#wyll getting swept into dances!!!

[wheretheresawyll]

*Wyll/Astarion*

*Wyll/Astarion but it's about Astarion's trauma and Astarion's healing and Astarion's fairytale romance and Astarion being treated right and Wyll is barely acknowledged in the slightest despite being literally half of the pairing*

[kurczakmarty]

Anyways I’m really sorry for all this Gale posting, I just care him yknow.

[moonselune]

Omg I’m so happy to have found someone as talented as you are that writes for Minthy ♥️

Can you please do a jealous Minthara punishing female reader because she danced with Wyll. Ty!!

Oh love love love love love love love this request and thank you so much for your kind words xox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara x f!reader | Just a dance

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The night had been one of celebration, a rare moment of respite where you allowed yourself to let loose. The campfire crackled, laughter filled the air, and music played, luring everyone to dance. You had found yourself swept up in the moment, twirling and laughing with Wyll, the dashing Blade of Frontiers.

He was a good dancer, probably one of the best dance partners you had in a while. You two matched moves toe-to-toe and put on a good show for the others. His charming smile and infectious energy made the dance enjoyable, but it was innocent.

You had no idea of the storm brewing within Minthara, who watched from the shadows, her eyes narrowing with each passing second.

As the music faded and the night grew late, you felt a hand grip your wrist with surprising strength. Before you could react, Minthara pulled you away from the camp, her expression dark and unreadable. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of jealousy and possessiveness, and you knew you were in trouble.

"Minthara, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as she marched you into the privacy of your shared tent. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she purposefully tripped you and pushed you against the bedroll, her hands firm and unyielding.

"You think you can dance with him, flaunt yourself like that, and not face any consequences?" she hissed, her breath hot against your ear.

"It was just a dance," you tried to protest, but Minthara's grip tightened, silencing you.

"Just a dance?" she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You belong to me. Only me."

Her eyes bore into yours, and you saw the intensity of her emotions laid bare. There was no reasoning with her when she was like this, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

Without another word, she began her work. Her lips found your neck, and she bit down hard, marking you with a fierce possessiveness. You gasped at the sudden pain, but it quickly morphed into a heady mixture of pleasure and your submission followed quickly afterwards. Her hands roamed your body, leaving bruises in their wake, each one a testament to her claim over you.

"Minthara, please," you tried to speak, but she silenced you with a growl, her fingers digging into your hips.

"You don't get to plead," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You need to be reminded who you belong to." Her teeth grazed your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys that would be impossible to hide. Each mark was a declaration, a visible reminder to everyone of her dominance.

Your body responded to her touch, a confusing blend of pain and arousal making you dizzy. You knew there was no use resisting; Minthara was relentless when it came to staking her claim. As she moved lower, her hands gripping your thighs, you could only gasp and cling to her, your protests turning into moans.

"You're mine," she whispered against your skin, her voice softer now but no less intense. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

What followed was a blur of passion and possession, Minthara's need to assert her dominance drove her actions intensely. By the time she was done, her claim staked, your body was a canvas of her marks, each bruise and hickey a testament to her jealousy love. Your breasts, your shoulders, your back, your thighs, your hips, nowhere had been saved from Minthara's tirade.

As you lay there, breathless and exhausted, Minthara finally softened. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you possessively, pressing softer kisses to the temple of your head. You smiled and leant in to her touch, lazily drawing figures on her arm with your index finger as she held you.

"You are mine," she repeated, her voice gentler now, filled with a fierce kind of love. You nodded, too drained to speak, but your heart swelled with affection for her. Despite her abrasiveness, you knew she loved you deeply.

"I'm yours," you whispered, snuggling into her embrace. Minthara kissed your forehead, her fingers tracing the marks she had left on your body.

"Never forget it," she murmured, her jealousy finally beginning to ebb away, giving way to a tender protectiveness. She couldn't lose you to anyone else, wouldn't lose you.

You closed your eyes, feeling safe and cherished in her arms. The night had been intense, but it was a reminder of the depth of Minthara's feelings for you. As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that no matter what, you were loved and claimed by your darling fierce drow beside you.

Bonus ! :

You stumbled out of the tent, a towel wrapped round you as you headed for the river, hoping the cool water would bring you some relief to the pleasurable aches that tortured your body. You had assumed everyone was still in their tent, preparing for the day, you knew Minthara had gone out with Karlach, hunting for breakfast. But the gods were not smiling upon you that day.

"Oh my god, Lae'zel!" Astarion sang out with mock shock, as he pointed at you, just emerging from his tent, "Our dearest leader has been turned into one of your Githyanki fellows!"

Lae'zel stepped out of her tent with crossed arms, expecting not to be amused by Astarion's jest but when she took in your bruised form a smile tugged on her lips. "Kin, tell me, from what creche do you hail from?"

"Can you not tell? She is from creche Mintha-OW" Astarion's taunting got cut off by you throwing a nearby ladle at him, and you quickly stormed off to the river. Although you were irritated, you could not deny the sense of pride, bearing Minthara's marks. You felt cherished, adored even.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I adored writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it ! -Seluney xox

[august-anon]

Dancing Away

Hello hello! Here is my @squealing-santa gift for the very cool @/wrestling!anon!!

I tried to pick out two of your prompts and did my best to hit them both, so I hope you enjoy! I also only went with two of the characters listed (Astarion and Wyll) because I feel like I can't quite grasp Gale's characterization yet, and I'm still only in Act 2 of my playthrough thanks to work so I have no idea what Halsin's deal is yet lol. I figured I'd write best with my own game's romance (Wyll) and the character I get the most spoilers for online (Astarion) lol. I hope my characterization works out well enough, and once again, I hope you (and other readers) enjoy!!

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Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Wyll

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Astarion/Switch!Wyll

Word Count: 2250 words

Summary: When Wyll asked Astarion to dance, he did not expect it to end in such a ticklish situation. He had no intentions of letting this go without a bit of revenge.

[ao3 link]

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Dancing, Astarion thought. How sickeningly sweet.

But of course, it was Wyll. Astarion wasn’t sure what else he had expected. He was rather the fairytale prince type, not really the kind you take for a quick romp in the forest. In fact, Astarion doubted Wyll would agree even if he suggested it. A younger man may have found it romantic, but Astarion only found it to be a hindrance. It tended to be much harder to manipulate people without sex involved, in his experience.

That is, if Astarion even wanted to keep going through with that plan. It was all so much easier before feelings got involved.

Of course, none of his plans meant that Astarion was willing to drop his snark entirely. “Tell me, does this actually work for you?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow at him and, of course being the cheeky little thing he was, suddenly pushed Astarion out into a wide spin before pulling him close once more. “You tell me. You’re the one who accepted the offer to dance.”

“Come now, darling. You can’t tell me that you don’t crave a bit more… physicality, hm? Intimacy?” He pulled Wyll even closer, adjusting his grip to be just this side of innocent.

Wyll laughed, his eyes cutting to the side to avoid Astarion’s. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken, could smell the blood rush beneath his skin.

“I’d say this is rather physical already,” Wyll said, “wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” 

Astarion snuck a few fingers beneath the hem of Wyll’s tempting little cropped shirt, sliding them up his side – only, he didn’t get very far. Wyll made a strange, strangled noise in the back of his throat as he buckled in on that side, now dancing away from Astarion instead of alongside him. Astarion froze in his tracks.

“Too far?”

Wyll stood up straight, rubbing at the back of his neck with that horribly endearing self-conscious chuckle of his. “No, no, sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He chuckled again. “Just a bit ticklish there, is all.”

A predatory grin spread across Astarion’s lips and he swept in close to Wyll once more, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him flush. He watched Wyll’s throat bob. “So open with such sensitive information, my dear.” He tsked. “Seems a bit unwise, doesn’t it?”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Everyone’s at least a little ticklish somewhere – would do me no use in hiding it, now would it?” 

As he spoke, Wyll’s fingers snuck up Astarion’s own side, repeating the same motion that had Wyll dancing out of his arms. Astarion gasped at the sensation, wrenching himself from their embrace entirely on instinct. The sensation was unfamiliar and familiar all at once – something he knew he had to have felt before, but had no recollection of experiencing. He couldn’t help but stare down at his body as if it had betrayed him.

“See? Everyone’s ticklish somewhere.” Wyll paused, stepping closer. “Did– did you not know you were?”

“Trapped under control of my vampire master the past two hundred years – would you?” Astarion scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not exactly the time for warm fuzzies.”

“No. No, I suppose not.” After a moment, Wyll stepped closer again, lightly resting his hands against Astarion’s hips. “Never too late to find out, you know?”

Astarion couldn’t help but gape at him. “Are you suggesting I willingly allow you to exploit a weakness of mine for, what, your own enjoyment?” He smirked. “Why, Wyll, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Wyll laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course not – it’s just, you ought to know your own vulnerabilities, should you not?”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. Wyll’s grin turned sheepish – but only slightly.

“Alright. I am known to have a bit of a mischievous side.” His thumbs rubbed circles into the divots of Astarion’s hips, just the right amount of pressure to avoid a tickle. “But I would never take advantage of you in that way if you didn’t wish it.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, a fond smile spreading across his lips without his permission. “Gods, don’t be such a hero.”

The words were barely out of Astarion’s mouth before the soothing circles at Astarion’s hips became gentle squeezing. An undignified noise escaped him before he was able to seal his lips shut. He doubled over and scrabbled for Wyll’s wrists.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no,’” Wyll said, his voice filled with so much humor and fondness that it might’ve made Astarion feel ill if he hadn’t already been preoccupied.

“You ass,” Astarion replied instead.

Wyll clicked his tongue. “Maybe this will help teach you some manners.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a rush of air as Wyll started wiggling his fingers up Astarion’s sides. While the squeezing had been gentle enough, the skittering of Wyll’s fingers was absurdly soft. The light touch was maddening in a way that Astarion couldn’t place, sending him squirming and lost to mortified giggles in mere moments. All of Cazadors horrible tortures, with his cold hands and rough grip, all of the people he’d lured back with his body, with their hungry touches and grasping hands, none of them could have prepared him for this – the delicate fingers of someone who cared for him (albeit through his own manipulation) picking him apart with such ease.

And the worst part was, Astarion found that he didn’t quite mind it. In fact, he actually rather liked it, as horribly embarrassing as it was. It was a kind of intimacy that he had never considered before, and one that wasn’t tainted with nearly so much history. And of course, the handsome smile spreading across Wyll’s face at Astarion’s ridiculous reactions was quite the bonus, even if it was at his expense.

Of course, it became much harder to think the longer Wyll took advantage of his sensitivities. Astarion had no idea that tickling could be so distracting, so consuming. He doubled over as those skittering fingers reached his ribcage, his hands coming up to try and muffle the laughter now escaping him. Wyll laughed along, and they both laughed harder when he managed to maneuver his hands up into Astarion’s underarms, causing him to stumble to the ground.

“Get out of there!” Astarion said, half-heartedly trying to shove Wyll away with one hand, while trying his hardest to shield his reactions with the other.

“If that’s really what you want!”

Astarion quickly learned that was the wrong choice, as Wyll shimmied his fingers out of Astarion’s underarms and swiftly set to poking and prodding around Astarion’s stomach. Through squinted eyes, Astarion could see Wyll watching his every jump and flinch, trying to catch his reactions through his fingers, no doubt cataloguing them to use exploit later.

“See, this isn’t quite so effective.” Wyll punctuated the sentence with a few playful squeezes to his sides.

“Seems plenty effective to me!” Astarion griped, trying to grasp for his hands.

Wyll cocked his head with a grin. “Oh, it certainly works, but you seem to do better with a… softer touch.”

With that, the skittering fingers were back, and a mortifyingly high-pitched noise burst from Astarion’s lips. It was absurd how much the method could change the intensity of the tickle, and even more absurd how badly a touch so soft could affect him. And of course, he was proved right in his previous hypothesis when Wyll seemed to focus particularly on the places he had made note of previously. All Astarion could do was roll around in the dirt and dead leaves, too uncoordinated to do anything to save himself even if he wanted to.

And then Wyll started jumping between certain areas of his upper body at random. His stomach, his ribs, his stomach again, his underarms, his hips, his sides – Astarion could barely keep track of the sensation. All he could do was laugh, no matter where it showed up next. His hips seemed to be particularly weak to this type of touch, and Wyll certainly enjoyed his time taking advantage of that. Even still, though all the playful torment, Astarion couldn’t say he exactly minded, though he would never let Wyll know.

And then Wyll’s fingers jumped up to Astarion’s neck, no warning at all. The tickle was still there, and certainly still effective, but Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time in all his squirming, he finally lurched away from the touch. One hand flew down to support himself as he tried to sit up, the other flying up to pry Wyll’s fingers away. 

Ever so attentive, Wyll pulled his hands away immediately. Instead, he moved to help Astarion sit up, rubbing his back as if to help him catch his breath despite the fact that Astarion didn’t really need to breathe anyways. It was a sweet gesture. Wyll was a fool. 

“No neck,” Wyll said. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Astarion scoffed. “Please, as if there would be a next time in the first place. No, you’ve had your fun now, darling.”

Wyll only shook his head, a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Astarion.”

“Speaking of fun–” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle his curls back into place “– I believe it’s my turn.”

Wyll’s eyes went wide, but Astarion pulled him down to be flush with Astarion’s chest before he could make any moves. Though Wyll put up some semblance of a struggle, Astarion was easily able to roll them over, allowing him to loom over Wyll. It was almost endearing how little he was trying to actually fight back. Not to mention, few people would trust a vampire to put them on their back like this. If Astarion’s heart had still had a beat, he was worried it might’ve skipped one or two. As it was, he could hear Wyll’s heart give a stutter of its own.

Wyll gave him another one of those charming nervous chuckles. “Now Astarion, I’m sure we can talk about this.”

Astarion grinned, lowering his voice into a purr. “Oh my dear, you can talk all you wish. In fact, why don’t we start with whichever patch of skin is most likely to make you scream.”

“I’m no fool, Astarion. No man in his right mind would give up such sensitive information so willingly.”

Astarion leaned in closer, so his lips were brushing against Wyll’s ear. “Sensitive information indeed, hm?”

Wyll shivered, but at this point, Astarion was unable to tell if it was from pleasure or from ticklishness. Either way worked in his favor, so instead he set about his revenge. He started at Wyll’s hips, just as Wyll had begun with him, and started wiggling his fingers up Wyll’s sides and ribs. His giggles were music to Astarion’s ears as he shimmied back and forth beneath Astarion’s form. He tossed his head back with his giggling, baring his neck so temptingly, and Astarion couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed with his laughter.

Still, Astarion wasn’t quite getting the reactions he desired. The giggles he garnered between Wyll’s hips and underarms were adorable, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. Astarion jumped down to Wyll’s sides again, giving them a few quick squeezes. He may have taken more than a few pointers from Wyll’s own attack, but it wasn’t as though he had much experience of his own to draw upon. Astarion felt his lips bloom into a devious grin at the flinch the touch garnered him and the louder laughter that followed.

“I see – you’re a bit opposite to me, then.”

Astarion could practically smell the blood as it rushed to Wyll’s cheeks, even if the blush didn’t show on his complexion. For the first time since Astarion began, Wyll started shoving at Astarion’s hands, though the laughter had clearly weakened him.

“Shut up!”

Astarion tsked. “Who knew the Blade of Frontiers was so easily embarrassed.”

He moved his prodding and squeezing inward, and finally Wyll shouted out a frantic, “Shit!” through his laughter. Wyll lurched up and tried to double over, not making it very far thanks to Astarion still looming over him. He scrambled for Astarion’s hands, fumbling blindly and ultimately making no difference to his torment.

“Ah – have I truly found my target so easily?”

“Yes!” Wyll shouted as he collapsed back into the dirt, his head thrown back once more as laughter wracked his body. “Yes, Astarion, please!”

Astarion slowed his fingers to a creeping spider, keeping Wyll in near-frantic giggles even with the light touch. He hummed thoughtfully. “But darling, how can I really be sure without completing my exploration? After all, most people would admit anything under torture.”

Wyll’s head tipped up and he stared at Astarion with wide eyes. Even still, he didn’t tell Astarion to stop. His blood may have been rushing, but it certainly wasn’t due to fear.

“Wait–” His voice was giggly and bright, his eyes clear from any distress.

Astarion hummed. “Condolences, but I believe I’m obligated to investigate further.” He leaned in close, their noses brushing. Astarion could almost taste Wyll’s giggles on his own lips, but he didn’t dare close the distance himself – he had to play this game at Wyll’s pace, after all. “Best prepare yourself for a long evening, my sweet.”

He certainly didn’t imagine the way Wyll’s heart sped up at those words.

[lavenderfluorite14]

A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 13: Party

Summary: A party brings up bad memories for Astarion.

Rating/Warnings: PG-13, Angstarion.

Read on AO3. Chapter 12❤️‍🔥.

A/N: Healing isn't linear :((

Halsin demands blood. He cannot rest until the balance of nature is restored, and that will only be achieved when the leaders of the Absolute’s riotous horde are dead.

Astarion immediately frowns at the idea. This is not their fight. They have too much on their plate already to risk their lives, yet again, for ungrateful druids and weak Tieflings. If Halsin wants to keep fighting, well, then he can bloody well die on his own time.

It’s a terrible idea. It doesn’t benefit them. It’s wildly dangerous.

Of course Tav says yes. At least they get to keep killing.

~ Somehow they all survive the slaughter. Soaked in blood but still alive, Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, and Tav burst out of the temple and into the bright light of day where an enraged mob of goblins waits for them. The wyvern toxin had done its foul work: about half of their number had fallen to its venom. But those that remain bristle with fury and accusation.

“Z’ose strangers musta done it!” One yells and the entire host turns on their company.

But before Astarion can nock a poisoned arrow in his bow, the courtyard ahead of them erupts in flame. The goblins crumble to ash as Gale, Wyll, and Karlach breach the hall, ready to join the fray. Truly a sight for sore eyes.

~

The day is theirs. Halsin invites them all back to the Grove to discuss the revelation of Moonrise Towers, the ominous stronghold where the Absolute has been amassing power. But they don’t talk for long: their party is swarmed by excited Tieflings as soon as they pass through the Grove’s ivy covered gate. The refugees are overjoyed to hear that the goblin horde is slain and that the road is safe enough to travel again.

This warrants a celebration, apparently. A celebration that Tav will be hosting at their camp. With their food and wine.

Oh goodie. At least Zevlor had the decency to collect a reward for them, as meager as it is.

~

The Tieflings arrive at sunset and in no time their camp is overrun with merriment. Cal and Lia pester Rolan to set off fireworks, and the pompous aspiring wizard begins a light show that dazzles the country bumpkins. Alfira plucks an upbeat tune on her lute, as best she can anyway, and the guests begin to sing and dance along to the wavering beat. Karlach is in the middle of the dance floor, cutting quite the rug, while Lae’Zel grills Zevlor about his time with the Hellriders over a mug of warm ale. Scratch zigzags in and out of the crowd, soaking up attention from the charmed Tieflings. Volo has amassed a small crowd, regaling the group with the tale of his daring escape from the clutches of his amorous goblin captor. Tav and Astarion are notably absent from his tale. Wyll is off somewhere, probably with his own audience of admirers. Gale shifts from foot to foot, awkwardly but contentedly observing the party from his tent as Shadowheart nurses a goblet of dark wine by herself. Even Withers, the enigmatic not-a-skeleton, seems to be enjoying himself in his dour, taciturn way. It’s like a bowstring has been cut, the tension of the past week dissipating in the warm summer night. 

Astarion sulks. He picks carefully through the bottles of wine the Tieflings had brought with them, but none of them are good. Nonetheless, he pours himself a tall glass of swill. At least he can still get drunk. 

Astarion should be in his element here. Once, he would have swept over to the most beautiful Tiefling drinking alone and asked them for a dance. But without a command puppeting his body or the inevitable deadline of the morning bearing down on him, Astarion finds that he is unsure what to do. He hangs back, scanning the crowd. He is unsure what he even wants to do.

The only person he really wants to talk to is currently busy and has been busy all night. Everyone wants to speak with Tav and jostles for her attention, dragging her into corners, then over to the makeshift bar, then onto the dance floor. She’s the belle of this backwater ball.

He recalls the lavish balls Cazador would host, the gluttonous bacchanals that always ended in bloodshed for the poor idiots foolish enough to attend. His role at those affairs had depended on his sire’s favor. But whether he was decoration or entertainment he was still Cazador’s property, to be used as he saw fit.

He watches a Tiefling brush Tav’s elbow as he refills her goblet, obviously flirting with her. Tav smiles back. Karlach catches Tav’s eye and pulls her onto the dance floor, twirling her across the dirt. The brief touch scorches her hand and Tav recoils from Karlach with a yelp of pain, but she quickly bursts into laughter when she realizes that she is unburnt. Karlach sighs with relief.

Both of them look so happy. He focuses on the tadpole, reaching out to her mind with his own. Their minds connect and a rush of giddiness, relief, anticipation, and desire sweeps through him. Tav is having a grand time.  

His tongue has pleasured almost every inch of her body and yet she has forgotten him so easily. He doesn’t even cross her mind. 

He wonders if he was just a cheap piece of fun after all. It is all he can really offer her. All he really is. When your life is confined to night after night at the bar, sex seems like a powerful intoxicant. But now that Astarion has days, possibly weeks, stretching out before him, he wonders if his allure is as powerful as he thought. Especially now that he has already given up the goods.

He doesn’t need her to fall in love, he just needs her on his side. And she is. His plan is working. It doesn't need to be more than that.

Funny. Clever. Cunning. Ambitious. Fierce. But I meant what I said, all of it.

When Rolan begins to sputter, Gale waltzes over and adds his magic to the display, upstaging him with his own accomplished wizardry. Gale sends a shower of sparkles skyward, which twist into fantastic shapes as they shoot through the air: dragons, lighting bolts, trees, and all manner of creatures drift down into the enchanted crowd. A shimmering heart lands on Astarion’s shirt, which he dispels with a curt brush of his hand.

Astarion downs the rest of his drink and immediately pours himself another. Drinking and fucking were what most people did for fun, and he wants to have fun tonight. He had used that lure many times. Why don’t you and I go back to my palace for a little bit of fun? He stares hollowly out at the partygoers, who are all enjoying themselves with thoughtless ease. He hates them for it.

Alfira calls Tav over and they huddle close in deep conversation. Astarion brushes his mind gently against hers again and he hears the rousing chord progressions of a sea shanty echo through his mind. Tav straightens up and pulls out her violin, warming up with a quick scale. If she felt either of his intrusions then she doesn’t show it. Alfira and Tav begin a duet, much to the delight of everyone. Astarion recognizes it as a favorite at the Blushing Mermaid: “The Queen’s High Seas.”

The crowd listens, charmed by the bards’ song. Mid-performance, Lakrissa steals Tav from her perch and pulls her close. Tav doesn’t miss a beat and keeps playing as the two improvise an easy two-step, dancing to the music. Lakrissa’s hand settles too comfortably on Tav’s waist.

Perhaps he should let her dally with another. And when the tryst is not as satisfying as theirs, he can swoop in afterwards and thoroughly remind her that she won’t be able to find anyone else with centuries of his experience. Then, he’ll find a way to top their Loviatan indulgence and she won’t want to stray ever again.

Or perhaps he should be the one to take another lover. Have some fun of his own. He scans the crowd of anonymous Tieflings but he barely knows any of them. Once that would not have mattered, but something about it doesn’t feel right anymore. He eyes his companions. Any of them would be an excellent choice. An excellent ally. But that doesn’t feel right either. It feels…

Astarion clutches his chalice tightly. He should waltz over there himself and cut in, take charge of the situation. If he wants Tav’s attention then he should go and get it.

But he has always been an ambush predator, picking off the drunk, the weak, and the alone. Or when he could stomach it, those he thought deserved to be killed by a vampire. He had learned that painful lesson early: stay far away from the ones he actually wants. The sweet ones didn’t deserve his poisonous attentions. Those precious moments, the ones where he could pretend he was just a simple high-elf, perhaps even a magistrate, on a date with someone who saw him and liked him, shine so brightly in his memory that they hurt to look at for too long. 

If she wanted his company, she would come and find him. But why else would she want his company, unless she simply wanted a quick romp?

Before the music ends, Astarion slips away from the warm glow of the party and into the shadows where he belongs. He just needs some metaphorical air. He wanders over to the edge of the Chionthar, which laps lazily at the embankment they are camped on. Astarion sighs heavily and considers sitting miserably in the sand.

“What are you doing out here? You should be enjoying the party,” Wyll calls from his own seat amongst the reeds.

“I could ask the same thing of you,” Astarion answers, jumping back with surprise. He decides to remain standing. A monster should never be alone with a monster hunter. Especially if he seems kind and noble.

“I was hoping no one would notice I was gone,” Wyll says with a wry smile. Astarion quirks an eyebrow.

“I thought the Blade would enjoy mingling with his adoring fans,” Astarion teases. But his barb has a touch too many teeth to it.

“I doubt they would be so adoring if they could see me now.” Wyll’s horns glint in the soft moonlight, which throws the scars on his face into sharp relief. He sighs, a weary, heavy thing. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the Grove, but I unsettle them, deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone, nowadays.” He brings his hands up, and Astarion can see that Wyll’s nails have sharpened into bonafide claws. “You don’t want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don’t taste half as good with this blasted forked-tongue,” Wyll laments.

“Oh, I don’t know. The horns are rather fetching, actually.” The compliment slips off of Astarion’s tongue on reflex, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Wyll thinks that he has become a beast, but to Astarion he has only become even more devilishly handsome.

“You don’t have to mock me,” Wyll replies with angry skepticism.

“If I was mocking you, you would know, darling” Astarion returns. “Although it is pretty ironic, the monster hunter becoming the monster. What did they say about ‘he who fights monsters?’”

“That he should be careful, lest he become one,” Wyll finishes. “Ironic indeed.” Astarion snorts and Wyll gives him a stern look. “You mock me again,” Wyll says, his tone hardening into a challenge.

“It’s just that, I happen to know a little something about monsters,” Astarion says, taking a dainty sip of his wine. He’s already had more than enough, but he might as well finish this glass too. “When I first changed, the transformation was agony. I spent the next few months in and out of delirium. No doubt exacerbated by starvation, but it took me years to adjust to my new body.” And it hasn’t been mine since. “It’s hard. But you will get through it.” Astarion flashes Wyll a cheeky, fanged grin. “And eventually, you may even find that you like it.”

“We’ve become very different monsters, you and I. The charms of a vampire are undeniable,” Wyll admits with a smile.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are flirting with danger,” Astarion counters smoothly. Wyll chuckles, but the warm sound quickly fades.

“The charms of a devil are much more grotesque. I’m not a man, not a Tiefling, but some other abomination entirely. I’m alone.” Wyll pauses and Astarion does not know what to say. Usually Wyll is so stalwart, an incorruptible bastion of hope. Not tonight, apparently. Neither of them are quite themselves, it seems. “But you’re right. I will survive. I’ll be right as rain in no time,” Wyll ends sadly. 

They lapse into almost companionable silence. The river ripples before them, the soft sound of its churning waters suddenly deafening. Somewhere behind them the sounds of a party in full swing can be heard. It’s a clear night and the stars twinkle and dance above them. It should be lovely.

Astarion is drunk enough to consider begging Wyll to kill Cazador for him. He wonders if Wyll would like the damsel-in-distress routine or if he should skip the act and just drop to his knees.

“What do you mean, ‘exacerbated by starvation?’” Wyll eventually asks.

“Cazador kept us on a, shall we say, strict diet,” Astarion explains. He takes another sip of his wine. “He kept most of us fed on rotten carcasses, but he threw in whatever suited him. He liked to feed me rats and bugs.” Astarion laughs a dry and bitter chuckle. “Once he gave Petras a dog. We never heard the end of his bragging.”

“Had you ever fed on human blood before?” Wyll presses.

“No. Not until-“ Astarion stops himself. Everybody knows, but it still feels too vulnerable. “Well. Not until quite recently.”

“That must have been very special for you,” Wyll observes. Astarion examines his glass.

“Yes, because dinner is so special,” Astarion retorts sourly. It was special. It’s pathetic.

“Well, if she is just ‘dinner’ to you, I suppose that means there is nothing of consequence between the two of you?” Wyll assumes.

“I didn’t say that,” Astarion says.

“Then what did you mean?” Wyll is relentless.

“I-" Astarion begins, but he cannot find the right words. His tongue is too sluggish, the wine too thick.

“It’s alright not to know,” Wyll offers, rising from his seat. He claps Astarion on the arm in a gesture of comfort.

“Why do you all keep asking me this?” Astarion hisses, recoiling from the kind touch. Wyll withdraws, surprised.

“Because Tav is a special woman. And you aren’t the only one who has noticed,” Wyll explains, a grim edge to his voice.

“Get to the point,” Astarion orders. 

“About half the camp admires her but has held back out of courtesy for you. She should be treated like a lady.” Wyll squares himself, firmly facing Astarion now. “But if you cannot or will not romance her the way she deserves, then you should know that there are others who would be happy to.”

“And are you among that number?” Astarion bristles. He squares his body too, meeting the challenge. Wyll looks him up and down, shaking his head sadly.

“Good night, Astarion,” he says, turning to go.

“If you think you can steal her from me then you are welcome to try. I’m sure Tav would adore a passionate night of poetry recitation,” Astarion calls after him. Wyll looks back over his shoulder, his red eye gleaming like a fine ruby.

“Nothing can split what is truly meant to be,” Wyll answers.

Astarion watches as Wyll strides away, disappearing into the night. He leaves the faintest whiff of sulfur in his wake.

~

Astarion quickly returns to the party. That odd little chat with Wyll was exactly the kick in the pants he needed. Why is he sitting around moping when he should be doing. The party is still in full swing but the group has finally begun to splinter off, the perfect time to pounce on one’s prey. He zeroes in on Tav, who is sitting with Shadowheart on the stool she keeps by her tent. The two of them are turned towards each other, sipping glasses of wine, leaning in and laughing at some secret joke. Astarion strides over. Tav notices him approaching and a smile breaks across her face.

“There you are! Where have y-“

“Darling,” he purrs, pulling her up and against him. He dips her slightly and Tav falls backwards, giggling in his arms. He kisses her hard and deep and soon Tav is parting her lips beneath his own. Tav moans as Astarion slips his tongue into her mouth. He wishes he could taste the wine on her tongue, but all he can taste is ash.

“Yes Astarion, where have you been,' Shadowheart asks flatly. Astarion breaks their kiss.

“Come to bed, my sweet,” Astarion whispers in her ear. He lays a lingering kiss against the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear, right at the top of her neck.

“You’re insatiable,” Tav whimpers. She threads their fingers together, clutching his hand tightly.

“And you’re just too delicious,” he replies. He pulls her towards the woods and Tav stumbles after him, smiling and laughing as if this was the perfect end to a perfect evening.

~

Chapter 14: Feast

[solace-saphylos]

I get so irredeemably angry whenever I see modded bg3 footage of Wyll's dancing scene, especially if they've swapped the model for Astarion's. On the side of the white boy - He wouldn't move like that. He would find it embarrassing at best. On the side of the black man - How dare you strip his likeness from his courtship? HE moves like that, not just because he can by schooling, but because he wants to show those moves to you! He wants to dance all pretty and poised, the Prince crowned with a devil's horns, dancing to no music but the deep seated longing in his heart to connect with yours...

I danced with Wyll, and the whole scene felt like a roller coaster. He swept me off my chair and into his world. Mind you, I didn't even kiss him, I turned my face away. He took that rejection with such grace.

A grace I do not possess myself. STOP TAKING HIS SCENE FROM HIM, LET WYLL OWN THOSE DANCE MOVES ALONE LIKE THE DEVS INTENDED REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[darkwolf76]

Wyll Week Prompt Challenge: Pact/Body Changes

Cracks, dust, and grime marred the surface of the mirror in the long forsaken house, but the light of the pixie blessing let Wyll see just enough to make out his outline, his horns curving prominently on either side of his head, and his hellfire eye glinting in the magical darkness of the shadow cursed lands.

He flinched and glanced away. He still had trouble looking at his reflection, even over a month after his transformation. He had never been a vain man by any means, but he had known he was a handsome enough, back before his visage had been tainted by the Hells. Enough men and women had told him so. He wondered what some of them would think of him they could see him now?

He looked up at the sensation of a hand on his shoulder and saw her lithe, half-elvish outline appear next to his in the shadowy reflection. A little older and more womanly than she’d been when they first met, but still just as beautiful, just as perfect in Wyll’s eyes. “Are you alright?” Seraphina asked. Their group must have noticed he fell behind, and that was never a good thing while traversing the Shadow Cursed lands.

“I’m sorry for holding the party up. I just had a moment of silly wounded pride.” He turned from the reflection towards the half-elf druid and smiled. His smile widened as his gaze swept across her spring green eyes and scarred nose.

Seraphina frowned at him as she glanced between the broken mirror and his visage. She then cupped his face between her hands, her fingers dancing along the raised ridges of cartilage that ran along cheek bones in his newish infernal form. “I don’t think it’s silly. You should be able to feel comfortable in your own skin, Wyll.”

Wyll sighed and closed his eyes, appreciating her gentle touch before he glanced at her again. “I will be…eventually.” He shrugged with a grimace. “It's jarring, even now. I’m still trying to get used to it.”

Seraphina’s fingers fluttered up to the base of his horns, rubbing the skin tenderly. “Are these still sore?”

“Yes,” Wyll admitted. Viewing his horns as an impediment and reminder of his enslavement to Mizora more than anything else, he hadn’t been keeping up with the maintenance regimen Karlach had given him to keep up their appearance. He just didn’t want to deal them yet, he supposed, as immature as that line of thinking was.

“I’ll make some salve for you when we get back to camp, and I’ll help you polish your horns up with the oil Karlach gave you.” Seraphina ran a hand along his right horn and hummed in appreciation. “We have to keep these looking their best.”

Wyll let out a low chuckle. “They look that good on me?”

Seraphina leaned in and kissed him firmly on the lips. Wyll’s hands traveled down to her hips, squeezing them lightly through her hide armor as they exchanged a few light kisses in the broken house. “I think you look better with them than you did with out,” Seraphina murmured against his cheek. “They bring out something wild in you.”

Wyll shivered at her words, but before he could respond, she pecked his cheek and pulled away, the spell broken. “Come on now, Astarion is anxious to get to Thorm mausoleum before night fall, and we don’t want an antsy vampire spawn on our hands!”

“We surely do not!” Wyll laughed as he followed her outside, feeling that perhaps his changed form wasn’t as bad as he thought.

[limpfisted]

“You are one of the most beautiful men I ever did see, Wyll Ravengard.” His fingers trace against the other’s spine, as the elf patiently circles the man, akin to a hungry beast. “And I assure you; I have seen more than your sweet and proper imagination will permit you to paint in your mind.”

Ruby eyes watch the young man with a playful glimmer, pale fingers gripping his shoulder just a tad possessively, now facing him and leaning in closer, their bodies almost touching. “Such a beautiful, soft face; fit to adorn the illustrations of fairy tales girls and boys clutch in their arms, dreaming of ballroom dances and chaste kisses.”

His fingers trace the ridges against Wyll’s throat; his gaze curious and lips curled into a playful smirk. “Skin a rich shade of umber, akin to the summer sky on the very edge of dawn. Painted with tales of heroic battles survived and countless evils vanquished.”

“A pity, it is all there for the people; and not for me.”

Wyll has flirted with the best of them. And he’s no stranger to a well-endowed woman’s carefully timed bounces as she casually mentions how strong and handsome he is. (And of course, he knows he’s strong, and handsome, every bit the hero he claims to be, and ever more humble even in his honesty about these facts as plain as his firm biceps, the allure of his scars.) When these women placed gentle, giving hands on his chest, he resisted a shiver—though never a sharp intake of breath.

It would have been taking advantage of their hospitality and kindness. They were grateful, and he appreciated their… appreciation, and…. well-intentioned interest. But Wyll would never do anything so untoward. He wanted a real romance, not a dalliance or misplaced favor to him for his service. He protects the people of the Sword Coast because it’s the right thing to do, and not for beautiful women’s time, nor their affections. (Though Wyll has sometimes wondered if he would have been able to resist a particularly beautiful man, or handsome woman.)

Perhaps that is what fascinates him so much about his relationships with his new friends.

He didn’t save them. They don’t believe they owe him anything. And while Wyll’s imagination sometimes gets away from him—new poetry litters each of his journals in the margins, musings on the shades of Lae’zels eyes, the tensing or Shadowheart’s muscles as she raises her axe, or a wine glass, the little wrinkles in Astarion’s cheeks, and in his brow, Gods, thank Balduran for the fact none of them can use detect thoughts; and that’s to say nothing of the more prolonged fantasies in his head about being swept away by Githyanki to ride dragons in the sky, or embarassingly enough, though he would never, ever admit this, saving the fair Prince Astarion from the evil vampire King, only to be swept into amazing, gothic adventures where they fought gloriously side by side against the likes of Strahd, Astarion, the plucky vampire prince, always in the softest silk shirts and leather pants, sometimes stained with blood, quipping always that he did not need to be saved, despite always managing to somehow swoon into Wyll’s arms at the end of every “chapter.” Gods help him, Wyll wouldn’t admit to any of that at knifepoint.

Needless to say, Wyll has had a lot of time to think on their travels.

So while he doesn’t shiver this time, and while he doesn’t flinch away, and while his heart skips and stutters as if its trembling in the place of his skin, and while he swallows around nothing, his throat bobbing under Astarion’s fingertips, his tongue feeling heavier and dryer and sharper in his mouth than even his fangs as he gets out the words—he doesn’t pull away. He resists the urge to crane his neck and invite Astarion closer, still. (What does a devil’s blood taste like, to a vampire? What does it feel like, to drink when starved? He imagines it’s like handfeeding a sickly lover. Pressing sweets to their tongue, cool, iced water, to help sop off a fever. Or perhaps it’s more bubbly in your stomach, acidic in the back of your throat. Can one get drunk off devil’s blood?)

Beautiful, Astarion calls him. A fairy tale prince. What magic, perfect words. Astarion, of course, could be lying.

But for all Wyll’s strengths, his heroism. For as valiant, and noble he knows he is.

He can, perhaps, get lost in fantasies, and… roleplaying.

No one can deny him this. Just a drink, a taste. No one is watching.

“A hero doesn’t have to be beautiful,” he smiles, letting out a hot breath of laughter that sounds almost like a purr. Voice heady and smooth, more confident than he feels despite the flush on his cheeks. “You and The Sword Coast just got lucky.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in fairy tales. Which was your favorite. Should I get on my knees for you, see if the glass slipper fits just right?” He takes Astarion’s hand in his, delicate. Wyll’s are calloused, too-warm, thick, but soft, despite the texture. “Would you dance with me until midnight? My hand in yours, like this? My other on your waist. Not too low. I’m a gentleman, a Prince. Chaste. I could hold you all evening like that.” He shrugs his shoulders, tilts his head. “Just talking. Just being with you.”

“I’d be heartbroken if you ran away. Though I imagine I wouldn’t need the glass slipper. I could never forget the way you look at me.”

[shimmerbeasts]

Karlach sat in her tent alone, because of her fiery engine that pulsed against her chest and ached with pain. She clutched at her front, taking a few deep breaths as the pain ripped through her. Being in charge came easily, but she usually would do things with them, tandem teams; but her pain was immense that evening so she had Lae’zel and Astarion go out in one group, and Wyll and Shadowheart for the other; leaving Gale and herself at camp. Gale had taken first watch, which meant she could get some sleep, but it was difficult that night. Memories swept through her thoughts, and the anxiety welled in her chest, making it hard to sleep. Mizora’s appearance didn’t startle her, in fact she had become accustom to it. They had worked together for years in the hells, often working as a two team group; Mizora often took more distance work with her animals while Karlach was in the melee fight up close and personal. They were the elite squad, sometimes having others under them, but Mizora and Karlach had worked together many times over. If anyone knew her well enough; it was her.

“I’m glad I did. He helps me sleep better, though I haven’t been able to hold him.” She had to keep him at a distance, so not to char his threads or destroy him. As much as Karlach didn’t like when Mizora hunted her; Mizora was the only one who actually knew her. She rested her arms against her knees as the bear floated toward her and she hesitated at first, but reached out to catch the bear. Her eyes widen, realizing her touch did singe the object, and she pulled it close against her chest. Karlach knew Mizora’s technique, she had seen it in action many times over. And yet, she still couldn’t deny the need for comfort and she had given it to her so many times. When she had been wounded in battle or punishment, Mizora always tended to her. It was a struggle between knowing Mizora’s tactics but also desperately clinging to the only kind of kindness she had. The bear fluffed up as Karlach squeezed him so tightly and glanced away in shame. “It hurts so much,” Karlach whispered as her claw tapped at the engine. “I thought you would be watching after Wyll?” The question slipped her lips, hesitating between agreeing to have her stay.

"You look worse for wear, Wyrmling."

Mizora's ruby-red eyes rushed across Karlach's chest. The Tiefling - Zariel's pride and grand champion - sat on her bed, breathing heavily. Hot steam shot out of her vents and the inside of her chest crackled, popped and rumbled. It was rough to listen to. Karlach clutched her chest, expression strained. Beads of sweat collected on her body and her eyes were sunken into their caves. She must have been trying to fall asleep with little success. Her anxiety and wrought mind peppered the air.

Mizora's tail flicked and her wings twitched, however, she did her best to ignore the desire to drag out Karlach's bad emotions and devour them. Exploiting someone while they were mentally weak was a thing of ease for a devil, but it certainly did not win you any loyalty. When it came to Karlach, Mizora had worked too hard to destroy the loyalty, she had built, through a mere flight of fancy.

Wyll had been right in assuming that there was history between them. Yet how far that history went, was something her puppy was woefully unprepared for. Despite Karlach and Wyll being nothing but crumbs of dirt in the stream, which was Mizora's life, she valued the partnerships, she had built with them both.

Under Zariel, Mizora and Karlach had been an elite squad, often working together with little to no fellow soldiers under them. They were a well-oiled team; and much like Wyll knew certain things about Mizora, so did Karlach. Though of course, the one who harboured the most knowledge, was always Mizora. She did not make unfavourable partnerships after all.

"Go on", Mizora softly coaxed Karlach, making Clive do a little jiggly dance in her magic with the bending of her fingers, "Touch him. I promise things will be okay." As the Tiefling finally caught the teddy bear and realised she did not singe or burn him, the Cambion chuckled and lowered her hand. "I know how much the fluffball means to you. You are very welcome."

The air was thick with familiarity and knowledge. Karlach hugged Clive tightly and looked away. Mizora half anticipated to be sent away. Zariel's champion was clever and understood Cambions better than most. Yet, somehow Karlach did not seem that keen on sending her away. Even though she did not like that fact.

"I don't have to be in Wyll's presence to keep an eye on him", Mizora answered and knelt down, "Besides, the pet is old enough to watch after himself. And from what I recall, you did not send him out on his own either. That Sharran cleric should know how to keep an eye on him."

Her hand reached for Karlach's engine. As Mizora's palm rested upon the Tiefling's chest, the heat radiating through the flesh made her furrow her brows. "It is way warmer than it should be", Mizora murmured, "I am not an infernal mechanic and that Tiefling hired, did disappear when Elthurel was released by this pesky adventure group. Though I might have a solution to cool the engine down enough for you to catch some shuteye. It is not permanent, and I fear you may not like it."

@feraldames cont. from here.

[heeluvviee]

UPCOMING WORKS ° ♡

cupid's corner | ex!heeseung x reader (smau)

as a brilliant and driven app developer, y/n has always believed in data and algorithms over fate when it comes to love. after a tough breakup, she channels her heartbreak into creating cupid's corner- a dating app that promises to find the perfect match for its users. as cupid's corner skyrockets in popularity, y/n decides to put her app to the ultimate test by signing herself up (after much convincing from her friends). confident in her technology, she's shocked when the app matches her with none other than her ex lee heeseung- the very person she's been trying to forget. caught between her head and her heart, y/n must decide whether to trust the algorithm she created- or risk everything on a love she thought was over.

brewed for two | barista!heeseung x reader (smau)

y/n, your typical popular high school it girl, finds herself intrigued by the heartfelt notes left on her coffee cups by the shy barista at the local cafe she frequently visits. each note is a small yet profound message, sparking the girl's curiosity and making her look forward to her daily coffee runs. as she starts to engage more with the cute barista, she discovers that there's more to him than his quiet demeanor suggests. with each passing day, y/n and heeseung find themselves getting closer despite their contrasting worlds. but you know what they say: opposities attract!

infrunami | bestfriend!heeseung x reader (smau)

situationship after situationship, and countless failed talking stages- y/n has had enough of all these pathetic men wasting her time. what's going on with her generation? the ghosting, half swiping, wyll's, shallow conversations, and meaningless dates have left her disillusioned. it seems like everyone is playing games instead of seeking genuine connections. frustrated and tired of the superficiality, y/n longs for a true and meaningful relationship. little does she know, her one true love might have been right in front of her all along

better than the movies (a series of fics based on my fav romcoms)

binge your favorite romcoms with better than the movies! each story a perfect mix of love, humor, and just a tad bit of chaos. follow a plastic surgeon tangled in lies, a modern-day cinderella with an online crush, the most popular boy at school who might be the ticket to your dream college, a fake boyfriend who becomes something more, and the fiance of your biggest client who turns your world upside down. prepare to be swept off your feet as you fall in love with the different sides of heeseung that you'll discover in each story

just go with it | danny!heeseung x katherine!y/n

heeseung, a charming plastic surgeon, convinces his assistant y/n to pose as his soon to be divorced wife to cover up a careless lie he told his much younger girlfriend, yujin. as the web of lies grows, heeseung and y/n find themselves on a lavish hawaiian vacation with y/n's kids, yujin, and heeseung's cousin jay. amidst the beautiful scenery, heeseung and y/n discover that their fake relationship just might be the real deal.

a cinderella story | austin!heeseung x sam!y/n

working at her family's diner and dreaming to one day escape her wicked stepmother and stepsisters, y/n finds truly her only solace in an anonymous online friendship with the charming and popular heeseung. when a school dance offers y/n a chance to meet her prince, she must navigate a whirlind of misunderstandings and unveil her true identity without losing her dream of a fairytale romance.

prom pact | graham!heeseung x mandy|y/n

y/n has always dreamed of getting into harvard, but when she gets waitlisted, she feels as if her life has been turned upside down. desperate for a recommendation, she decides to tutor lee heeseung, the most popular guy in school and the son of a harvard alum. as she grows closer to heeseung, she realizes her true feelings for him, causing a rift with her best friend jungwon, with whom she promised to attend prom since neither of them had dates.

to all the boys i've loved before | peter!heeseung x lara jean!y/n x josh!niki

what happens when y/n's secret love letters to her past crushes, including her sister's ex-boyfriend niki and popular jock Heeseung, are mailed out, leading to many unexpected consequences. To save face, Y/N and Heeseung enter a fake relationship to make his ex-girlfriend, Giselle, jealous. As their journey as a fake couple go on, y/n starts to develop real feelings. maybe this thing between them could turn into somehting real, but many problems arise preventing them from being a real couple.what happens when y/n's secret love letters to her past crushes, including her sister's ex-boyfriend niki and popular jock heeseung, are mailed out, leading to many unexpected consequences. to save face, y/n and heeseung enter a fake relationship to make his ex-girlfriend, giselle, jealous. As their journey as a fake couple go on, y/n starts to develop real feelings. maybe this thing between them could turn into something real?

the wedding planner | eddie!heeseung x mary!y/n x massimo!jake

y/n, a successful wedding plnner, has everything in her life under control until she falls for heeseung, who she later discovers is the groom in the biggest wedding of her career. as she navigates the complexities of planning the perfect wedding for Heeseung and _ while dealing with her meddling father's attempts to set her up with an old childhood friend, jake, she learns that true love cannot be planned.

[skellingtondrac]

#let wyll get some love and healing!! let wyll get swept off his feet!#astarion snarling at mizora#astarion spending an entire night scrutinizing wylls contract#astarion secretly embroidering wylls clothes!#wyll feeling safe!#wyll having a hero!#wyll getting swept into dances!!!#theyre such an interesting pair STOP IGNORING HALF OF IT

OP's tags= a++

*Wyll/Astarion*

*Wyll/Astarion but it's about Astarion's trauma and Astarion's healing and Astarion's fairytale romance and Astarion being treated right and Wyll is barely acknowledged in the slightest despite being literally half of the pairing*