull her closer, you couldn't even tell anymore — as your body reacted instinctively, helplessly, to the magic flooding your veins. Jaheira groaned into your mouth, deep and triumphant, as she felt the curse take hold of you.

"There," she breathed against your lips, her hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you tightly against her. "Now you understand."

And you did. You understood far, far too well — and you were utterly, gloriously doomed.

Gale:

When you returned to camp that evening, Shadowheart was waiting for you near the fire, her arms folded tight across her chest, her expression a strange blend of annoyance and reluctant amusement.

“He’s cursed,” she said flatly, the firelight catching on the silver of her hair.

You blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Gale,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “A lust curse. Some relic he was fiddling with while scouting. He’s managing it...for now. He’s warded himself as best he can, but—” Her sharp eyes pierced you. “If you see him, do not touch him. Do not kiss him, do not so much as hold his hand. If the curse spreads, it’ll only get worse. Understand?”

You nodded automatically, even as unease bloomed in your chest.

“He’s in his tent,” Shadowheart added, softer now. “Said he’s going to meditate. Maybe sleep it off.” She snorted faintly. “Wishful thinking, but... he’s stubborn.”

You promised you’d leave him be. You meant it. But curiosity gnawed at you, relentless. And when you approached Gale’s tent, you felt it—the heat, like walking into the heart of a furnace. Magic shimmered faintly in the air, thick with the scent of ozone and something sweeter, something more dangerous.

You hesitated at the flap. Maybe you should just...turn back. Give him space. But then you heard it. A broken, guttural noise, like a muffled plea.

Caution abandoned, you pulled the flap aside—and froze.

Gale was kneeled on his bedroll, stripped down to his briefs, the thin fabric doing little to hide the powerful, trembling tension of his body. Sweat clung to his skin, making him gleam in the dim light like some desperate, golden idol. His hands and ankles were bound with what looked like glowing, magical ropes, their light pulsing weakly as if struggling to contain him.

He looked wrecked.

Flushed cheeks. Chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. And when his eyes met yours—wide, dark, almost frantic—you saw it there, plain as day: fear.

“Stay—stay back!” he rasped, jerking against the bindings, which tightened and sparked in warning. “I haven’t—I haven’t finished the gag ward yet—please, you need to stay away, for your own good—”

His voice cracked, pleading. Your heart shattered. How could you just leave him like this? How could you not help?

Moving before you thought better of it, you knelt beside him, brushing sweat-slick hair from his forehead, murmuring soft reassurances you weren’t even sure he could hear. His skin was burning under your touch, fever-hot and thrumming with suppressed magic.

Gale whimpered—a pitiful, broken sound—and pressed into your hand like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, leaning closer. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

He shook his head weakly. “No... You have to...go...”

You hesitated. Only a moment. And that was all he needed.

The bindings vanished—mere illusion—and in a flash of desperate strength, Gale surged up, grabbing your wrists and rolling you down onto the bedding beneath him.

Your gasp barely made it out before his mouth crashed onto yours, searing and hungry. Magic ignited between your bodies. The curse bloomed through your veins, violent and overwhelming, drowning you in sudden, white-hot need.

You clutched at him instinctively, nails digging into his bare shoulders, overwhelmed by the fire roaring through you. When Gale finally broke the kiss, panting against your lips, there was a wicked gleam in his fevered eyes.

“You should have listened to Shadowheart,” he whispered, voice rough and ruined, but triumphant.

You barely registered the words. Every inch of your body was screaming for him, the curse turning every brush of skin into a shock of unbearable pleasure.

And Gale, damn him, knew it.

He dragged his hands down your sides, slow and deliberate, savoring every shudder, every desperate gasp. He kissed your throat, your collarbone, murmuring broken praises between kisses, and you melted beneath him, the last of your resistance crumbling to dust.

The thought maybe the others would hear flickered weakly at the back of your mind—but it was a fleeting, dying thing.

Right now, there was only Gale—smug, beautiful, dangerous Gale—pinning you beneath him with the weight of his body, the fire of the curse binding you together more completely than any magic ever could.

And gods help you... You didn’t want to be saved.

Astarion:

You found him in the woods, where the shadows thickened and the air grew heavy with the scent of moss and damp earth, and for a moment — just a moment — you thought he might be hurt, the way he was hunched against the base of an ancient, gnarled tree, his body shuddering like a taut bowstring ready to snap, his fingers digging furrows into the dirt as if physical grounding could somehow hold back whatever storm was raging inside him.

The moment his eyes lifted to meet yours — molten red clouded and glazed over with need so raw it almost looked like pain — you knew exactly what had happened.

A lust curse.

It clung to him like a second skin, thick and suffocating, and you could see it in the way he trembled, in the way his breath shuddered out of him in gasps, in the way his hands flexed uselessly at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn't quite trust himself to close the distance.

He rose unsteadily, every movement aching with the effort of holding himself back, and for a heartbeat you saw a flicker of the Astarion you knew — proud, beautiful, incorrigible — before it was swallowed whole by the gnawing, insatiable hunger twisting him apart.

"Ah, there you are," he said, his voice pitched somewhere between a laugh and a sob, silky and broken all at once, and though he tried to summon that familiar smirk you adored, it wilted on his lips before it could fully form, leaving him looking heartbreakingly young and lost.

You raised your hands instinctively, a futile barrier between you, trying to ignore the way your own heart thundered in your chest at the sight of him — disheveled, trembling, flushed with desperate, furious need — because you knew, more than anything, that you couldn’t allow yourself to touch him.

Not like this.

Not when you couldn’t be sure it was truly him wanting it.

"Astarion," you said softly, gently, as if soothing a wounded animal, "you’re cursed — you’re not thinking clearly — you have to fight it."

His laugh then was ragged, hollow, bitter — and something in it made your throat tighten painfully.

"Oh, darling," he whispered, dragging one shaking hand through his hair, "you think I don't know that? You think I don't know exactly what's happening to me?"

He swayed where he stood, and for a horrifying second you thought he might collapse, but he caught himself against the tree, nails raking down the bark with a horrible screech that set your teeth on edge.

"I know I’m cursed," he ground out, voice rough and low and trembling with the effort it took to speak, "but that doesn’t change what I want. It’s still you. It’s always you."

And gods, you wanted to believe him — you did believe him — but still, you couldn’t move, couldn’t cross that impossible distance, because the thought of ever, ever taking from him, using him while he was vulnerable like this, was something you couldn’t stomach.

He must have seen the resolve settle in your features, because something dark and wild sparked behind his eyes, and suddenly he was pulling out every weapon he knew how to wield — every devastating smile, every coy tilt of his head, every sinful, decadent roll of his hips as he let his hands trail suggestively down his own body in a display so shameless you would have laughed if it hadn’t been so utterly, gut-wrenchingly tragic.

He purred filthy promises, he whined with needy, broken little noises that clawed at your sanity, he even — gods help you — dropped to his knees and looked up at you through his lashes, looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable, so wrecked, that you almost — almost — faltered.

But you didn’t.

You stayed rooted to the spot, hands fisted at your sides, muscles aching with the strain of not reaching for him.

Minutes dragged by in agonizing silence, broken only by his ragged breathing, until finally, finally, something inside him seemed to shatter completely.

He slumped forward, head bowed, shoulders trembling so violently it looked painful, and when he lifted his gaze to you again, there was no seduction left — only raw, desperate pleading.

"Please," he rasped, the word tearing itself from his throat like it hurt to speak it, "please, just one kiss. That’s all I’m asking. Just — just let me have that."

You felt something deep inside you break at the sound of it — at the way he knelt there in the dirt like a man undone, stripped of all his armor and artifice, reduced to nothing but need and the desperate, terrified hope that you might still want him even like this.

You crossed the distance between you before you could think better of it, falling to your knees and cradling his face in your hands, feeling the way he leaned into your touch like a starving man would lean into the scent of bread.

"Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears, because you needed — needed — to hear him say it. You just needed him to be okay. He nodded, a tiny, broken thing, his smile trembling and radiant all at once.

"I’m sure," he whispered back, and there was something so painfully real in his voice that you knew, in that instant, that whatever the curse had done to him, whatever false hunger it had stoked, it hadn’t — couldn’t — touch the way he felt about you.

You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his in the softest, most cautious kiss imaginable, your lips barely brushing his, trembling with the force of all the things you couldn’t say.

For a single, precious heartbeat, it was gentle — tender — achingly, impossibly sweet.

And then Astarion made a soft, broken sound deep in his throat, and the dam broke completely.

He surged forward, grabbing you with a strength born of desperation, deepening the kiss until it was wild and messy and frantic, his hands clawing at your back like he could somehow pull you inside him, and you kissed him back just as fiercely, surrendering to the tidal wave of need that crashed through you.

It wasn’t until a sudden, electric jolt of heat tore through your body — searing and sharp and utterly overwhelming — that you remembered the curse.

You pulled back with a gasp, eyes wide, body trembling with the force of it, and Astarion — beautiful, ruined Astarion — just smiled that wicked, triumphant smile you knew so well and dragged his thumb along your lower lip, savoring the shudder that wracked your body at his touch.

"Looks like we’re both damned now, darling," he purred, his voice low and hoarse with victory and unbearable, breathtaking affection.

And gods help you — you couldn't even bring yourself to mind.

Wyll:

It all started simply enough — or so Shadowheart had assured you, half-smirking as she delivered the news.

"He's fine," she'd said casually, though there was a wicked glint in her eye that made you instantly wary. "A little... affectionate, perhaps. Nothing you can't handle. Just — whatever you do, don't let him kiss you. Or, you know. Anything worse. It'll spread otherwise."

You had rolled your eyes at the warning, already heading toward Wyll’s tent with the confident belief that you — of all people — could resist the man, no matter how charming he got.

That was before you saw him.

He was sprawled messily across his bedroll, stripped down to only his briefs, sweat gleaming across the broad plane of his chest, his dark hair damp, a sheen on his horns. His chest heaved with every breath, and his whole body seemed to hum with some deep, restless energy.

"Ah — my love," he said the moment he caught sight of you, his voice ragged, rougher than you’d ever heard it, like every word physically cost him to say. He pushed himself up to his knees in a clumsy, desperate movement, offering you the most pitifully hopeful look you had ever seen on him. "You’ve come to rescue me at last."

You froze, mouth dry, already feeling the heat coming off him like a furnace.

"Wyll," you warned carefully, hands raised like you were approaching a wild animal. "*Shadowheart said you need to rest. I'm just here to—"

"Rest?" he repeated, incredulous, dragging his hands through his hair with a laugh that was far too close to a groan. "Darling, I am dying here. Look at me." He gestured down at himself dramatically, chest still heaving, his flushed face full of pitiful earnestness. "Is this a man who needs rest?"

You couldn't help but chuckle, even as you took a cautious step back. "You're cursed, Wyll. You need to sleep it off. No kisses, no cuddles, no — whatever else you're planning."

"But my sweet heart," Wyll drawled, struggling to his feet, staggering slightly as if even gravity was conspiring to torture him, "you are all I dream of. If I sleep now, I will dream of you — and then wake even worse than I am now. Is that what you want? To leave me here, suffering?"

He swayed toward you, his voice dropping into that deep, coaxing tone he knew you were weak to, the one that wrapped around you like velvet.

"Don't you miss me?" he murmured, dark eyes hooded, voice almost a purr. "Don't you want to hold me?"

You gritted your teeth, heart pounding. "You want to hold me," you said, voice wobbling with the effort to stay firm. "There's a difference."

Wyll's grin was utterly wicked — the curse had loosened something in him, made him shameless, unrestrained in a way that was dangerously tempting.

"Semantics," he said, before lunging forward like he might actually tackle you.

You squeaked — a very dignified squeak — and dodged, making him stumble and curse under his breath. He threw his head back in pure frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Gods above," he groaned, voice cracking. "You are merciless!”

"You'll thank me later!" you called over your shoulder, trying to put distance between you.

Wyll let out a sound that was half growl, half whine, and — to your horror and amusement — he just dropped like a felled tree onto his bedroll, arms splayed out dramatically. He lay there perfectly still, utterly defeated.

You frowned. "Wyll?"

No response.

You crept closer, suspicious. "Wyll," you repeated firmly, reaching out a hand to prod his shoulder. "This isn't funny—"

The moment your fingers brushed his skin, he sprang to life, faster than you could react.

"Got you," Wyll breathed triumphantly, grabbing you and hauling you bodily onto the bedroll with him.

"Wyll, no—!" you gasped, struggling against him, but he was already shifting over you, pinning you down with shocking ease, his whole body pressed against yours in a way that made your resolve crumble in an instant.

"You should've known better, my heart," Wyll murmured against your ear, voice low and filled with wicked delight. "You can't resist me forever."

You opened your mouth to retort — and he kissed you, full and deep and utterly devastating, pouring every bit of his cursed, desperate longing into it.

The moment your lips met, it was like a spark ignited between you, a magic you couldn't hope to fight — the curse latching onto you like a brand, heat flooding your veins so fast and sweet it almost made you dizzy.

Wyll groaned into the kiss, cradling your face in both hands like you were something precious and sacred, finally his to hold without restraint.

"See?" he whispered against your lips, voice hoarse with hunger and affection all tangled together. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

And you, utterly lost to him now, could only shake your head, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him closer, surrendering to the pull that had always existed between you — curse or no curse.

Because this was Wyll — your Wyll — and gods help you, you wanted him just as badly.

Halsin:

You had seen it happen — had watched from across the clearing as the old magic, wild and half-forgotten, tangled around Halsin like a web spun of sunlight and smoke, seeping into his skin with a shimmer you could almost hear, a low, hungry hum that set your own heartbeat skittering in warning.

It took mere moments before you saw the change in him: that slight, telling hitch in his breath, the way his massive frame tensed and shuddered under some invisible pressure, the normally grounded calm in his golden eyes swallowed up by a dark, glassy haze of want that struck you like a blow.

And gods, it was almost comical — almost — the way he immediately turned toward you like a moth spotting a flame, shoulders rolling, muscles flexing under his tunic as he swayed where he stood, blinking dumbly at you as if trying to process why he wasn’t already touching you.

You cursed under your breath, already stepping backward, palms raised, trying to inject some lightness into your voice despite the way your pulse roared in your ears.

"Stay where you are, my heart," you teased, summoning a quick barrier spell between you with a flick of your fingers. "You're not thinking straight — and I, for one, would prefer not to get cursed today."

Halsin made a noise in his throat — something low and almost hurt — before lurching forward, walking straight through your ward like it was smoke on the breeze. His size alone was intimidating enough, but the naked, unfiltered need rolling off him in waves made your whole body tighten in pure, instinctive anticipation.

You scrambled, grabbing the closest weapon you could find — a dull training sword, laughably useless against him — and brandished it in warning. "I mean it! Stay back! Don’t make me poke you with this thing!"

He smiled — smiled — that slow, lazy grin he usually wore only after long nights tangled together, and your breath hitched because there was nothing careful about it now, nothing restrained. This was the bear beneath the druid, the wild, relentless force that had always lurked just under his skin — and you had never been more gloriously doomed.

Still, you tried. You darted to the side, weaving illusions and sending harmless blasts of force to try and trip him up, laughing breathlessly as you ducked and rolled, tossing dirt at his feet, all the while your heart pounding wildly against your ribs.

But it was futile.

Halsin was a predator born, built for the chase, and he indulged it now with a rumbling, pleased growl, following you unhurriedly, utterly certain of the outcome, until you backed yourself right into a tree — and before you could blink, his massive hands were on you, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing at all.

"Got you," he rumbled against your ear, voice thick and syrupy with satisfaction, and you squeaked — squeaked — in protest, struggling half-heartedly against his iron grip, but it was like trying to fight a landslide.

"Halsin," you gasped, laughing helplessly as he pinned you with nothing but the breadth of his body, one big hand cupping the back of your head like you were something fragile and precious even as his hips pressed you shamelessly against the tree. "You’re cursed! You’re not thinking clearly!"

"I am," he countered, voice impossibly deep, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "I am thinking perfectly clearly. I want you. I always want you."

You opened your mouth to argue — to remind him of the magic seething under his skin, twisting his desires into something dangerous — but it was too late. His lips found yours, hot and desperate and softer than you expected, like even now, even drowning in lust, he still couldn't bear to treat you with anything but reverence.

The curse slammed into you like a tidal wave the moment your mouths met, white-hot and dizzying, and you moaned into the kiss despite yourself, your whole body arching instinctively into his.

Halsin groaned low in his chest, as if feeling the change in you, recognizing it — and then there was no more hesitation, no more control. His hands roamed greedily, possessively, up your sides and down your back, finding every inch of you like he was memorizing it all over again, and you clung to him with equally frantic need, your own resistance dissolving into ash.

You barely registered the leaves and twigs digging into your back as he lifted you higher, cradling you with ridiculous ease, murmuring filthy, reverent things against your mouth, your neck, your shoulders — words that blurred together into a haze of heat and hunger until you weren't sure who was devouring who.

And maybe that was the curse speaking. Maybe it wasn’t fair.

But as Halsin whispered your name like a prayer and held you like a treasure he refused to let go of, you realized — curse or not — you wanted this.

You wanted him.

Always had. Always would.

There may or may not be a smut version of this in the drafts if people want it..... Hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

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

[hijackalx]

FEMALE BG3 CHARACTERS EATING OUT F!READER +18

characters included: karlach, shadowheart, lae’zel, minthara

MALE BG3 CHARACTERS

SHADOWHEART

okay i LOVE the idea of overeager inexperienced shadowheart like it’s SO hot……

she’s a little aggressive and all over the place but she DOES NOT CARE 😹😹

she also gives me selfish vibes, so if she’s eating you out she’s doing it solely for her OWN enjoyment LMAO

loves to tell you to hold still or to be quiet, that way when you slip up she can degrade you

“shut up, you sound like a whore” or “squirming already? how pathetic” she is MEAN

will also knead your tits the whole time. not softly either— it will make you gasp and that’s exactly why she does it 😹😹

prefers to have your hands bound above your head so you can’t touch her. she likes seeing how frustrated you get when you can’t pull on her hair/move closer when she teases

will spit on it. and she will hold eye contact with you while you watch as it drips from her mouth onto your pussy

gets SO wet from eating you out

she will reach between her legs every once in a while to touch herself because she gets so worked up

sometimes she’ll get too distracted in her own pleasure and just start whimpering/panting into your pussy

if she doesn’t already finish before you then she’ll IMMEDIATELY want you to return the favor

KARLACH

she aims to PLEASE

you WILL be having a life changing orgasm every time. no 3 second O’s over here baby 😹😹

she can tell when you’re close and adjusts her pace to make you hold off for just a littleee longer (a lot longer)

wishes she could live in between your legs. obsessed with the way you smell and taste so much

likes when you start telling her what to do— she is more than happy to do what you want because of how badly she wants to watch you come apart

grab her by the horns and move her where you want and she’ll moan

will dig her nails (claws?) into your thighs occasionally, not because she wants to hurt you but because she gets so into it

if she leaves marks she’ll make sure to kiss them better 💗

the more of a reaction you give her the more her tail thrashes around excitedly. it has a mind of its own honestly 😹😹

speaks almost exclusively in praise and reassurance. “you’re being so patient for me”, “don’t worry— mama’s gonna take good care of you”

LOVES having your thighs over her shoulders and against her head/ears. also likes that she can feel every involuntary twitch and tremor of your legs on her back

lowkey likes when she can still smell you on her top lip afterwards LMAO 😹😹

MINTHARA

you would think she’d be aggressive and mean but i think she’s lowkey pretty sensual? still very stern though. very much giving mommy dom vibes

EXPERIENCED. she knows what she’s doing and you can tell

will make you BEG !!!!!!

teases you with her tongue until you are whimpering and crying for her. needs to see you fully submit before she gives you what you want

you need to be aware of how lucky you are that she wants to do this. she doesn’t give head to just anyone

will always encourage you to be loud. if she notices that you’re suppressing your voice she’ll pull away— she needs to be able to hear you otherwise she feels like it’s not worth it 😹😹

can be really sweet in subtle ways. will kiss your pussy/inner thighs occasionally or absentmindedly run her thumb over your skin

also if you reach out to hold her hand she’ll give it to you without hesitation

her tone when she talks to you is almost condescending. she thinks it’s kind of pathetic how badly you need her. but she loves it

“your eagerness to give in to me is pitiful”, “you’re a greedy little thing”

sometimes she’ll hum/groan into your pussy with her low, raspy voice and it’s so 😩

will kiss you while/after you come so you taste yourself. with LOTS of tongue

LAE’ZEL

y’all are not going to want to hear this but i get pillow princess vibes from lae’zel LMFAO

i think she defaults to the receiving end so her eating you out is something you have to initiate. she WILL do it though

she has the most perfect, pouty lips for eating pussy. they’re so soft and plump 🥵

LOVES when u pull her hair. she tries to hold back her moans but if you do it enough she’ll eventually give up lol

a glutton for praise— she needs the reassurance that she’s doing a good job. she can’t stand the thought of not being perfect at something 😹😹

will want you to hold your thighs up towards your stomach so you’re as spread open as possible lol. that way she can tease your hole easier. also she just thinks it’s hot

loves the way your thighs look in that position. will run her hands over them a lot. usually pretty roughly

likes to use her fingers while she eats you out too. just overall really handsy

REALLY possessive over your body, but especially your pussy. she seriously worships it

doesn’t really talk a lot, mostly just groaning/growly type noises. will occasionally say something like “you’re mine” or “you belong to me”

gets sooo excited when she can tell you’re about to cum lmao she watches you SO intently with her big doe eyes. she has no idea how cute she looks (don’t tell her or she’ll get flustered 😹😹)

smugly waits for you to tell her how amazing it was afterwards

[sorcerous-caress]

Type of romantic gifts they'd give you

[Bg3, fluff, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, Astarion, Laezel, Halsin, Minthara, Karniss]

Wyll

Flowers. Each bouquet conveys a different meaning and tells a hundred tales about his feelings for you. From the petal colours to the delicate ribbon holding the stems together, not a single detail was overlooked.

Enteries to both worlds. Invites to the most eloquent galas reserved for the noble class, elegent clothes and glittering jewellery. And warm heartfelt welcomes into the most popular tavrens for adventurers, even the dangerous ones greet you and Wyll with cold drinks and a warm meal.

A shoulder to lean on, someone to be your own hero. The royalty treatment becomes the norm for you, a quiet dance in your shared home, swaying slowly as the rain scatters against the windows outside.

.

Karlach

Cheesy handmade coupons for hugs. Physical affection is a big part of the way she shows love, yet no hugs feel better than the ones she knows both of you want, rather than only her. These hand drawn coupons are to give her reassurance in a way that you also crave her embrace as much as she does.

Taking you out to her favourite spots. Introducing you to all her past and current friends. Absolutely involving you in every aspect of her inner circles and slowly integrating you into her world. She wants all the people that she loves to know each other, to be there, and to support each other. Friends, family, and neighbours, she craves a community.

Carrying your stuff. Be it your bags, equipment, or anything. She enjoys being strong for you, never letting you lift a heavy thing ever. Giving you her jacket if you get cold, even switching your shoes if yours are uncomfortable. Dress however you want, she knows how to fight after all.

.

Gale

Homecooked meals. Frozen soup in food containers. You'll never go hungry with him around. Love is a major ingredient in each dish he makes, recipes passed down from generations. Restaurants' food becomes dull in comparison. No bakery dessert can compare to his home baked pie.

A picnic near the sea side. It's windy, the air is refreshing and nice. Waves come crashing gently, almost brushing against your feet before retreating back. Tara purrs in your lap, her wings warming your hand underneath it as you scratch her fur. Gale is by your side, telling you about a new discovery he made in his research. Content in staying by your side despite the crown laying at the bottom of the ocean in front of you.

Constellations seeming brighter, the sky looks as if it held twice as many stars than usual. There's a sparkle in his eyes, wrinkles at their edges from his smile.

.

Shadowheart

Wine/non-alcoholic drinks and sweets. She has a taste for delicacies and sharing them with you. Whatever she picks, it's always somehow very rich in flavour, melts against the tongue, and the aftertaste is an experience by itself.

Takes you to her home, visiting her parents who welcomed you as if you were another child of theirs. For the first time in her life, she has a family, and she wants to include you in it. You are a part of it, after all. A part of her.

Nursing your sickness away, sticking with you through thick and thin. Even at your most ill of states. She doesn't pat an eye at you throwing up, sneezing, or not having the energy to shower. She helps you through it. She never judges you over it, unconditional love in its purest forms as she ensures your recovery.

.

Astarion

Precious poetry he wrote himself. As much as he scoffs over anything too chessy, he can't help using his mother tongue and spinning endless lines about you in elvish in his private journal. On the rare occasion, giving you a glimpse through it. Pretending to leave his journal open by pure coincidence in front of you, on the exact page of the peom with your name on it.

The both of you traverse the underdark. He takes you to a special spot he found under a sussur tree. The blue glow of the silver branches lights up the edges of his hair like a halo, and your eyelids feel heavy with your head on his lap.

Stiching the holes in your clothes. Maintaining them in his free time and making sure they are cared for. Each piece that might hold a sentimental value to you or a precious memory receives special treatment from him. Sometimes, he stiches a joke or two into your undergarments that you don't realise until much later on.

.

Laezel

Gifts you a sharp and expertly smithed sword. Silver in colour with various ruby red stones decorating the handle, it feels at home in your grip, specifically made for your hands.

Takes you as her guide through Faerun, let's you introduce her to the places you love, the things you like. You can tell her interest is genuine, he curiosity is evident as she tries everything you recommend to her.

Reads to you, each night she'd indulge your curiosities and read one of the many githyanki literature disks you've accumulated. Her voice never tires, she pronounces each word with care and emotion. It's beyond soothing, even her comments inbetween narrating the story never fail to make you smile.

.

Halsin

Blessings of nature extend to you as well. The birds don't fly away when you approach, the tree branches don't get caught in your clothes, and the bugs take a polite detour around you as they crawl. He shares the love he received with you.

You've never seen so many children rush to you before, look up to you with respect, and search for guidance. He grants you the opportunity to raise the ones who will hold the torch after us, to imped your wisdom upon them, and help shape a better future.

Never growing cold again, buried deep against his soft fur as gaint bear paws hold you so softly. Despite the pouring snow outside, you sink deeper into his warm embrace. Cute round ears flicker in the corner of your vision, and you can't help but rub them alongside his soft belly.

.

Minthara

jewellery, each one is unique and more expensive than the last. Various earrings with pearls and necklaces with glittering diamonds. Even a special one that hugs your neck deliciously, with her name on it. Body accessories hugging your curves and wrapping around you. A pair of matching rings.

Takes you into her heart, behind the iron walls, behind the mazes of ice. Shows you her tender beating vulnerable flesh, the small kindness she protected so fiercely and hid from the world. Her true love, yours for the taking and yours alone.

The disembodied heads of your enemies in a gift box wrapped for you, everyone who has ever wronged you has their skulls displayed on the shelves. She becomes your blade, your sword and shield.

.

Karniss

Prayers. Offers them to you as he kneels, talking in a hushed tone as he begs a greater being for your safety, for your heart, and for you love. For their blessings upon him to shield you from the darkness, his split mind making him seeth in anger and hatred at all those who dared hurt or question you.

Brings you to his nest, a small cave with tight webs shielding the entrance. He teaches you how to slip through them, holds you close as he lifts you in his arms and makes passage inside. You're a very welcome addition to his home, his sanctuary.

Gifts you his venom regularly. Whether it's a kiss as his fangs slip past your soft lips and bleed venom down your throat, or a bite into the soft flesh of your neck that injects it directly into your veins. He builds up your resistance slowly so he may protect you from himself and anyone who tries to steal your life away.

[thehistoriccemetery]

BG3: Reader is Kidnapped/Tortured

This one started as a Shadowheart oneshot, but I decided to expand it to include Lae’zel, Karlach, and Minthara as well.

Let me know your favorites! I’m looking to expand more of my stuff into one shots, so it’s good information to have!

Content Warning for torture (obviously)

Shadowheart

When the days adventuring party returns without you, her blood immediately runs cold. They didn’t just come back without and leave you out there right?

When they inform her that you’ve been taken by the cloister, her face goes pale.

It takes Karlach and Wyll on either side of her to get her eased down onto a bedroll and breathing regularly. You were gone.

And to make matters worse, Viconia DeVir had you in her grip. Even with her amnesia, she could recall just how cruel the woman was.

The party had made great strides in passively finding clues about the location of the House of Grief, but they were still yet to find it.

Finding it had now jumped from a passive priority to the single most important thing they could be doing.

Shadowheart spent most of that night weeping in frustration at her inability to remember. She had grown up there for gods sake. The past 40 years at least had been spent in that damned house.

In the end, it was actually Astarion who finally discovered the sanctuary’s location. It was decided that he and Shadowheart would be the two best suited to sneak in and retrieve you.

When they found you, you were lying on the house’s marble floor, chained up to rigs that came out of the ground. The chain around your neck only barely allowed you to sit up to look at your rescuers.

“Shadowheart? Shadowheart is that you?” You whispered into the dark room. You could only see two silhouettes, but the quaffed elven hair of Asterion and the pointy crown of Shadowheart gave it away.

You instinctively tried to rush towards her, only to be stopped by the strain of your restraints. It didn’t much matter though, because Shadowheart was at your side in a matter of seconds.

She stroke your cheek, paying special attention to cut that stretched across your face. She was quick to move around to other parts of your body, stopping to carefully examine each of your wounds. Your restraints left you unable to reach out to her in anyway.

“Shadowheart, please, you have to get out of here, now,” you nearly cry. “They’re looking for you.” Astarion joins the two of you on the ground, getting to work at picking the several locks that held you in place.

It takes her a moment to register what you were saying. Her first thought is an obvious refusal, she’s not going anywhere without you.

But then the implications of your words dawn on her. They took you because they couldn’t find her. All of this torture you’ve endured, you’ve done it to protect her.

“Please Shadowheart,” you beg. “I swear I didn’t tell them anything. You’ll be safe at camp, just please go.”

Her head spins with newly uncovered memories of the torture she inflicted before the Nautaloid. She remembers how the Sharrans go about getting information from people.

“Astarion, how are coming along on those locks?” she ignores your pleas in favor of getting you free. Your upper body is now free, but he seems to be having trouble with your ankles.

“Patience, darling,” he quips, nearly earning him a slap across the face from Shadowheart.

Within the minute the shackles drop from your ankles, leaving you free to stand up on shaking legs. Shadowheart gives you a quick healing spell before asking “do you think you can make it back?”

You nod, following her and Astarion back the way they came in.

You had never been more excited to see camp than you were in that moment. You laid down face first on the plush Elfsong mattress. You hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and being tortured really took it out of you.

Shadowheart sat on the bed next to you. The fact that you laid down on your stomach did not bode well for the condition of your back.

She tugged gently at the hem of your shirt. “Arms up, love,” she cooed. You whined and crossed your arms over your chest. You didn’t want to show her what they had done.

“If you truly will not show me, I will get Jaheira to look after you,” she reasoned. “But, please, let me take care of you.” The second part was more a plea than anything.

Reluctantly, you lifted your arms and allowed her to pull the shirt over your head.

She did her best to remain stoic. She had seen endless wounds like this. She had inflicted endless wounds like this. But against her will, a sob choked its way up her throat.

The same back she had spent so many nights tracing and trailing with kisses was now so raw and bloodied, she wondered for a moment if you had any skin left.

She used every last bit of energy healing the wounds. By the time she was done she had exhausted herself too much to even make it back to her own bed.

She spent the night curled up around your legs, resting her head on your lower back. Viconia was going pay for what she’d done, she’d make sure of it.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel isn’t the usually the tactical planning type, but when you’re captured by Vlaakith’s army, she realizes this isn’t a kick-down-the-front-door type of mission.

This does not, however, make her any more patient during the planning process. The githyanki could have you floating halfway through astral plane by now.

Luckily, the gith as a whole aren’t known for their subtleties, so you’re not hard to track down.

Protection is thankfully slim enough that the party can pretty much strong arm their way to you.

When Lae’zel finds you are bound by some magical device that was, as loathe as she was to admit it, beyond her level of expertise.

You were at least conscious, which was truly remarkable given your condition. All your clothes were torn and bloodied, but the most concerning and blatant wound came for the side of your head.

Almost the entire left side of your face was completely covered in dried blood, all leading back to the gash on the side of your head that was once your left ear.

Lae’zel cursed, pointlessly kicking the arcane barrier.

You could see her shouting at Gale. Presumably she was impatiently rambling about freeing you, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying through the barrier.

All you saw was a long dagger that she pulled from her belt before storming off in the direction of your now dead captors.

Lae’zel was still gone when the party finally figured out how lower the barrier around you.

You stumbled out onto your knees and immediately found yourself surrounded by the party’s healers.

Lae’zel came stomping back moments later, carrying a small wooden bucket she didn’t have before. Likely she just found it somewhere around the gith camp.

She dropped the bucket at your feet without a word, leaving you to examine the contents for yourself.

You looked down into the bucket to find a dozen or so fleshy green ears.

You look back up at her, not sure whether to be honored or disgusted.

The smug look on her face let you know that this was certainly a gift she was proud of, so honored it is.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have plenty of choices when it comes to choosing my replacement.”

Karlach

Karlach really does try to be tactical most of the time, but you’ve been taken by none other than Lord Gortash himself.

And the idea that you are gone and she is here, at camp, while the others make a plan of how to rescue you? She can hardly contain herself.

She paces around camp, leaving a thick line of charred wood beneath her as she walks the same path over and over again.

Chewing her nails isn’t usually a nervous habit of hers but at this point she’s liable to chew her fingers off.

She logically knows it would do no good to come out guns blazing when you’re probably locked up behind the entirety of the steel watch, but worry and adrenaline nearly get ahead of her.

It is Shadowheart and Halsin who finally pull her from her thoughts. They have a plan, and much to Karlach’s relief it involves her. She was terrified they might agree upon a stealthier approach and ask her to stay behind.

She would have done it, if it were truly what was best for you. She might have burned up the entirety of the Elfsong Tavern by the time you finally got back though.

Luckily, since Karlach was mistaken by the steel watch as a defective watcher, she was actually best equipped to break in.

The plan, in whole, ran pretty smoothly. At least until the moment Karlach actually set eyes on you, bruised up and unconscious in the middle of a cell.

All bets were off after that. There was one thing that mattered and it was having you, safe with her again.

The minute it took Astarion to pick the lock was the longest of her entire life. She was nearly burning hot enough to melt through the bars herself.

The moment the door popped open, she was beside you, on her knees pulling you into her chest.

Shadowheart whisper-shouted behind her, reminding her to watch your neck and be gentle with your head. She carefully situated her large hand to cradle your head.

She rocked back and forth, trying to soothe her own panicked heart. “Hey bub, it’s me. I came to rescue you. I… please wake up. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

When you didn’t ever stir, Karlach looked up at Halsin and Shadowheart, eyes brimming with tears and worry. “They aren’t waking up. Why aren’t they waking up?”

Halsin joined Karlach on the ground, leaning to put his head on your chest. “Their heart continues to beat and their lungs draw breath, but they are weak. We must get them to camp.”

There was an incredibly brief argument about who was best fit to carry you, given that your skin was already starting to redden from Karlach’s heat, but her bottom lip quivered at even the mention of you leaving her arms.

When they managed to get you back to the Elfsong, Karlach was reluctantly convinced to lay you down on your bed.

She winced when she saw the small burns starting to form on the side of your body she had held to her own. Your left cheek was already starting to blister. Maybe she should’ve let Halsin carry you after all.

The healers came by to try and figure what had happened to you. You had no visible injuries, aside from the minor burns, yet you were still unable to be stirred.

It was actually Minthara who suggested they may have inflicted mental torture rather than physical, similar to what was inflicted on her at Moonrise.

The idea made Karlach burst into uncontrolled sobs. “You think they may have been erased?!”

Minthara looked sympathetically down at Karlach, but didn’t have an answer for her.

The party collectively decided that the only thing they could do is wait and let you rest.

Afraid to burn you with the fire that courses through her veins, Karlach restrained herself from crawling into bed with you. Instead she knelt next to the bed, resting her head on the mattress and reaching up to stroke your body.

She couldn’t sleep at all that night, only stroke your burned cheek and cry softly into your mattress.

She started to talk to you, talking about all the things she’s like to do with you when all of this was over.

“Maybe we’ll get a little place in Lower City, next to the water so we can watch the sunsets with all the boats ‘n stuff floating out in the distance. Oh! And we can go on little picnics in Bloomridge Park, and feed our leftovers to all the stray cats and dogs. Oh who am I kidding we’re taking all of them home with us. We’re gonna have a whole farmhouse if you can’t stop me.”

When you finally do wake up, Karlach wraps her arms around in a hug so tight you nearly suffocate. She eventually settles to sit in your lap while you gently stroke her hair.

Gortash better start counting because his days are dangerously numbered.

Minthara

The moment Minthara finds out you’ve been taken by Orin, her heart nearly stops beating.

One moment it was you, the love of her life, standing before her. Then, through the breaking of necks and cracking of bones, she finds herself face to face with one of her few fears. Orin the Red.

How could she fall for this again? Her head spins with the thought of all the things Orin may be doing to you. She knows you could hold your own, but Orin had a way of breaking the unbreakable.

Sometimes, with how loyally she followed you, it was easy to forget that Minthara was used to being the one in charge. A lot had changed since you met her as the Nightwarden.

But it all comes back quickly as she barks out orders to the now leaderless party. They were marching on the Temple of Bhaal, now. Minthara was prepared to take on the god of murder himself if it meant saving you.

As tempting as it was to charge straight into the temple, it left you all with little hope of survival. She decided the party’s presence near the temple would be enough to lure Orin out, leaving her an open opportunity to slip in.

Orin’s tactless blood thirst made the plan go over all too well. She couldn’t resist the smell of fresh unspilled blood at her doorstep.

By the time Minthara got to you, you were weak but still painfully conscious. You were hanging over an alter like a sacrifice by meat hooks that cleaved into your skin.

You had been tortured in true Bhaalist fashion. While your body displayed clear evidence of the slicing and cleaving, your mind was even more clouded by the things you had been forced to do and endure. It made you even more sympathetic to Minthara’s past.

Minthara climbed onto the unholy alter and began to remove you from the cruel hooks. She ignored your weak protestations, refusing to even look you in the eyes.

She resisted any urge to comfort you, pushing all the softness from her mind until the mission was complete and you were safe. She did not speak, fearing she may distract herself for the task at hand.

She only allowed for a brief moment when she picked you up and felt your throw your arms around her neck. You curled into her stomach with a choked sob and cried “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you better than to think you are foolish. Orin is cunning, persistent, and full of deceit. I do not fault you for what has happened.”

Escaping the temple was easier than getting in. She wordlessly worked her way back to the Elfsong with the ease of someone who wasn’t carrying a bloodied body.

She did what she could to heal you herself, given that none of the others had returned yet. A mildly concerning tidbit that seemed not to faze Minthara in the slightest.

It wasn’t until she was positive you would be okay that she allowed herself to soften, running her hands through your blood crusted hair and gently cleaning you with a dampened rag.

She paid little mind to the rest of the party, who returned looking a little worse for wear. She was disappointed but not surprised to hear that they had failed to kill Orin.

She recruited Jaheira to assist in your healing. She trusted her more than Shadowheart. She never let go of your hand, even when you squeezed so hard you thought you may have broken her fingers as Jaheira patched wounds with a variety of burning liquids.

She laid next to you on the bed, resting her head gently against your stomach and allowing you to stroke her head. She wasn’t bothered by the filth and blood that covers nearly every inch of you.

“We will make her pay for what she’s done to you. What she’s done to us. We will match every scar she’s inflicted tenfold until not even Bhaal with recognizes his own blood,” she swears, placing a gentle kiss on your stomach.