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chaoticbardlady99 · 4 months

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I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x tav #karlach #bg3 #astarion x f! reader #astarion x f!tav #pregnancy #astarion acunin

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 months

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Can I get more bg3 yandere, maybe what starts the obsession with the reader? Punishments?

A/N: Yes, more yandere coming up! (Wasn’t sure if you were referring to just the baddies list I posted or the companions, so I went with the main companions this time.)

And apologies for the wait… This was one hell of a week.

Yandere!BG3: What Triggers Their Obsession

Astarion:

Astarion is drawn to your innocence.

At first, he thinks it must be an act, for someone to be so kind and open around a vagrant group of misfits they just met.

But once he understands that’s just who you are, he feels he must protect that innocence by taking it all for himself.

After all, he deserves it, doesn’t he? After two hundred years of slavery, he finally gets to possess some kindness of his own.

Because that’s what you’d show him, isn’t it? You’d love him, understand him, and treat him the way he so longs to be treated. And all he has to do… is make you his to get it.

Ascended! Astarion:

Ascended Astarion is drawn to your inner fire, the way you don’t submit when he demands you ‘bow’.

Initially, he finds it rather amusing that such a helpless thing like you dare defy him. Then he becomes irritated before being overcome with righteous anger. How dare you continue to thwart his plans? You shall pay, indeed.

He wants you begging, pleading on your knees for his mercy. He wants to be the only one with the power to grant such benevolence to you.

You will know his name, you will know his power. Your insolence will not last long.

Gale:

Gale is drawn to your inquisitive nature, how you always seem so fascinated by any knowledge he has to share.

No one, not even his students, has ever looked up at him with those big doe eyes the way you do.

You appreciate him, in a way no one’s ever appreciated him before.

He’s always played second fiddle, to greater wizards, to his goddess, but not to you. Never to you.

He needs you to need him. He wants your awe but should push come to shove, he’ll settle for your fear.

Godhood! Gale:

Godhood Gale finds you so impressively driven. Your bold choices and lack of apprehension call him to you.

On one hand, he wants to empower you, to help you soar even further than your wildest dreams. On the other hand, he wants dominion over your confidence- he should be the one to grant it to you. You couldn’t possibly command your own destiny. He’s a God, after all, he should have reign of it.

Just let him take control, he swears it’s only for your good. Gale would never overstep your boundaries. He swears on Mystra’s honor.

Wyll:

Wyll wants to protect and cherish you like he believes he’s always been destined to do.

For him, he was always burdened with this great privilege of being a hero. And you, you are the thing that makes everything he’s ever endured or sacrificed all worth it.

You need him to save you. Sure, you’re capable, and yes, you could make it on your own, but why make it harder than necessary? Why not just let the man who would lay down his life for you, honor you and take care of you for the rest of your days?

You’re so sweet. You’re such a light in these dark, dangerous times. Wyll will ensure you’re safely hidden away from all the danger that lurks beyond.

If that means Wyll is all you know of the outside world, then so be it.

Karlach:

Karlach is drawn to your spunk, the conviction you must possess to keep on fighting.

You remind her so much of her younger self, always eager, always ready for the next challenge. But alas, that’s what she fears.

Her eagerness blindsided her to the truth about Gortash. She didn’t see what was coming until it was too late. She can’t let that happen to you. She won’t.

Don’t you understand? No one else out there in the cruel, cruel world would tell you the truth. They are all self-serving and undeserving of your intentions.

Karlach knows her conditions aren’t ideal, living in hell never is. But please, try to understand.

A lifetime spent in hell at Karlach’s side is much, much safer than a world spent alone on the surface.

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart is drawn to your inexperience, your childlike innocence in which you believe all that she tells you.

She was always being taught that obedience mattered over intelligence. She thought such a statement was wrong but then, you came waltzing into her life.

You exemplify compliance. Every word, every thought she has you take to heart like gospel.

For you, there shall be no gods, no goddesses, no Shar or Selune to worship.

There will only be you and her.

La’zel:

La’zel, despite herself, is drawn to your kindness, your simplicity.

She thinks you are weak, and undeserving of her affections, yet she feels the need to seize you and shield you all the same.

Your flesh is soft, your heart is malleable, and your mind is guileless. Without her intervention, you would surely perish an otherwise avoidable fate.

No. She must keep you away from the others, away from their grasp.

It would be futile to try and navigate the world without her.

#yandere bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 imagine #baldurs gate imagine #bg3 #yandere #hc

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the-oblivious-writer · 9 months

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Let The Light In |2|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Alamort

Summary: You've been struggling to sleep the past few weeks, a late friend of yours not leaving your mind and on top of that you get stuck with Tara for a group project

Warning(s): Swearing, mentions of death, grief and underage drinking

Notes: Was able to put some Sam appreciation in this chapter cause I love her sm, also I would like to clarify that in this au ghostface will not be making a return so dw worry about our girl Anika

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next part

It’s been a long day and you were absolutely exhausted. You felt like you were going to pass out, you quickly changed into your pj’s and as soon as your body hit your bed you practically melted. Not too long after that you fell asleep, if only you would have enjoyed it.

—

Your right leg bounced as you stared at your phone, you bit on your nails and your younger brother gave out a huff. “Staring at the phone isn’t going to make him call. You’re just making the waiting ten times worse,” your younger brother said, taking the seat beside you. You sighed and rubbed your hands anxiously up and down your thighs.

“He said he’d call as soon as they were done. It’s been forever! Why the hell hasn't he called yet?” You knew the possible answer but couldn’t bear to say it out loud.

“I’m sure he’s fine, fighting ghost face doesn’t seem like a five minute type of thing.” You had gotten a call from Dewey earlier saying he was going to the hospital because ghostface was there and reassured he’d call you right after if he got back safely. If. You didn’t like that if he snuck in there. He talked to both you and your younger brother, it was like he was saying goodbye. As if he knew this would be the last time he’d talk to either of you. They must’ve arrived at the hospital because you could barely get a word out before he gave one last “Bye, I love you guys” and hung up the call.

You had thought about going to the hospital yourself but your brother was strongly against it. He blocked the door when you tried to leave, not wanting you to fall victim to ghostface. It had happened before in your family and he refused to let history repeat.

An hour later was when you found out. When you got the call you immediately took your brother and rushed down to the hospital. You felt numb as you watched Dewey’s lifeless body being covered by a tarp. I should’ve been there, you thought to yourself repeatedly. You looked over to your brother, his eyes never pulled away from the tarp that covered Dewey. He broke out into sobs as you held him close, still in shock that this was actually happening.

As soon as you and Gale made eye contact, she ran up to you and hugged you both tightly. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you just sat there, safe and sound in the trailer while Dewey was gutted in cold blood.

You woke up, covered in sweat. You rubbed your eyes before frantically looking at your surroundings. You weren’t in Woodsboro anymore, you were in your apartment in New York. You sat up in your bed while breathing heavily.

You’ve been having the same dream– or well, nightmare ever since Dewey’s passing. Your mind refused to let you forget the day you just sat there as the closest thing you had to a father figure was taken from you.

—

You were exhausted. You barely got two hours of sleep last night, constantly being met with the same memory. With Dewey’s death anniversary getting closer and closer, the nightmares were only getting worse. It was now five am, there was still a lot of time to pass before class started. You took a shower to wash off all the sweat you made from tossing and turning. By the time you finished getting ready it was only six am.

The rest of your morning was spent watching Brooklyn Nine Nine while enjoying a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch. You eventually left your apartment, making your way to your first class. Unfortunately, you had history which meant you were stuck with Tara once again.

No matter how many seats were vacant, she always chose to sit next to you. It put your teeth on edge but you knew she was doing it solely to piss you off. Goodness, she was annoying.

When you arrived you sat down and immediately put your head down. You almost fell asleep until there was a loud slam by your head. Tara had slammed down one of her books and sat down in the seat beside you.

Your head shot up as you rubbed your eyes. “Morning to you too, princess.” You mumbled, still rubbing your eyes in an attempt to rub away the exhaustion.

“You look like shit,” she commented, putting down her bag. “You don’t look too good either.” You were already growing even more tired due to her presence.

The rest of the class went on like this, Tara making a comment and you returning it. It truly wasn’t that much different from Woodsboro. Always picking fights and at each other's throats. But if you were being honest with yourself, it was a nice distraction. Guess she was good for something but you’d never tell her that.

You were writing something down when a crumpled up piece of paper hit the side of your face. You turned to give Tara a scowl before opening up the paper.

I need to copy your notes, the note read. You rolled your eyes and turned to Tara. She was still facing the front of the class, you turned back and wrote your reply on the piece of paper. You threw it to Tara before going back to writing.

Fuck no, why can’t you just write them on your own?? Tara annoyingly exhaled before aggressively writing something else on the paper. She chucked it at you and it hit you near your eye. You huffed and read the paper once again, I can barely understand the words coming out of his mouth on top of him talking too fast!

You sighed and rubbed your temples, your sleep deprivation was starting to catch up. “After class.” You mumbled in defeat. Tara took the victory until she got lost in her own head.

This wasn’t like you. Usually you’d give up more of a fight, she had noticed your drained expression when she walked in. She decided not to dwell on the topic too much, this was you after all. It wasn’t like she knew you knew you. Just enjoy the win, Tara she thought to herself.

—

After you finished all your classes, you finally got back to your apartment in one piece. Your eyelids were heavy as you fumbled with your keys. Eventually you inserted your key and unlocked the door, you could barely feel your legs as you walked inside and your brain was all foggy. You nearly knocked over a lamp when you walked in. Anika noticed this and immediately rushed over to your side.

“Shit, Y/N. When was the last time you slept?” You mumbled something she couldn’t hear before landing on the couch. You let out a long sigh and put your hand over your eyes to block out the light that was directly above you.

“This micro-sleeping crap that you’ve been trying clearly isn’t helping,” Anika sighed while putting a couple pillows behind you.

“I’m fine.” You murmured even though it was a blatant lie. “I’m gonna go make you grilled cheese and heat up the leftover tomato soup.” Anika stated before walking off to the kitchen. You had previously mentioned to her how that combo always made you fall asleep when you couldn’t as a child. Anika noticed how in the past few weeks, you’ve been losing more and more sleep. She was worried about you but also knew you were too stubborn to accept help.

Fifteen minutes later, she came back with a bowl of tomato soup with a diagonally cut grilled cheese sandwich on the side. “Eat.” You whined in response but Anika wasn’t having it. She forcefully sat you up and pushed the coffee table closer to you. “You’re eating. No complaints. You can’t just live off of Cereal and Ramen Noodles.”

You reluctantly brought a spoonful full of tomato soup to your mouth. “Says, who?” you mumbled with the spoon in your mouth. Anika only rolled her eyes and brought you a water bottle. Choosing not to argue any further, knowing she already won since you were eating.

You switched over to the sandwich when Anika sat across from you and asked,“Okay, what’s been going on with you?” She interrupts you before you can respond. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ cause it’s obvious it’s not nothing.” You looked back down the sandwich in your hand.

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” You answered honestly. Anika looked at you for a second before nodding in understanding. “That’s okay. But just know that I’m here for when you do feel like talking about it,” she put her hand on yours for a moment before getting up and walking to her room, knowing that you needed time to yourself.

You put down the sandwich and sighed to yourself. You stayed there on the couch for a bit, alone with your own thoughts. Each one telling you the same thing. You should’ve been there.

—

A few days have passed and a few weeks have passed since you’ve gotten a proper night’s rest. You were in history, Tara scoffed at a comment you made before you both heard the words “...group project. Pair up in two’s.” You and Tara looked around to see everybody else already pairing themselves off with other people.

And that was how you ended up at the Carpenter-Bailey residence. Even though you had insisted to your professor that you should work alone, he shook his head and told you that wasn’t an option. You made sure Tara knew you weren’t interested in starting the project last minute.

You sat down on their couch as you waited for Tara to come back from whatever it was she was doing. “Finally, let’s begin.” You said when she came back into view. “Still as patient as ever,” Tara quipped as she sat down a couple cushions over.

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with so I don’t have to be here any longer.” Just then Sam walks through the door, she kicks the door closed with her foot due to her hands being full from carrying groceries.

She looked up, unexpectedly to not just her sister but also you. Sam opens her mouth but before she gets a word out, one of the bags she’s carrying drops. You immediately get up to go help her. Tara furrows her eyebrows at your action.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled as you both placed the bags down on the coffee table. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tara, you didn’t tell me you were having people over.” She said, turning to her little sister as you sat down in your previous spot. “It was a last minute thing. We have a group project and unfortunately I got stuck with her as my partner,” Tara responded which pulled an eye roll from you.

“Love you too, Tar.” You quipped as you took out one of your notebooks. Tara elbowed you before continuing. “I’d introduce you but supposedly you two have already met,” Tara recalled that you’ve mentioned meeting Sam before.

“Yeah, I remember her now. She can stay, but if you go to your room make sure to keep your door open–” Tara blushed as you looked up from your notebook, moving your stare to Tara then to Sam then back to Tara.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Sam. Trust me.” Tara answered quickly. Sam looked between the two of you suspiciously. “Okay, but I still want the door three inches open.”

“Okay, okay” Tara sighed as she tilted her head back. Goodness, Sam could be so embarrassing sometimes.

A few seconds later, Sam finally left to put away the groceries. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh about what just happened. You found embarrassed Tara very amusing. “Shut up,” Tara said, elbowing your side again. “Let’s start, unless you plan to continue flirting with my sister.”

This caught you off guard. You turned your head to Tara and raised an eyebrow. “What?” Tara rolled her eyes, “I’m not stupid. You obviously like her and it’s so gross. That’s my sister, asshole.”

What made her think you liked Sam? Sure you noticed how she was tall, attractive and her arms- wait where was this going? Oh yeah, you did not like her like that.

“Tara, I don’t like your sister. Not like that.” She wasn’t meeting your gaze, choosing that the pages of her textbook were more interesting. “Sure. Can we just start? You were the one who wanted to get it over with.”

“Whatever.” You two started and throughout the duration you both argued over stupid things and chucked notes at each other as if you were still in class. After two hours, Tara started to get bored and hungry. You were in the middle of writing something when she let out a dramatic huff. “What now, princess?”

“You’re not the least bit tired or bored?” She asked, leaning back on the couch. You sighed and answered without looking up from your writing. “Tired? Yes, but that’s nothing new. Bored? It’s history. I’m not bored.”

“You always were such a nerd when it came to history. What was that thing you always said? Learn by making history or something?” You rolled your eyes, “You make history by learning history.” You finally looked up to see her slight smirk. She got the reaction wanted.

She always liked seeing you worked up. But specifically when it came to the things you were passionate about. Sometimes she would purposely miss-quote something from The Office or tell a historical event completely wrong just to get a reaction out of you.

You would furrow your eyebrows and get all grumpy and you knew she was just doing it to get on your nerves. And you had the same expression now as you did then. Tara took note of this and smiled to herself.

“I can tell you’re enjoying this very much.” You state before turning back to your writing. “Oh, very much,” Tara replied. As you were turned away from the girl and focusing on the project, Tara was still inspecting you. She noticed how you still held a slight furrow in your eyebrows while your nose was a bit scrunched up.

“You gonna keep staring at me, weirdo or continue working on the project?” You commented without looking up. Tara gets a bit flustered when you call her out. “Actually I’m getting something to eat from the kitchen…without getting you something,” Tara responded while getting up and walking to the kitchen.

“Oh, woman, why must you wound me?” You call out, your voice laced with sarcasm.

—

It was now ten thirty and you and Tara were at least ninety percent done with the project. You both decided to call it a night and just finish it up next time.

You let out a tired sigh as you closed all your books and placed them in your bag. Sam walked in and noticed you packing your stuff. “Hey, Y/N I was just about to order some food. Would you like to stay for dinner?” She noticed you hadn’t eaten anything since you’ve been over and barely touched your water.

“She’s goo-” Tara started but you interrupted her. “Of course! I’d love to, thank you.” Staying meant pissing off Tara and you were all for it.

“Great, any food allergies?” Sam asked as Tara glared at you. “Nope.” You answered with a polite smile, feeling the younger Carpenter burn holes at the side of your head. Sam nodded and walked off to her room. Tara then immediately smacked your shoulder.

“Ouch.” You let out with a deadpan expression. “Cry me a fucking river. You’re just staying to piss me off,” Tara accused, still holding a glare.

“I’m neither confirming nor denying. But what I will say is that I enjoy getting you all worked up,” You replied with a smirk. You and Tara looked at each other, almost like you were in a staring contest.

“You know, you’re extremely infuriating.”

“Just for you, princess.”

Just then the doorbell rang and Tara got up to answer it. Sam came out of her room after Tara came back inside carrying the bags of food and walking over to the dining table to place them. You followed Tara and sat down after Sam and Tara did.

After five minutes of silence, Sam decided to try and make conversation. “So, Y/N,” You softly hummed and looked up from your food. “How’s college going?” Sam asked.

“It’s going.” You answered, pushing the food around on your plate. Sam nodded before asking another question. “So, you and Tara have history together?”

“Unfortunately.” Tara responded before you could. “She’s just a peach,” you added while giving a wry smile.

Then it got silent again. It was awkward, at least for Sam it was. You and Tara death glaring at each other from across the table wasn’t helping the tension. To be entirely honest, Sam wasn’t sure what to do. She knew you and Tara weren’t on good terms but she also knew you weren’t a terrible person. So, she had to be the bigger person and be at least decent to you.

You looked at your watch and put down your fork. “It’s late so I should get going. Thank you so much for dinner, Sam.” You started as you stood up.

“Of course, Y/N.” As soon as you left the apartment Tara went to scold Sam. “What the hell Sam?” Sam closed her eyes and sighed before turning her head to her sister. “Tara-”

“You seriously just let the most insufferable person to ever exist stay over for dinner,” Tara huffed while crossing her arms.

“You’re such a baby sometimes, Tar.” Sam said before getting up to put away her food. Leaving Tara to pout to herself. “I’m not a baby…” Tara mumbled to herself, her arms and legs were crossed.

“She’s just an ass.”

—

“Where are you going?” Anika asked as she saw you looking for your keys. “Out.” She rolled your eyes at your one word answer.

“Obviously but where? It’s Saturday, you should be taking that to your advantage and try to get some sleep,” your roommate elaborated.

“I’m fine. I had coffee—” You found your keys on the kitchen counter and grabbed them, “—I’m just gonna hang out with Henry. You wanna join? Henry said he doesn’t mind you coming.”

Anika sighed. “No, I’m good. I’ve got plans tonight.” She knew you weren’t going to budge no matter what she said. “But please, call me if anything happens. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah ‘course,” you said before leaving and shutting the door.

It was supposed to be a quiet night that consisted of video games, drinks and food. That’s all it was…according to Henry. But when you walked in it was packed with people. You felt like the music’s volume would bust your eardrum and everybody was either knocking into something or someone.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, you thought to yourself before turning around in an attempt to leave. But then a pair of hands gently turned you back around to face them. You were met with Henry’s face and he could tell you were not happy with him.

“Just hear me out!” Henry shouted in order to be heard above the music. You rolled your eyes at him before responding. “How do you expect me to do that with this music blasting?” You started, matching his volume. “You said it was just gonna be us, what the hell happened to the plan!”

“Jason’s apartment flooded and I had to take over hosting the party!” He answered, still seeing how pissed you were. “I’m sorry, man! This was a last minute thing, I’ll make it up to you! I swear!” You thought to yourself for a second before sighing. “Fine!”

Henry convinced you to stay by bribing you with drinks and that’s how you ended up hiding out in his room. Playing on his nintendo with a red solo cup on his night stand that you occasionally took a sip of.

While you were in the middle of beating Link’s ass the door abruptly opened. You looked up to find Tara who seemed to be flipping somebody off before turning to you. “Don’t.” Was all she said before collapsing on the bed, not far from your feet.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” You murmured before looking back at the nintendo. “You just did.” She responded in a muffled voice due to her laying down face first.

“What’s the matter, princess? Long night already?” You started, going against her wishes. She sat up, holding herself up by her arms. “Why do you care?” Tara narrowed her eyes at you as you simply shrugged.

“I don’t. Just…curious is all.” Tara crawled over to sit next to you, leaning her back against the headboard. As she started playing with her hands you looked down at them for a moment, noticing the scar on her left hand.

“What?” Tara asked with annoyance in her voice. “Nothing.” Was all you responded with before taking another sip from the red solo cup near you. Tara looked away and scrunched up her face slightly. As if silently scolding herself before speaking again. “Um, Sam told me by the way. What it is in a few weeks,” she started as you froze. You thought there’d be at least one person who wouldn’t bring it up.

“If you like– need anything or whatever, you can talk to me about it. Not a lot of people have been through what we have.” You continued to look down at the nintendo, you hated when people tried to comfort you. You hated feeling like the victim.

“Could you quit that?” Tara furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Quit what?” You let out a huff before answering her. “Quit being so nice to me. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”

“Would you like me to verbally harass you instead? Cause’ I’ll gladly do so.” Tara quipped with a deadpan expression. “Aww, there’s my girl.” You reached over and pinched her cheeks. “You’re an idiot,” she said as she shoved your hand away.

“But seriously, stop with this mushy shit.” Tara scoffed at you before responding. “It’s not my fault emotions make you uncomfortable.” It was your turn to scoff. “Accusations, false accusations.” You shook your head a little as you said this.

Tara noticed how you avoided the previous subject but didn’t say anything. Sam said she should try to talk to you about it. And that’s what she did, she tried.

A pillow flew to your face, “Oh, real mature.” You grabbed the pillow and threw it back to her. “I’ll remember that the next time your guard is down while I’m near a pillow.”

“Sure you will, Y/L/N.” Tara quipped. “You’ll see.” You continued as you started getting up. “Where are you going?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Why? You gonna miss me?” You remarked with a smirk. Tara rolled her eyes, “God, you couldn’t leave this room soon enough.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you.”

“Correction, you hate how much you love me.”

Tara threw a pillow at you again as you stood by the door, “Get out!” Tara shouted, trying to fight back her laughter. Geez, I’m tipsy, Tara thought.

Eventually you left the room and left Tara alone with her thoughts. She let out a deep sigh as she laid down on the bed. “She’s such an idiot.” Tara mumbled to herself. But something was different about this idiot. About her idiot.

But you were still an asshole, she reminded herself. No matter how cute you may be.

Oh.

Maybe she’ll keep that thought to herself. Whenever she had these thoughts about you she reminded herself about all the things you’ve done and said to each other. She still found you insufferable and incredibly annoying, that was a fact. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t ever noticed you being objectively attractive before. Objectively of course.

She knew she hated you, she knew she hated your smug attitude, the stupid remarks you threw and how much of a control freak you could be. Tara also hated how you could charm your way out of most situations. It was unbearable but also brought her satisfaction that she was the few people you couldn't do that with.

You were an intolerable asshole who’s always gotten on her nerves.

—

Monday came by quick, when you got to history you sat at your usual spot. You were met with a hungover Tara, unsurprisingly. “Two nights in a row? What a rebel.” You quipped as she groaned, rubbing her temples.

“You’re not helping.” She mumbled with her head down. You leaned closer to her and whispered, “Wasn’t trying to.” You leaned back in your seat and took out your notes.

“Alright!” Your professor walked in. “Let’s get started,” He said before loudly clapping his hands together which caused Tara to jump as her hands flew to her ears. You laughed a little which earned you a shoved from the younger Carpenter.

Class went on and you and Tara did your usual routine which consisted of shoving each other, making petty comments and note passing.

Once class was over you got up and closed your books and started to make your way to meet with Anika for lunch. You were only a few feet away from the classroom when you felt a light tug on your shirt. When you turned around you saw Tara.

“Yes, princess?” You asked, looking down at her. She looked kinda cute looking up at you. Over the years you noticed she had these puppy dog eyes without even trying. It’s even more amusing when she’s trying to be serious.

“I’m free tomorrow night if you wanna finish the project then.” She states, still looking up at you with those damn eyes. You nodded, “Alright, see you then.”

“No flirting with my sister though,” she said with an appointed look. “No promises.” You teased which got you a shove to the shoulder.

"Gross," Tara mumbled before walking away from you.

Guess you had to add “flirting with Sam” on the list of things that pissed Tara off.

-----------

A/N: If you'd like to get tagged in future chapters, lemme know in the comments!

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #scream #scream 6

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bg-brainrot · 15 days

Text

Alone in a Crowded Camp

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

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

Summary: A short Astarion reflection, where he realizes that company isn't so bad.

Tags: Astarion POV, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings

A/N: My ~mood~ persists and I wanted to make this real angsty, but even I couldn’t do that to myself hah. A short little oneshot to try to get me out of my funk!

Word count: ~1.1k

Alone.

Astarion has gotten quite good at being alone.

For two hundred years, he's been surrounded by people– their faces, their bodies, their sickly sweet words and insincere affections. But all along, he has been deeply, achingly alone.

He's had his siblings, ugh, if that's what you could call them. They’ve been a constant, annoying, and at times cruel presence in his life. They’ve felt like a growth he could no more remove than he could ignore. And, through the misery and the pain, he somehow still managed to feel gods awfully alone.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the source of his loneliness. After all, he has nary a moment to himself. But no matter how many people, no matter how frequently he’s with them, something is missing. There is no connection, no kindness, no caring. He simply is alone.

As such, Astarion has grown downright skilled at solitude. A practical art form, he's certain– someone else may call it a method of coping. Either way, it’s not a skill he's comfortable to admit.

Especially not when he suddenly finds himself surrounded once more, veritably drowning in the same disgusting familiarity and the startling newness of companionship. Because this time, he's free. Or as free of Cazador as he's willing to believe for the moment. And his companions don't expect much from him. At least not more than he's willing to provide.

So when he settles into the motley crew, he’s prepared to face the same discordant discomfort of isolation, all while being a hair’s breadth from falling into someone’s bedroll.

Instead, what he finds is an unconventional, at times chaotic, symphony.

The loud sheering sound of weapons being sharpened.

The heat of bodies surrounding a late night campfire.

The beautiful, desperate joy on the faces of those who may not live to see another day.

Astarion soon discovers that, despite the dirt, despite the tentacled doom lingering over his gorgeous head of curls, the boisterous mundanity of daily life is oddly… welcome.

For so long, as long as he can remember honestly, he’d dreaded meeting someone new. Meeting someone new meant as much a death sentence for them as it meant a detestable evening for him, a night lost to his inevitable withdrawal into the deepest darkness he could muster.

But here, in the warm glow of firelight, the darkness abates.

Against all of his efforts, he actually learns about the group.

How Lae’zel single-handedly took on her entire crèche while training, how many rooms Gale’s tower boasts back in Waterdeep, how far Wyll’s travels have taken him along the Chionthar, how Shadowheart didn’t need her memories to remember she hated bad wine, how Karlach once defeated a Pit Fiend in the hells themselves. None of them are things he expected to learn, nor care about. But he finds himself listening, chortling along all the same.

And then there’s you.

At first, he’d kept you a careful arm and knife distance away– an asset surely, but just as surely a dangerous one. He’d learned early in his time with Cazador that anyone who could wield both blade and charm was not someone to be trifled with.

What he hadn’t expected was the way that you made him feel: Distinctly not-alone.

Whether it be catching the mischievous twinkle in your eye from across the room or finding himself wrapped in your arms, feeling your body heat slowly seeping into him– he simply can’t understand how you make the world feel so full.

Astarion isn’t sure if he loves this new feeling of overwhelming closeness or misses the solitude. He wonders if he’ll ever feel alone again, and the idea that he may not both thrills and terrifies him.

Because there is something soothing about being alone, a type of insidious succor only his own thoughts provide.

The ache loneliness has carved in his chest is as lingering as it is deeply rooted within him and, like a plant desperately trying to survive, he finds the roots digging deeper and deeper in an attempt to stay grounded.

His moments of actual time to himself have been scarce, of course. So, in his fear, Astarion has gotten used to finding his solitude among the chaos, sequestering himself away from any who might hurt him before such a chance could arise.

Retreating from their kindness, reciprocating with sharply worded barbs, shooting utterly underserved glares in every direction. Their wounded looks mean nothing to him– why should they? They are just another group of strangers, one vampire lord away from becoming another pile of corpses.

However, much like every other of his carefully thought out plans, you are ready to thwart him. For every attempt he makes to withdraw, you’re right there, proving time and again that you are no stranger. Not anymore.

“Astarion.”

It’s a simple thing, his name. The last remnant from a mother he no longer remembers. It sounded wretched upon Cazador’s lips, a curse he could never break. Upon yours though? It may as well be a blessing.

With that one, simple name, his loneliness is allayed. The roots embedded within him pull back, if only for the moment.

Despite his best efforts, he remembers that he is not alone. Astarion feels at ease.

His heart opens, little by little, and not just to you.

Living hundreds of years as he has, faces had begun to meld together, names began to lose their meaning, voices their distinct candor. But for the first time in a long, long time, he finds himself seeing, listening, connecting to others in a way he no longer believed himself capable of.

It’s… nice. Not that he’ll ever tell the others.

Naturally, his past doesn’t simply up and vanish. His mind still drifts, and he finds himself retreating into the damning safety of solitude from time to time. But each and every time, a hand reaches out– at times jovial, sometimes tentative, other times caring– ready to pull him back to the present.

“Astarion?”

One such hand comes into his field of view, and he takes it instinctively. It’s warm, comforting, and scarred with the beautiful history of an adventurous past. He could get lost in the look and feel of this hand.

“Astarion? Are you alright?”

Your voice is soft, tone gently questioning– yet still worried. Adorable, but you needn’t worry about him. He doubts he’s ever been better.

“Mmm, yes, darling. Quite alright.”

“Good.”

Your hand squeezes his as you respond and he’s certain that, as long as you’re next to him, he may never feel alone again. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing after all.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion comfort #spawn astarion #hurt comfort #sort of a character study

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eclecticmiasma · 6 months

Text

Down Comes the Claw Ch. 1 (Raphael x Reader)

Doomed, detected, and caught.

SFW (For now)

[Warnings: afab reader, noncon/dubcon, mind control-ish elements, incubi, clones, ownership, imprisonment. EVENTUAL: cambion Raphael, degradation, domination, forced voyeurism, orgasm denial/delay, size difference]

Artist credit: @wrroniec on twitter

The Archivist’s curiosity isn’t well hidden underneath his thin veil of distrust. A mortal, alone, simply wandering the halls of one of the Hells’ most powerful Cambions because she wanted to...peruse his private collection of artifacts? Even a troll would smell treachery miles away.

Were it any other being, the Archivist would have had you sent screaming to holding cells until the master of the house could decide what plane of torment to shuttle you to next, but Korilla had been rather forceful in her instructions not to intervene.

“He’s got a plan for this one,” She’d grinned, the gleam in her dark eyes devilish in its own right, “Let her play while she can.”

Your lips are split from worrying them between your teeth. As if the Hells aren’t hot enough, the Archivist’s gaze has you sweating buckets. He alone could rip your throat to shreds with those fangs the minute your presence has been deemed unsavory, you’re sure of it. As a gleaming ruby locket catches your eye, you try to regard it coolly. You are nothing more than a purveyor of incredibly rare goods, and not at all trying to make your way toward the glittering contract sat front and center of Raphael’s trophy room. The phrase is a mantra you desperately wish to believe.

“Worn by Lumi, a cleric beholden to twilight…” Gods, is your voice trembling? You repeat the name again as if you’re trying to search your vast religious knowledge for the origin of this treasure. Not a single snippet of information comes to mind. Internally, you brace for the house itself to eat you alive.

Instead, Korilla barks out for the Archivist’s attention. Something about another contract ready to be sorted. The man regards you with a final furl of his brows before turning his back to you and attending to his duties. Adrenaline floods your veins and your fingers flex with anticipation. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out.

Hope herself appears out of thin air and parrots your thoughts giddly, “Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out!” before nipping out of existence once again.

You don’t give yourself another chance to think. Without a sound, you prowl towards the center of the grand room and beeline straight for the contract. This is why they agreed to send you alone- Karlach, Shadowheart, the others. Years of prowling the streets of Baldur’s Gate made you nearly undetectable when you wanted to be, so much so that you had even startled Astarion for a laugh on long boring treks. Sure, Gale and Lae’zel nearly came to brawl over the decision, but after two days of quarrels the answer was final.

It could only be you.

The contract before you almost hums with power. Anxiety gnaws at your stomach as you check it over thrice for traps. Nothing. It seems wrong, somehow. A piece of parchment that potentially dictates the fate of Faerûn itself guarded by nothing but a few words. Something tells you to leave it and run, perhaps remnants of the Emperor’s hold on your psyche. Images of your companions, the Hammer, Hope’s face quickly override your doubts and you close your eyes, prepared.

“Give me my heart’s desire,” The words fall from your lips with ease, but nagging trepidation constricts around your heart. Without a sound, the glittering sphere surrounding your contract dissolves away. Before the Archivist can sense what has occurred, before you can convince yourself to turn heel and dash away from all of this, you snatch the page and tear it in two.

Everything plunges into silence. The eternal screams of the damned beyond the gilded walls, cries and whimpers and babbling of long-gone debtors, Korilla’s nagging- all of it gone in an instant. The air around you becomes oppressive, constricting, increasing degree by degree. Ashes fall from your fingertips as the shreds of your contract disintegrate. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, get out. You repeat it again and again in your head until your mantra is a scream, but your legs will not move.

“Fools...fools...how hard you have fought,” A familiar baritone echoes out across the empty archive accompanied by slow clapping. It can’t be, you want to shriek. Hope said he was planes away, that you had time.

“Brave, brave, but it's all been...for naught,” You can’t tell from where his voice is coming. It sounds both far and near, across the hall and right in your ears all at once. Even his footsteps, slow and commanding, don’t betray his location.

“True Souls that couldn't be bought,” He’s mocking you now, a gleeful lilt in his otherwise menacing tone. True Souls...the faces of your companions flip through your mind’s eye like pages of a tome. This isn’t how it’s all supposed to end, is it? Your lungs start to burn, unable to expand or contract to the fullest.

“Doomed...” Raphael himself is in the room now, you feel it. As he takes his sweet time sauntering up to you from behind, the magic that holds your limbs in place begins to be revealed. A holding spell, tendrils wrapped around your legs and snaked up your torso through your fingertips. It pulsates with a blinding purple glow. Sweat drips down your temples as the heat of the Hells becomes sweltering, as fear settles in your bones.

“...detected…” Gods, you will. Tyr, Mystra, Shar for Hells’ sake, you pray to every last one. Anything to bid your body run. As the screams of the damned filter back in, growing louder and louder with each step Raphael takes, it becomes devastatingly clear that not a single deity can hear you.

Raphael’s hands land on your shoulders. His fingertips, though gently splayed, might as well be digging into your skin. If you could move an inch, you would have jumped ten feet in the air. Instead you tremble like a rabbit held in the canines of a much larger beast. He leans down and aligns his lips with your ear, breath ghosting across your flesh, “...and caught.” If you could sob you would, but the fear won’t allow it. Instinct of prey that’s well and truly done for. Instead you tense, bracing for the impending pain of retribution.

“So,” the Devil muses, mile wide grin easily detected through the undercurrent of excitement in his tone, “this is the path you have chosen. Anything you and your group of sorry souls could have wanted would have been yours. Your names would have gone down in history as the heroes that saved Faerûn. Yet, you squandered it with a flick of your wrist. What do you have to say for yourself, oh fallen hero?”

Your mouth opens, but not a sound escapes. Nothing that surfaces in your reeling mind feels like it could ever be enough to reverse the tide of ruin you’ve brought upon yourself. Raphael waits patiently as you flounder. Your terror is a wine finer than any bought, and he has all of eternity to savor it.

“Please…” The pitiful, squeaking word escapes your throat more so than it coming out on purpose. Raphael chuckles darkly and moves to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, I do so love to hear you beg, little mouse. However, I think we can both agree that ‘please’ isn’t an answer. Perhaps if I tell you a story, you’ll be more inclined to...talk.”

Raphael pulls away from you and steps lithely to your front. With a snap of his fingers and a puff of flame, he transports the two of you to his dining room. Roaring flames lick the inside of the fireplace before you, silhouetting the Devil as he prepares to speak. The holding spell wraps tighter.

“You see, the Devil is a rather busy man. When I’m not gracing your merry band with my presence, I’m often attending long meetings with prospective clients, or checking up on those that have already promised me their souls. Perhaps I’m even doling out a punishment or two to a cheeky human that thinks it’s found a loophole. It’s all very important work, and requires quite a bit of cunning and concentration.”

The oppressive heat is getting to you. Raphael’s deep voice sounds like it’s ringing in your head, almost akin to the Emperor’s presence. He paces back and forth before you, gesturing his arms in theatrical movements as if performing a monologue. Each word sends your psyche farther into disarray.

“Hero,” Raphael claps loudly, bringing your attention back to him, “Since my tales seem to bore you, I’ll get straight to the point. I had a fairly important event to attend right before your flagrant disregard for our agreement. Now, imagine my surprise when right in the middle of securing a rather rare and valuable contract, I feel a...shudder, wrack my entire body.”

Glowing eyes level with yours as he leans in close. His brows are furrowed now, genuine anger contorting his features, “My skin began to feel hot, clammy. My concentration waned. Before I realized what was happening sheer ecstasy pooled in my abdomen and then-” He’s so close to you that you hear his breath catch, “It became apparent that someone was using my body.”

Your heart drops. It was the only way. The Archivist had given you access to Raphael’s bedroom with a little cunning, and the only thing standing between you and the contract was a rather familiar looking incubus. What harm could there have been in trading your body for the fate of your companions, your home? The incubus had warned you, though, in its own way. If everything it did with your form meant you would feel it on a different plane, it should have been obvious that Raphael’s form would feel it too.

“I...I didn’t-”

“I knew you would betray our agreement,” Raphael spits, lips hovering just in front of your own, “I knew that eventually I would find you hear in my home, remnants of your misdeed in hand. Korilla and I machinated thousands of ways to tear you asunder, to torment you for breaking my one, most cardinal rule,” Raphael catches himself in his rage, and pulls back. He looks to the fire, light reflected in his eyes. Inhale, exhale. When his gaze meets yours again, all remnants of fury are gone.

“I was ready to kill you in an infinite number of ways. But I should have known better. The moment I met you, I knew you were...special. Of course you would throw a wrench in my plans, and do so beautifully. I almost commend you.”

As he smiles, your skin crawls. He moves in circles around you, thinking, plotting. After some time he comes to a stop, once again behind you.

“So, I propose a better solution. I’ve decided that I rather...enjoyed indulging in your body,” You swallow a protest as his chin rests in the crook of your neck, his left hand sliding down the curve of your waist and along the front of your thigh, “Form a new contract. Submit to me, and I won’t touch a hair on your companions’ heads. As much as I would love to take the place of that poor spawn’s master, I can control myself- for you.”

He squeezes your thigh and drags his lips across the straining muscles in your neck. Your sweat slicked skin sticks to his own, and you feel a deep rumble at your back as he revels in the sensation, “For all they know, the contract is still intact. I’ve captured you here,” He kisses your neck and you squirm, fighting back a gasp, “and their only option is to use the hammer,” another kiss, “or you perish.”

“No…I won't...” The answer comes as a piteous whimper. Raphael cackles against your skin, squeezes your body tight to his own, and tuts like he’s caught a naughty child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Wrong answer, little mouse.”

Chapter 2 smut incoming 😘

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

#fics #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #no smut yet #raphael/tav #raphael x reader #raphael/reader #cambion raphael #house of hope #bg3 raphael #bg3 x reader #raphael x you #i don't care what haarlep says this man has had an eternity to learn how to fuck

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tadpolebrains · 3 months

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Love Language Headcanons BG3 (Pt. 1)

Love language headcanons for the male companions! Female companions will be in a part 2. Because I have nothing better to do :D

Astarion’s love languages revolve less around the specific type and more about the intent. He’ll listen to you spew thoughtless praise and such at him for hours, but it’s when you complement things that people don’t tend to notice that he’ll really melt. Because sure, he’s used to people calling him handsome and using his body to seduce people, but he’s not so used to someone pointing out, say, his fine skills with sewing. Or using words like ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’ instead of ‘charming’ and ‘handsome. It’s why he’ll get a bit shocked during the one mirror scene if you start pointing out smaller, seemingly inconsequential details, like the curls of his hair or his smile lines- he’s not used to people caring enough to look that closely. In the same vein, he also enjoys physical touch, but moreso anything non-sexual. Hand-holding, forehead kisses, hugs- any touch that has no ulterior motive behind it. It takes him a while to get used to, but once he does it’s like you can’t get him off of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too sometimes if he doesn’t feel like you’ve been touching enough, “Tav, darling, you’re simply neglecting me, holding that dagger instead of my ever so cold hand. Positively cruel.”

Gale defaults to acts of service at first. It’s what he’s kind of used to after Mystra, trying so hard to keep up with pleasing her again and again. Putting all of his self-worth into what he can provide for her. But after helping him work through a bit of that trauma and making sure he understands that he doesn’t constantly have to be doing something for you for you to stay, he realizes he simply enjoys just passing the time together. Quality time. Even if you two are in the same room doing entirely different things, he just finds it comforting to know you’re there, that he’s not alone, and that you’re not going anywhere. Of course, he’ll still go out of his way to do things for you, but it starts becoming more of a gift giving habit. He’ll bring you something from the market because ‘it reminded me of you, so you had to have it.’ He’ll get you books he’s read that he thinks you’ll enjoy. Tiny trinkets that he could go into hour-long explanations on why he just had to get it for you. Poems and little notes written and handed to you before he walks out the door. Eventually, you’ll have so many tiny little things he’s given you that you’re running out of space, but you’ll just have to get a bag of holding, because there’s no way in hell you’re getting rid of them. Later, when he finds out you not only still have every single little thing, and also remember when you got every single one, he’s so touched that he… totally isn’t crying, no, there’s just something in his eye.

Wyll is very much a words of affirmation man. He is the Disney prince of BG3, and can and will rave on about you for days on end. He’ll spin tiny things you’ve done and tell them to people like they were the most incredible things he’s ever seen. You could wake up with a bedhead and be the groggiest you’ve ever been and he’ll still tell you you’re gorgeous. He’s horrible at taking what he dishes out after Mizora changes him, though, especially at first when it comes to his own looks. He’s used to the praise people spew about the Blade of Frontiers, but less used to your little compliments about Wyll Ravengard. Many nights after the transformation, you spend them with him spewing sweet words about his new horns or idly tracing fingers along them to make sure he knows you’re not afraid of it. You still see him as a person, and that’s where physical touch comes in. Because your words and touch reminds him that he’s still there. Still human. And still loved. And of course, like the gentleman he is, he will always try to find some way to return the favor and attention later on. Will ask what he can do to repay you, and if you answer with a ‘don’t worry about it’ or ‘you don’t need to do anything,’ he’ll just find little things to do in return anyway. You mentioned liking this one specific thing from a town five days ago? Well, it appears on your pillow later that night. His acts of service side tends to come out during those times too. A minor inconvenience that you could easily handle? Oh, he’s got that covered. Don’t even try to protest it, he’ll start listing off all of the things you’ve done for him lately, and by the time he’s convinced you to sit back down the task could have been handled already.

Halsin is a very tactile person. With everyone. Physical touch is a natural need of the body, after all, and he is a man of nature. So even platonically, he will be setting a hand on people’s shoulders, or ruffling hair, or bumping shoulders- any of it. You initiating it, though, is very much appreciated. Maintaining prolonged points of contact, ie hand-holding, cuddling, hugs, etc, is really what makes him feel attached. And when he’s in bear form, he loves the feeling of gentle hands combing through the dense fur, and curling protectively around you when you’re both asleep. He’ll let you braid his hair with a chuckle if you ask, and if you have longer hair, will return the favor. He’s also a gift giver by habit; perhaps it’s the animal instinct. But he’ll bring gifts of foraged berries, or a catch from the river, or even random little flowers and leaves (and of course, will indulge any questions about the specific types of plants he’s bringing back). He’ll light up with any of those questions about nature, and it encourages you to ask more often, even if it’s just a simple “hey, Halsin, what’s this?” on the road. He gets this little twinkle in his eye. Long nature walks become a pretty frequent routine, and if your legs start hurting he’ll either carry you or turn into a bear to let you ride on his back.

#astarion #gale #halsin #wyll #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #honestly this ended up being more rambling than anything #this game has me in a chokehold

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memray · 4 months

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ANOTHER reason I’m so defensive of Gale is because of how the last proper relationship I was in went, it angers me when people say that he’s full of red flags when the man has one of the sweetest and slowest romances in the game.

It hit close to home learning about Gale’s relationship with Mystra as I’ve been there with an ex. The utter love and devotion I had for a man who just strung me along and never being enough for him. I had NO IDEA I was going to get broken up with, suddenly I had the rug pulled from under me and was kinda stranded trying to still get any of this man’s attention I could get for the next year because he was a manipulative bastard.

I’m sure there’s a lot of people who can relate to that too.

I’ve healed from it but there have been moments in Gale’s romance that have just made me straight up cry because I understand it to a certain degree.

Needless to say it’s really annoying when people say hurtful things about Gale when people in real life have gone through similar shit. It’s a hard journey to heal from this shit and a hell of a lot harder when you have no one to properly lean on, because you have to remember the only companion Gale had in the aftermath was Tara.

Before anyone says anything, yes I know he isn’t real but the things you say about fictional characters reflect your opinions of real people to an extent.

#i’m really tentative about posting this #because it’s actually kinda personal #but also i’m past accommodating idiots #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale dekarios #bg3 gale of waterdeep #text post #ray speaks

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sparkly-scales · 2 months

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Loviatar's Blessing Tav x Astarion BG3

Loviatars Blessing

ObsidianRose96

Summary:

“Astarion? What are you doing here?” “Basking in the aftermath of your questionable decisions. You naughty, naughty, girl.” He growls. “Gods, I can still smell it on you. That sweet, musky scent paired with the smell of your blood is absolutely…intoxicating. I can’t seem to resist it.” “What are you going on about?” You ask. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, darling. I heard you back there. Hells, everyone did. But unlike everyone else I could also smell you. One of the few perks of being a vampire spawn. The scent of your arousal was ever present as you were willingly being beaten. It still is. Odd, I didn’t take you for a masochist. It seems I learn something new about you every day.” The fic in which Tav discovers something about herself.

Notes:

Hey guys, sorry for the re-upload, I just didn't feel like it was complete. I went back and added some things as well as fixed a few mistakes I caught. Anyways, this is my second attempt at a smutty one-shot between Tav and Astarion. Don't fret my Gale lovers, I have something spicy coming out here soon that focuses on our favorite Wizard of Waterdeep. As a side note I'd like to add that your reactions to my last fic, Jealous Much, really inspired me to keep writing. I've been in such a low spot recently that I thought I had lost my touch. When I saw all the Kudo's it made me want to keep going and I really appreciate that. As always, thank you for choosing to read my fic. You could have (and probably should have) chosen to read something else, but you chose to read this dumpster fire and I am eternally grateful for your support. Without further Adieu, I present to you Loviatars Blessing.

Work Text:

This wasn’t a position you had ever expected to find yourself in. Especially while you were trying to infiltrate a goblin infested temple. Your bare chest is pressed up against an unforgivingly cool wall as your companions stand back, some are horrified at what’s about to go down and some hold their breaths in anticipation, eager to watch. Why you had agreed to this, you weren’t entirely sure. Perhaps it was the powerful blessing that was promised that swayed you. Or maybe it was the incredibly sexy priest of Loviatar, with his scantily clad sculpted body and infectious enthusiasm for his goddess. Either way, you were about to experience something completely new.

“Let Loviatar hear your dear one!” Shouts the priest. You hear a loud crack before you feel a sharp, stinging, pain spread across your back. You’re not sure what he’s using to beat you with, but it does the job, causing you to yelp in pain.

“Yes child! Sing your praises to Loviatar with your screams! Show her that you are worthy of her blessing!”

Another cracking sound and the stinging sensation returns. You feel hot, wet, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pain intensifies with the second strike. You also feel yourself getting wet somewhere else.

What in the hells? Were you…were you into this? Surely not...

Another strike and you scream yet again, louder this time.

“Gods, who knew she had so much blood.” You hear Astarion say.

"Will you please stop licking your lips? It's making me rather uncomfortable.” Says Gale, chastising the vampire spawn.

If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it.

“One more time! Come on, let the pain set you free!” Shouts the priest. This is his hardest strike yet and you’re horrified. Not because of the pain but because you didn’t scream. No, instead you let out a loud moan. There’s a lingering silence in the room as you slowly turn to face the priest and your companions. Your cheeks flush as you scan their faces. Poor Gale looks just as horrified as you do. Shadowheart is trying her best not to laugh, holding a hand in front of her mouth to try and conceal her amused grin. And Astarion looks…hungry, as if he wants to eat you alive. Which isn’t all that surprising since you were apparently bleeding.

“That was a rather…interesting reaction.” Says the Priest. “Well done my sweet child. You bore the pain like a true believer. And from what I can tell, you enjoyed the experience just as much as I did. I am proud to have served you this penance. You've certainly earned our goddess's blessing. Please, feel free to visit me again if you’d like to bask in her glory once more.”

“T-thank you.” You say. You go to put on your armor but let out a pained hiss as its leather touches your fresh wounds. Now that your adrenaline has worn off the pain is much more intense.

“Where did my shirt go? I’m gonna have to ditch my armor for now. Does anyone have an extra healing potion?”

“I don’t think we brought any.” Says Shadowheart. “But I may be able to cast a healing spell. Let me see.”

You turn your back to her. “Good gods!” She exclaims as she gets a better look at the wounds. You wince when she touches a particularly tender spot. “Is it bad?”

“It’s not great.” Says Gale. “We should head back to camp. I think it’s best that we do not proceed until you’re healed up.”

“Head back? But we just got here!” You groan.

“I’m going to have to agree with the wizard. You’re going to be useless until this is healed.” Says Shadowheart. “You can’t just waltz around picking fights without your armor. They’ll make you a pin cushion.”

“Gee, thanks. Wait, weren’t you going to heal me?” You ask, looking up at the cleric.

“My spells alone aren’t enough to fix this.” Says Shadowheart. “You’re going to need potions and salves as well as something to prevent infection. That flog did a number on you. I’ll cast something to ease the pain for now but Gale’s right, we need to go back to camp.”

“Ughhh fine. Let’s go back then. The sooner I heal the sooner we can finish dealing with the goblins.”

The walk back to camp is agonizing as the pain from your wounds becomes more and more intense. Your blood is oozing through your shirt, staining the white colored fabric red. Astarions eyes are on you the entire way back. He’s trying to keep himself composed but he’s finding it difficult. Yes, the blood dripping down your back was enticing but there was something else emanating off of you that was driving him absolutely mad. Your arousal. You naughty, naughty girl. To him you seemed like the innocent type, a little vanilla babe that wouldn’t do more than what was necessary. But as he watched you being beaten, when he heard your unmistakable moan, when he could smell your lust, he quickly realized that there was more to you than he had previously thought. And he wanted to explore it.

“Go to your tent and take off your shirt. I’ll cast a simple healing spell for now and douse the wounds with a healing potion, but I’ll need to procure some herbs and other ingredients for the salve.”

“You have to make it?” You ask.

“Yes. It's a minor inconvenience but it doesn’t take much. It's fairly simple to make and all of the ingredients I need are around us. I just have to find them.”

Shadowheart follows you to your tent and she begins the healing process she had explained earlier. The pain is still present but it’s not as bad as it previously was. Once she leaves, you lay there and relax. You didn’t realize how much that had taken out of you because you find yourself falling asleep. That is until you hear the flaps to your tent open.

You slowly lift up your head, expecting to see Shadowheart. Instead you see Astarion with that same, hungry, look in his eye. He looks almost predatory as he starts to slowly crawl towards you, like a lion about to take down its prey. “I have to say darling, I’m so glad you agreed to let that priest beat you like that. It was quite the show.”

“Astarion? What are you doing here?”.

“Basking in the aftermath of your questionable decisions. You naughty, naughty, girl.” He growls. “Gods, I can still smell it on you. That sweet, musky scent paired with the smell of your blood is absolutely…intoxicating. I can’t seem to resist it.”

“What are you going on about?” You ask.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, darling. I heard you back there. Hells, everyone did. But unlike everyone else I could smell you. One of the few perks of being a vampire spawn. Your arousal was ever present as you were willingly being beaten. It still is. Odd, I didn’t take you for a masochist. It seems I learn something new about you every day.” He crawls up the length of your body, hovering over the open wounds on your back. "It would be such a shame to let all of this blood go to waste.” He says, tracing a finger over one of the wounds. You wince as you feel his fingertip make contact with a strip of open flesh. And without warning you feel his tongue start sliding across your back, lapping up the leftover blood that had been pooling in your wounds. You hiss at the sensation. The sting of his saliva isn’t pleasant but also not….unwelcome? You’re confused at the way your body reacts to this. You should be put off by how unpleasant this feels but the aching between your thighs tells a different story.

“There it is again. That sweet, alluring smell. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” You don’t answer him. You’re not even sure what to say to that. “Being coy again are we? Darling you don’t have to be like that around me.” He continues to lap up the rest of the blood on your back, and the throbbing feeling intensifies.

“Delicious!” He declares once he’s finished. “Your blood is exquisite when it’s mixed with your sweet, sweet, lust. I still find myself hungry though.”

"Do you need more blood? I can let you feed on me.” You say.

“Oh darling, you’re such a sweetheart. I’ll be sure to take you up on that, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” You shiver beneath his touch as he slides his finger down the length of your body, starting at your shoulder blade and stopping at the hem of your trousers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide as you realize what he’s insinuating. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? You want to taste me? Like…down there?” You point down to your trousers.

He eyes you curiously. “Yes? I thought I made my intentions pretty clear.” He says. “So, what do you say? Will you let me indulge myself in you?”

You take a moment to think about it. Would things be different between the two of you if you allowed him the opportunity to do something so intimate? Would things be weird? Awkward? You didn’t want to ruin your newfound friendship with the pale elf, a friendship you’d worked so hard for. The man was difficult to understand and it was a task to get him to trust you to begin with. If things become difficult between the two of you all of your hard work would go to waste. But the aching in your thighs was growing ever stronger as he hovered over you, his crimson colored eyes heavy lidded with his own desire. Perhaps something like this would have the opposite effect, at least you hoped it would. Maybe if you were able to let yourself enjoy a moment like this with him it would make your bond stronger. Bring the two of you closer.

His lips find the shell of your ear, his voice low and sensual as he whispers, “I’ll make you feel very, very, good.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll allow it.” You say. “But how are we gonna do this? As you know, I can’t really lay on my back right now.”

“Don’t worry darling, I know how we can do this without hurting you further. Although, I’m not sure you’d be opposed to the idea of more pain.” He teases.

“Gods, I knew I should have brought Wyll along instead of you.” He pulls you to your feet, encouraging you to stand as he lies down on your bed roll.

“Oh please, you and I both know Wyll can't pick a lock the way I can. By the way, you may want to take those off.” He says, pointing to your trousers. “It’s going to be difficult to do this with those in the way.”

“Really?” Your voice drips with sarcasm as you begin to undress your lower half. When you pull down your panties you're surprised to see just how damp they are. They are soaked through the fabric, wet with your desire.

“Come here darling.” Astarion purrs once you’re completely bare. You walk over to him, a little timidly. This was the first time he was seeing you fully nude. This was also the first time you were indulging in an intimate moment like this. You were still pure after all, even if the events from earlier today suggest otherwise.

He pulls you down, his hands tightly gripping your hips as he positions you exactly where he wants you. You’re surprised to find yourself seated right under his face, right where his tongue had the best access to your now throbbing, aching, cunt. You hear him take a deep inhale of you before he slips his tongue between your folds. The feeling is certainly a new one but it’s incredible. You find yourself biting down on your bottom lip attempting to stifle the moans that threaten to escape you as he indulges himself. He laps you up as though he’s been starved and you can hear him let out little grunts as he savors the sweet taste of your sex.

“Gods, this is better than I could have imagined.” He groans against you. “I can’t wait until I get you to cum for me.” And with that, he withdraws his tongue just a little until the tip of it is touching that little bud of sensitive nerves. You hiss, withdrawing yourself from his face. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant by any means, just unfamiliar. Surprising.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks, his face is etched with concern as he looks up at you.

“S-sorry.” You apologize, depositing yourself onto his chest. “I’ve just-this is my first time.”

“Really? You’ve never had anyone-

“Nope. This is my first time experiencing anything like this. I’m still…what’s the word?”

“A virgin?”

“Yes.” You say. “I’m still a virgin.”

He looks surprised by your revelation. “Really? By the way you were acting back at the temple I would have never guessed. I suppose that explains why you seemed a little confused earlier. I can stop if-

“No. No no no. I want this. Please continue. For once you’re actually making good use of your tongue.”

He chuckles at your clever quip. “As you wish darling. But do try and stay seated.” He pulls you back to his face, taking it slower this time as he teases your clit. It’s overwhelming at first, almost too much to bear. But eventually that feeling subsides, leaving you with a pleasure you’ve never had the chance to experience. You don’t even attempt to stifle back the moans that escape your lips.

“Mmm, you want them to hear us, don’t you darling?” Astarion murmurs beneath you. "Naughty, naughty, girl."

You don’t answer him. Instead you desperately grind your hips against his face, guiding his tongue to hit all of your sweet spots. Suddenly he withdraws from you and you let out a disappointed whine.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’m not finished yet. I just want to try something.” His lips start to graze the inside of your thigh, searching for the perfect spot. When he finds it he sinks his fangs into you. You have no idea how delicious you are darling. To him you're like a fine wine crafted specifically for his tastes. Ever since he’s been free he’s had the chance to sample a few other thinking creatures. Enemies that dared to challenge you and your companions. They were all good, there was no denying that. But they were nothing compared to you. Especially when you were so, so, close to the edge.

He continues to take long drinks from you, indulging himself in your delicious taste. The icy sting from his fangs, the light headedness, and the adrenaline that was now coursing through your veins is almost too much. It isn’t long before you feel your body begin to tense as you come to your climax. Your thighs begin to quiver and you let out a loud cry as a tidal wave of pleasure overtakes you. Gods, that felt incredible! Astarion hums happily beneath you as he switches from your thigh back to your sopping cunt. He hungrily laps up your sweet, sweet, juices but you find that the feeling of his tongue is overstimulating. You have to lift up off of him to get him to stop.

“T-too much. Need a second.” You pant.

“How was it?”

“Th-that was amazing.” You say, still trembling from your orgasm.

“I told you I’d make you feel good, didn’t I?” He looks up at you triumphantly, his face is covered with a mixture of blood and the clear, glossy sheen of you. You take your thumb and wipe some of the crimson liquid off the edge of his mouth. He’s always been such a messy eater.

“So, would you like to go further?” His question catches you off guard.

“What? What do you mean?” You ask.

“Would you like to have sex darling?” He asks. “And please, don’t feel pressured. You’ve given me so much already, I’ll understand if you don’t want to.” He says, absentmindedly twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

Of course that’s what he meant. Gods, you were so inexperienced in these matters. How embarrassing.

You take a moment to consider. You’re already sitting on top of him naked and the two of you have just shared a rather intimate moment. Why not let him be the one to take your purity? Besides, the tadpole has you constantly guessing whether or not there will be a tomorrow in store for you. If there was a time to lose your virginity, it’d be now, while the chance lay so willingly beneath you.

“Yes. I think I would.”

“I was so hoping you’d say that.” He says. He pulls you off of him so that he can unlace his trousers. His erection springs out at you, hard and ready, pre-cum already leaking from the tip. His hands find your hips and he positions you over his shaft. “I'm not sure if you know this or not but it’s going to hurt. I don’t think that will be a problem for you though, my little deviant.” He says, his lips are pulled into a devious smirk as he calls you by another one of his pet names.

“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“I don’t plan too.” He says. “Besides, I’m sure I can find ways to use this little kink of yours to my advantage.” He helps you lower yourself onto him and he’s absolutely right. It hurts. It’s a pain unlike any you’ve ever felt before, a strange combination of pressure and burning. And it’s driving you absolutely mad. How can something hurt so badly yet feel so damned good? You aren’t sure. It doesn’t make sense. None of what’s happening right now makes sense. But you don’t care. You’re just glad it’s happening, and with Astarion of all people.

He’s slow at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside you before he goes any further. Then he grinds himself against you, driving himself deeper and deeper into your cervix. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Tav!” He says through gritted teeth. He pulls you down close to him, holding you tightly against his chest as he bucks his hips into you. It's a bit of a task with how green you are but eventually he manages, filling you with the full length of his cock. This is an entirely new feeling and the pain is still present but gods, it feels so fucking good. You can't believe you've gone this long without ever experiencing something like this. Sure, you absolutely could have earlier in your life but no one ever really caught your attention. Astarion however, was an entirely different story.

His pace is steady, thrusting into you with quick, deep strokes, relishing the feeling of your tight little pussy taking all of him. Loud moans mixed with his name spill from your lips as you praise everything he's doing to you. Every thrust, every grunt, every dirty word that comes out of his mouth drives you closer and closer to the edge. It isn't long before that tense feeling returns and your thighs begin to tremble once more as that wave of pleasure overtakes you yet again. You loudly cry his name as he manages to unravel you for a second time.

His pace begins to falter and with a few more thrusts he too reaches his climax, spilling his seed deep inside of you. You collapse on top of him, just as Shadowheart opens the flaps to your tent.

“Oh! Oh gods! You could have at least left a sock outside or something!” She shields her eyes and quickly closes the tent flap, cursing as she walks away.

Astarion chuckles and gently moves you off of him, pulling his undergarments and trousers back on. "As much as I don't want to, I suppose I should let her have you now."

“That was…nice.” You say.

“Indeed. Perhaps we can make this a regular thing between the two of us? I rather enjoy your company, you know?” Your lips tug into a smile at his suggestion.

“I would like that.”

"Good." He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, then another on your cheek before he leans down close to your ear and whispers, “Maybe the next time we indulge ourselves in one another I’ll have come up with all sorts of delicious ways to torment you. You’d like that, yes? And I’m sure I can find all sorts of fun items for us to play with. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for a flog for my naughty, naughty, girl.”

Your cheeks turn bright red and he kisses you again, this time on the lips. He’s rough with it, parting your lips with his tongue, allowing you to taste yourself on him. A unique blend of the two of you dances around in each other's mouths as the kiss deepens. It’s divine, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted. His fang nicks your lower lip drawing out a tiny bit of blood which he greedily laps up. And then he pulls away, leaving you breathless and desperately wanting more.

I'll see you later, my sweet." He says, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before climbing out of your tent.

Shadowheart returns shortly after with an annoyed look on her face. In one hand she holds that salve she’s prepared. You laugh when you see what she’s holding in the other.

“Did you seriously bring me a sock!?”

“Yes. Please do not ever let me walk in on that again. The last thing I wanted to see today was Astarions ball sack.”

“I didn’t think you got the chance to see anything with how quickly you left.” You manage to say through your fit of laughter.

“Well I did and now I’m traumatized. Thanks for that.”

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 3 months

Note

"I want to taste you so badly."

Gale may or may not erupt if he doesn't taste his lady. NSFW.

“I want to taste you so badly.” Gale moaned as his lips collided with Martha’s. He had entered her tent not two moments before and immediately rushed to her. She released a low squeak, her thick arms wrapping around his shoulders. Gods, what has gotten into him? He then broke the kiss just as quickly and cupped her round face in his hands. “Please, my love. I need you.”

Martha blinked. “Gale, what—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Let me taste you. Sit on my face. Please.”

WHAT?!!?!? She stepped back, completely aghast. “Oh my gods, no! What if I hurt you?!” I’m taller than him and maybe heavier? “What if I crush your head?!”

Gale’s brown eyes were full of fiery passion when he took her hands in his. “Darling, please consider that I may actually want you to crush my head. But that’s for another night! Tonight, right now…I need to taste you within the next few minutes, or I may,” he swallowed. “Erupt.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “The orb is stabilized. You won’t blow up unless you will it.”

Pouting adorably, he whined. “Well, it certainly feels like it, sweetness.” His features then softened, and he reached for one of her hands. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Not if you won’t want to. You know that, yes? I would never, never force myself upon you.”

You are the sweetest man on Toril. Martha smiled, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand. “I never said I wasn’t interested, love.” The smile turned into a grin. “You simply barged in here and kissed me, demanding that I allow you to taste me. What’s got you all worked up, my handsome wizard?”

The look on Gale’s face nearly made her laugh. He stared at her as if she just asked him what two plus two was, his mouth slightly agape. “You. The very presence of you gets me ‘worked up’ so to speak. Surely you must be aware of the effect you have on me?” A wicked grin then appeared on the wizard’s visage. “Sit on my face and let me taste you…and I will show you just how much I get worked up, my darling girl.”

Another squeak escaped her. “A-alright! I suppose it can’t be too much—”

One of his arms snaked around her waist and pinched her generous behind. “Dearest, you can never be too much.” He murmured with a wink and a teasing smile. My cheeks must be bright red by now because they are burning. Oh my goodness. Giving her ass a little pat, he stepped away from her and began removing his robes. “Truly. I cannot have enough of you, so please don’t ever worry about that.”

She nodded quickly and disrobed. Quickly. Very quickly. Did I lose my balance once or twice? Maybe. Does it matter? No because my lover wants me to SIT ON HIS FACE! “Enough of me in what way?”

“Every way. Every possible way.” He touched his earring and removed his glamour. Now laying down on his bedroll, he motioned for her to come closer. “Sweetest lady, I beg of you---relieve me of my terrible, terrible pain.” he said dramatically as he stroked his engorged length.

Now bare, Martha very, very carefully straddled him and very, very slowly lowered herself as close she could to his mouth. “Are you sure about this, love?”

“For the love of---yes! Be at ease, my beautiful angel, and let me,” he inhaled sharply as his hands found her freckled hips. “Taste. You.” His nose bumped dark copper curls, and then, he began to devour her.

Gods!

Fucking hells!

How does he do that?!?!

She moaned wantonly and could not help the need she had to roll her wide, soft hips, thrusting into his mouth. “O-oh gods, I’m—” I do not want to suffocate my love!!!

Her parasite tingled.

Darling, I love you with all my heart, but do please thrust without fear of harming me. I swear, I am enjoying this greatly. Are you?

AM I?!?!?!

I will take that as a “yes, I am enjoying myself.”

“Gale love, of course I am!” Martha threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut as she reached for his forearms. “Fucking hells…”

The fucking isn’t going on in the hells, my dear. It’s my tongue fucking you right here, right now. You’re right where I want you…where I’ve wanted you for so long…can’t get enough of you…

“G-Gale…” She felt his nails dig into her plush form, and her thrusts grew more erratic by the second.

Sing for me, my pretty! I want to hear it all.

Knowing her end was near, the half-elf clenched her thick thighs as much as I could around Gale’s head. “Gale love, so close…”

Let go, my darling! Let go! I shall soon follow.

Martha’s body spasmed as she came, her hands at some point finding their way into his hair. Pulling harder than I thought oops, she gasped loudly. Hardest I’ve ever come…probably. As he drank her release, he came as well, spilling some on her backside.

“Ah, such a good girl for me…so good…” He panted as she very ungracefully rolled off him and onto her back. Scooting to get head to head with him, she smiled.

“That was very different but absolutely wonderful.” She turned her head to kiss his flushed, bearded cheek. “And you’re alright?”

“Am I alright?! Sweetness, I was in heaven! Heaven on this shadow cursed earth!” He gestured with his hands dramatically but so adorably. “Gods, now do you understand? You are incredible in every way and taste so very…” he planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Yummy.”

Aw, he’s so adorable. “Not too much then, love?” she teased.

With a look of full sincerity on his face, he whispered, “Never.”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale smut #martha hylfyst #half elf tav #plus size tav #ask and you shall receive #asker i wuv u #gale is a hungry man #chubby gale

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antiqua-lugar · 4 months

Text

I think basically everything that can be said about that interview regarding Gale has been said but I did see some people be like “Well, but Gale is annoying and his stans are just woobifying him” and like.

Like, okay. Gale is annoying. And Lae’zel is mean, Shadowheart is a bitch, Astarion is a cunt, Karlach is happy all the time all the time and Wyll is boringly well adjusted. That’s…the first impression you get of them in Act 1. That’s not even their full arc in Act 1, that’s literally the first few minutes you get with them! And then all of Act 1 is just undoing all of that.

In Gale’s specific case, being annoying isn’t even his main flaw. Like it gets brought up, I think because the writers wanted to make sure we would know this is a flaw he actually has in case you, like me, did not even notice you were supposed to be annoyed by him. But it’s not a serious issue or something it’s even remotely implied he has to work on. They still all end up liking each other and working together and flirting at each other. He’s a nerd that talks a lot and unless you end up in a jealousy convo no one really cares. His blissfully happy ending is to become a professor. His infodumping is so good the narrative lets him do it forever.

Gale being annoying (or being bothersome for eating your artifacts) is the player’s problem. You don’t have to like him, you don’t have to like anyone, but the narrative is not there to make a big deal out of it. Why should it? Everyone is flawed and then they get better. If you ignore Gale for being annoying or stake Astarion for being a vampire or forget to save Mizora condemning Wyll to the hells it’s a you problem, just like it’s a you problem if you push Shadowheart to embrace Shar and then Shadowheart is cold to you.

Which is why the writers saying “Well, Gale is annoying so the fact that he sacrifices himself helps him redeem himself” is bonkers (just like rewriting Lae’zel lines to be more palatable is bonkers). Like it’s not just a bad take, it’s a “Gale was annoying so I ignored him the whole game so I don't know what his deal is” take. From the writers. Of the game.

And the rest applies to other weird instances of writing during the game. Like yeah, you can treat Gale horribly, you can treat everyone horribly. You can take advantage of Astarion, you can sell out Shadowheart, you can cheat on Wyll with Mizora and then tell him it’s his own fucking fault for not “pulling out”. But the game doesn’t try to imply that it’s funny that Astarion dissociates during sex. But it somehow is when Gale has to be persuaded into group sex, bolts and then the morning after he is like “Can we just never talk of this again”. And like Gale isn’t special in this regard, there is some stuff with Halsin, Wyll (no seriously what was that short) and even Raphael that is frankly appalling, but it really doesn’t help with the “we just never talked to Gale” vibe. Like if you romance Gale there is a line in the brothel where you can say that if you wanted boring sex you would have just had sex... with Gale.

Gale “I read tons of erotic books and I have so many ideas. Let's do it in the Weave so we can try as many as possible” Dekarios.

Also, nevermind all the serious implications, “He wasn’t ready for [his sacrifice] before but now he is” it’s like not even what happens. Like it’s not even what he says. I should not be reading an interview with the writers of a game and be like “did they just skip all of the dialogue”.

(That interview was also very weird about Karlach but also I just feel like that interview was weird in general, like they just were in a rush and couldn’t really talk in depth about anything so it was vague lines for everyone, it's just that those about Gale particularly sucked).

#bg3 #antiqua plays bg3 #like I like my characters flawed and I love Gale's flaws #but this? nevermind the fact that rpg players are notoriously thin skinned if the game does not bow to their whims #I am a da2 stan I remember when anders was annoying for the horrible crime of wanting the minority he was part of to have human rights #just like fenris was annoying for the horrible crime of having been a slave and not getting over it immediately #like gale doesn't even have a julian bashir situation where it's a problem because he is a cocky genius out of medical school #he's genuinely a nice and helpful character who gets along with everyone. the fuck is he reedeming for.#gale #larian critical #anyway I had to get this off my chest

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precious-little-scoundrel · 20 days

Note

What do you have in store for Ida and Rosie’s story? Because they are the only pairing who aren’t at the POW camp.

Aha!! This is gonna be a long answer, hence why I let your ask molder away as I worked on a reply, thanks for your patience.

I can’t wait to weave this whole thing, and it’s honestly the only postwar story I’m at all sure about in this universe so far. Let’s just say it’s a hella slow burn. Even after getting married. Because they do marry. Rather soon. But they are a bit of a buddy cop duo. Romantic love -at least for Ida- comes later.

I think it’s safe to assume that dear Ida was present when Rosie first introduced himself to the Bucks, told his underwear story and generally made a magnificent entry. Now, one must consider two things with this:

1. Rosie’s regret over what the hell he was thinking telling that story would be compounded by telling it in front of a female officer

2. Ida might have always been a stiff spined stickler before her trauma and the Stalag, but she did have a sense of humor. I like to think she found him funny, plus, with the Bucks beginning to fray a little in their own morale, flagging in offering encouragement to the newbies, I think Ida would be the sort to fill that role, best she can. Surprisingly, Rosenthal, Nash, Pappy, they’re not the sorta men to resent a woman giving them a pep m-up chat.

Now, keep in mind it’s three missions later and she’s been downed so there was not really a connection made there. Although I love to think that some night in the Stalag when everyone is bored and playing ask games with each other, one of the questions is:

“Who was the last person ya danced with?”

And Bucky gets to tell about Paulina and Gale gets chafed about choosing Meatball over Maureen and Brady bemoans having been so stuck on the bandstand playing sax instead of taking his chances and then when it’s Ida’s turn she’s just: “it was one of the new ones, the ‘egg frying on the instrument panel,’ guy.”

This is met with a chorus of “Rosenthal???”

“Told me to call him Rosie.” Ida shrugs. “He had some fun moves.”

Anyways. That’s a far off thing by April of ‘45.

SPOILERS ABOUT ESCAPE:

….

when Ida get away with Gale and makes it back first of anyone to England? Best believe she is beyond distracted with worry for her girls. Who’s there to meet her and welcome her and Cleven to Thorpe? Crosby of course -and Rosie. Malnourished, ptsd riddled and burdened with responsibility for her girls, Ida isn’t exactly the sparkly female Colonel that Rosenthal remembers meeting and dancing with.

In fact, that first initial interaction goes a bit sourly. She needs a nap, he awkwardly needs a deposition on her treatment. It’s a little rough, ok?

But the longer she is back at Thorpe, reunited with her few girls still there who were never downed, she learns how well their new Lt. Colonel -Rosenthal- has looked after them, fought to resend the grounding orders after Ida went down, generally been a good bean.

Also, due to being her superior now and having been given the legal burden of collecting information and evidence on the girls treatment by the Germans, Rosenthal and Ida start spending time, a lotta time, together.

There’s Jeep chauffeuring, Coffee Breaks and Mercy Runs where he goads her into buzzing the tower for the first time in her life -“of course I haven’t done it before, Rosenthal. One of you cats do it and it’s cute, I do it and I’m fired. No, I don’t mean discharged, I mean plainly fired.”

And then there’s the depositions, eventually full of her having to dictate shit that she’s never vocalized since it happened to her. Somehow, Rosie makes the whole thing easier than she ever expected. Not to say it’s easy. Although if you asked his female secretary, she’d say the one more visibly affected by it was the male lawyer, not the half catatonic victim spewing a rote litany of horror.

One time, his grip on his pencil gets so tight that it snaps. Ida replaces it. His quiet rage for her is about the best closure she’s felt so far. And that thread of such shared knowledge between them and them alone, even if it was in professional context? -That’s Intimacy. Far more than kisses or rings.

A righteous vengeance duo? Yes please, they’re a force to be reckoned with as the war winds down.

Before long Ida is asking Croz, “Was Rosenthal always that pretty?”

Harry is cackling over it, “Yeah.” He goads her, “But he is more confident now.”

“Confidence.” Ida repeats, trying to convince herself, “Yeah, that would be it.”

The thing of it is, Ida was unsure or marriage before her brutal treatment in captivity. Now? And after her military experience? She’s very sure she could never be a wife. Not even of a smart and secure man like Robert Rosenthal. Men just expect certain things and dynamics from their wives and Ida has never been sure she had that in her. Now she’s positive. And she’s too proud to marry only to then “turn a blind eye” as he finds what she lacks in women elsewhere.

Rosie? His argument is that what they’ve already built these last months, it’s what he wants. Marrying her is to keep that. If that’s all they ever have that’s enough, he couldn’t stand to lose it.

A chaste honeymoon on the way to Nuremberg to go fuck up a bunch of Nazis for the second time in their young lives? You betcha.

#Ida Brady #Rosie x Ida #those who can #TWC asks

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002yb · 1 year

Note

Oh, but Jason saying "I'm going home", them he walks to Dick's house, they're not living together yet but Jason noticing he spend so much time there it feels like home

This is the worst day of his life, hands down. He doesn’t say that lightly, either. Dying doesn’t even begin to compare. Hell, it would be a mercy in comparison to this: turning up on Dick’s doorstep after explicitly telling him that Jason was going home. Just. Fuck him. It doesn’t get worse than this.

As if to mock him, a gale force of wind rushes past when Jason turns on his heel to leave. It’s strong enough that Jason feels the building sway. Unsurprising given Dick chooses to live in a place with zero structural integrity. A calculated risk for the sole purpose of staying central to areas around the city that have had spikes in criminal activity in the past years. It’s an argument curated to appease Jason’s irritability over the dangers and he knows it, but he can��t argue without being called a hypocrite because Jason has done the same damn thing.

Fucking Dick. The noble and manipulative bastard.

There had been a high wind advisory earlier to preface an oncoming storm. He’s about to say that he could make the trek to his actual home before the rain starts, but again the universe taunts him - sending down sheets of rain that get blown around in diagonal sheets and there in the distance, a flash. Followed by a loud, cracking boom that rattles Dick’s unsound apartment building and Jason’s very bones.

With a heaved sigh, Jason crouches and leans back against Dick’s door. He doesn’t dare knock though because the embarrassment might just kill him.

It’s not like they’re a thing, after all. Or, they are. They fool around. More often than not Jason stays after. He had breakfast there just that morning. It’s casual though. So, so casual. Just some fucking, some post coital cuddles; maybe some pillow talk and noncommittal companionship before or after. Because they’re casual.

Jason groans quietly under his breath, head thunking softly against the door behind him. Showing up at the place of the guy he accepts booty calls from because Jason mistook it for home, fuck.

That’s a far off dream and Jason is dramatic, sure, but escalating the good thing they have going to some sort of relationship? Pass. It would be doomed. Jason isn’t going to risk it. They’ve got a good thing going without Jason spooking Dick with commitment.

As one last ‘fuck you,’ the universe spits on him one last time by having the door behind him suddenly open. Capable and coordinated as Jason is, he tumbles backwards with a curse, thrown off kilter.

When he opens his eyes, Dick is looking down at him. Surprised; pleasantly so. The smile that pulls at his lips is crooked and boyish and clearly charmed despite his confusion. The combination of being found out and being the center of Dick’s attention and charm makes Jason grimace though, cheeks flushing warm with a blush.

“Hey,” Dick says, head tilting slightly to better meet Jason’s gaze. “Thought you were headed home?”

“Yeah, I uh.” Jason starts. Stops. Flusters. Shit. For as capable as he is in vigilantism and all the work that comes with it, not a single lie or excuse comes to his mind. All he needs to say is that he changed his mind, that he wanted some dick after all. What comes out instead is, “I ended up here.”

There’s a breath of laughter from above him, but Jason can’t see it - already hidden behind his hands because this really is the worst day of his life. It can’t get any worse than - oh.

Jason peeks up at Dick from between his fingers so that he can get a visual on what sort of damage he’s just wrought, only Dick is smiling at him. Brilliant in a way that chases away Jason’s embarrassment and leaves him feeling both dumbfounded and invincible.

He’s entirely unprepared for what comes next. The building trembles as it gets battered by wind and rain, but the elements have nothing on the force of nature that is Dick Grayson.

“Welcome home then, huh?”

As easy as that.

Pleased as Dick is at this turn of events, at Jason unwittingly exposing just how comfortable he is with Dick and Dick's space and being in said space, Jason still hides himself behind his hands. It's not enough cover though so he throws his arms over his face, instead. Hiding red stained cheeks as Dick laughs and bodily drags Jason the rest of the way into his home. Jason is loathe to help him the mortification cuts so deep. He should have braved the storm; it's nothing compared to Dick and all the menace he can be.

"Oh, come on. It's cute." Dick says, soothing even as he taunts. Although Jason remains resolutely hidden, he can hear how fond Dick is. The door shuts and while Dick locks it, Jason doesn't doubt that the strong wind will throw it back open at some point. There's nothing homey about this collapsing shoebox of an apartment; it's a death trap. The only thing that feels like home is -

"I'm here too often." Jason complains, propping himself up off the ground and glowering at Dick as if he's the one to blame for that. Which he is. Fifty percent of the time. Forty. Maybe even thirty but it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of their booty call arrangement.

And Dick, despite the blame and Jason's panic - he smiles. So warm and affectionate that Jason's heart might trip over itself as it skips a beat. He's just crouched there, elbow on his knee and chin propped on his hand - looking at Jason like he's something sweet; like he likes that Jason thought of home and came to him.

"Stay more." Dick tells him. "I'll give you a key."

This bastard - so fucking smooth. The definition of casual, only there's nothing casual about what Dick just laid out there. Even still, there's no denying that the offer makes Jason happy even though he flusters, dumbfounded and awestruck, timid and still stupidly giddy. From booty call to malewife, just like that? Maybe today isn't the worst day. It never really is with Dick though.

=====

This is such a sweet concept, anon!! Thank you for sharing. <3

#jaydick #dickjay #jason todd #dick grayson #words #dorks in love

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evita-shelby · 2 months

Text

No one has to know

Gale 'Buck' Cleven x nurse!oc, Diane Shelby

Cw: cheating/infidelity, secret relationship friends to secret lovers, consensual cheating, mentions of canon/irl deaths and captures

Somewhat inspired by 'no one has to know' aka that song from mrs maisel.

Buck had come to look for Meatball and found him in sleeping under a big tree on her lap as she sat there on an empty sack.

She stands out from the rest with her strange eyes, one blue one brown and that knack for somehow always knowing everything before you even tell her. That last part made her a hell of a nurse, or so he’d heard when one of the medics assuring him his men were in good hands.

Nurse Shelby, a Red Cross Volunteer from some other part of England and something that told him she’d never wanted for anything growing up.

“Just adventure, Major Cleven.” The girl says sitting on her uniform cape with his dog laying his head on her lap and acting as if she was his real owner. “My name is Diane, but everyone calls me Di.”

“Buck.” He said joining her with his dog between them, he hasn’t had a moment of peace since their first mission. “That’s Meatball.”

“I know, just being proper with you.” She said relinquishing his dog back to him, but the damn mutt refused to leave her lap. “Does your girl back home like dogs, Buck?”

“Yeah, always wanted one of these growing up.” He smiles remembering the letter he got from Marge with her reaction to Meatball. She couldn’t wait for both of them to come home.

He wondered how’d she react to knowing all these girls here throwing themselves at him like they did at home.

“Lucky woman. My boyfriend came back with a canary he got when he first shipped out. Called it Vera so he could say he has two birds.” The nurse mentions and he has no idea what that means.

“He had a second bird?” he asks assuming the boyfriend had meant him.

“In some parts here, we call girlfriends birds.” She smiles at his ignorance and continues stroking Meatball’s fur. “I was, well, am the second bird. Our Vera lives with his sister in Manchester now that I’m working here.”

No harm in being just friends, he thinks with relief.

Diane has her sailor; he has Marge at home.

No harm in being just friends.

“Does Marge know?” Bucky asks when he watches the little nurse laughing with her friends in a peach-colored dress.

She looks lovely, her lips red and the locket give her a dreamy look. Like the image you have of the girl waiting for her fiancée to return in those war movies.

“Yeah, just friends. Diane’s got a fiancé, a sailor named Tom Bennett from Manchester.” The blond man answered taking his eyes off her.

“Buck, you know there’s a risk even if the both of you have someone.” Johnny Egan was not made for monogamy, he had sweethearts everywhere and his Josephine knew and here he was warning him not to fuck things up with Marge.

He wouldn’t, he’s sure of it.

There was no harm in being just friends with her.

“I have Marge, she has her Tom. Sometimes people are just friends, Bucky.” He assures him and yet Gale Cleven didn’t stop looking at her even when Bucky began to sing.

June becomes mid-July and Diane is officially known as the other owner of Meatball ---when Buck isn’t on the base.

Both dog and owner had become cherished friends to her and while she was attracted to Buck ---tall blonds were her weakness--- Di was perfectly content being his friend and only that.

Marjorie looked and sounded lovely, and he had the politeness to say Tom reminded him of Bucky. They had other people and while infidelity was the least of anyone’s problems these days, Buck did not give himself the permission other men had gained from their wives and sweethearts.

Even Diane had told Tom when he first shipped out that he was free to fuck who he wanted because sometimes you need companionship and a good lay to survive this fucking war. Tommy had been quite the Casanova before the war and it didn’t surprise her to know he had fucked a girl he met at the docks when the Exeter gave him his first taste in mortality in 1940.

But she’s not my Lady Di waiting for me at home, he had said when he confessed it. He loved her, she loved him except now she was the fair maiden to his brave knight. Just as Marjorie is to Buck, Josephine to Bucky and everyone with someone waiting at home for them.

Besides, she’s perfectly fine with being just friends with Buck, been so long since a guy only wanted to be friends with her.

Besides it won’t be long before he goes on that mission he won’t ever come back from. The witch had seen it when he came back from his mission earlier and smiled when he saw her sitting under the same tree where they met.

She’d surprised him with a catalogue of luxury leather collars and matching leashes and pretended everything was fine.

“You don’t have to get him anything for being a nuisance, Di.” He said leaning against the tree and their shoulders brushed each other’s slightly.

“I don’t mind it, it helps the soldiers and civilians to see him about. They love spoiling him and he loves the attention. He’s going to be a handful for you when your tour of duty is over.” Di said as she showed him a catalogue of dog collars and harnesses from a local. “The collar is the least I could do for letting me care for your dog.”

Meatball had the collar he’d given him, and a vest made to allow him roam the base freely with the Red Cross badge ---American unfortunately--- and the 100th Bomb Group so they knew who to return him to.

He needed a nice leather collar and matching leash for when she or Buck takes him off base, and hopefully returns to America with his owner.

“They look expensive, I don’t want to put you in the red for a gift.” He points at the price of the collar they had picked.

“Oh, trust me, I’d have to buy the entire shop to get into trouble. Besides, the shop owners need the money more than I do.” Diane turns to look at him and finds herself struck by how beautiful he looks sitting here with her with the sunlight painting his blond hair golden and his eyes as blue as the sea.

She really likes him, and she’s always had the problem of falling hard and fast for a boy. Especially when he is so kind and thoughtful and so strangely principled.

And yet he like her knows something’s changed in the air as he leans in with a dreamy look in his eyes and lips that tell her how good they’d feel against hers.

But he has Marjorie and she has Tom, so Diane bursts the little bubble that surrounds them before they do something they will regret.

“We should go, someone ought to be looking for either of us.” Diane said as both pretend nothing happened and they’re just leaving at a perfectly normal time and don’t have the afternoon free.

He dreams of her and Marge now.

Buck had been right about the risk and perhaps he shouldn’t have let her be so close to Meatball, but the dog’s too attached to her now.

He likes sitting with her under the tree, talking to her and pretend they aren’t here for a while. He likes her, even if some find her eyes unnerving and are put off by her talent for tarot reading.

Somehow that explained how she always knew what to do in the medic tent, always knowing what her patients had and needed.

The Major barely knows a thing about her and the same goes for her, and yet he feels as comfortable with her as he feels with Marge. He tells her things he can’t find the words to tell Marge and she understands them fully because she shares the burden of war he has.

It was a dangerous thing, and he’d only realized how dangerous it was when they chose the new collar for Meatball. He had fallen for Diane, something that he hadn’t believed could happen when he loves Marge and she loves her sailor.

He would’ve kissed her if she hadn’t stopped. It had happened so naturally so gradually, somehow he forgot about his Marjorie back home and his promise to her and himself.

Gale Cleven had never been the type to stray and yet this sunny spot in this dreary place had him at the risk of betraying his girl.

Buck knows what he must do, and tells himself it is the right choice as he readies himself for another mission. A mission she claims won’t go wrong.

When he comes back, Meatball is wearing his new leather collar and the leash is left on his bed. He feels guilty for the decision he’s made, but better a ruined friendship now than two ruined relationships later.

The next missions go just as well, no losses even if they sustain some damage. One doesn’t even happen and yet gets counted as one making them all more optimistic about arriving to mission #25 much sooner and ,most of all, alive.

When he sees her again its August and she is as friendly as ever, taking a break under the tree after a busy day at the triage. She was on high demand now especially when all her seemingly meaningless predictions came true.

Last he heard some of the more superstitious boys had begun asking her how the next missions would go, and now Diane was the most popular girl on the base.

“I haven’t thanked you for Meatball’s collar,” he says feeling the loss of their friendship a little more now that he’s standing before her.

“You didn’t have to, I know why you’ve stopped meeting me here. Your Marjorie is a very lucky woman, Buck.” She gives a small smile in return and doesn’t gesture for him to sit with her as he had been doing these two nearly three months.

“Your Tom is a lucky one as well. I had to remind Curt you have your sailor. Said he’d marry you if all missions went as good as these have been.” He doesn’t know why he mentions that. He had not found it as funny as his friends, Curt knew nothing about Diane save that she was good luck and pretty and daughter of a politician.

The knowing look in Bucky’s eyes had claimed it was jealousy, as if he’d ever felt jealous of Diane’s fiancé.

“I get several proposals every week, I suppose if it gives them a reason to come back to, I won’t stop them from dreaming.” There is grimace she tries to hide and yet he’s come to know her well enough to know what it means.

Bad news.

She’d made that face when she was asked about the first try at Warnemunde resulted in the loss of a fort and all its crew. She’d done it when the boys had left to share the news with everyone else at the club and she tried to melt away from the spotlight.

“How bad is the next one going to be?” Buck loses his resolve to stay away and sits with her to comfort her at knowing she cannot change what she sees, or else she’d done it already.

“Really bad by the looks of my reading. Mission will be achieved but at a great cost.” Her mismatched eyes tell him she’s not telling him the whole truth.

Maybe she might be a real psychic and saw more than what she claims, but it doesn’t take a psychic to know most of the boys enlisted here won’t come home.

“If I don’t make it, promise me you’ll take care of him. You don’t have to send him to Marge if you don’t want to, he can join you and the canary in Manchester or Birmingham or wherever you and your Tom go after the war.” It is a solemn vow, entrusting her with Meatball who helps him and everyone in this hell stay sane.

“I promise, Buck.” She reaches out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze and he doesn’t stop her.

This time when they find themselves in the same predicament as before they don’t stop.

Her lips are soft and sweet, awakening a distant memory of Marge's and yet he doesn’t stop until they’re too out of breath to do more than rest their heads against each others in comfort and in fear that they won’t every see each other again.

No one would know about it nor the promise they’d made just as people on base hardly knew about this hidden little piece of heaven they had here.

He might die with this secret tomorrow and somehow that makes it better.

Regensburg goes as terribly as she’d seen in her readings.

90 men all either made prisoners of war or killed in action, boys younger than her and only a handful as old as her eldest brother.

But Buck’s not among them as she’d feared, he’d made it to Algeria with Bucky and those lucky enough to make it another day.

They’re to return soon, and she is afraid he won’t meet her at their tree after that kiss.

When he left to Regensburg the feel and taste of his lips had felt as present as they had the night before.

He was so unlike Tom, her Tom who she’d managed to see for a day sometime in July. He’d been jealous of her mentioning Buck, and with good reason.

And yet remembering she’d given him a free pass to sleep with a woman if he felt the need to do so, he had extended the same courtesy to him.

Because he believes she wouldn’t stoop so low as to shag an American, least of all an American with a girlfriend.

Now Di had kissed Buck and she’s okay if he never comes to the tree again because what matters is that he comes back alive.

When they return she’s too busy to even see him except for a few seconds at the triage. They’d come back the same way they left only this time with less losses.

Still too many if you ask any of them. The 100th had a one to 4 odds of survival for every mission, but such slaughter was deemed necessary for the war as was the incessant and indiscriminate night bombing the RAF did.

Buck had refused a medal, she’d heard. Reminded her of how her father threw his in the Cut, likely for the same reason as Buck did.

When she finally goes to their tree late in the evening, she finds him there waiting for her. Solemn as the grave, eyes red from crying.

“Curt was shot down, we were hoping he’d been one of the captured, but there wasn’t even body recovered at the wreckage.” It wasn’t just numbers to him, they had been his friends, people he cared for, people who had lives and dreams and loved in all the different ways that exist.

Curt had been with him since basic training, almost as close to him as Bucky and Bill and his crewmates.

Men are told not to grieve, not to cry and yet they grieve and cry as all humans do.

She held Tom as he grieved his father, as he grieved the boy who’d left and for all his friends and crewmates that didn’t make it.

“I’m so sorry, Buck.” She goes to him, unsure if she should hug him because that’s the best sort of comfort she can offer. She hugs him, holding him together as he lets himself fall apart.

He does more than grieve, he does what everyone in his shoes has done: seek comfort in the only way you can forget everything and everyone for a moment.

Buck cradled her face in his hands just as Tom has done all those times and kissed her like he loved her.

And it dawns on her, that she loves him. Something far worse than fucking another man was loving another man.

“Please, Di,” his voice breaks and he begs her to make him forget the hell they live in.

Tom would never know about this just as Marjorie wouldn’t either.

It is not like the times before with their respective sweethearts, its rough and desperate and something they’ll surely regret and yet this sweetest of sins cannot be called anything else but love.

“I think I love you.” He whispers to her, admitting this great sin that somehow weighs on him as much as that of knowing it is people he kills with those bombs.

“I think I love you too.” She pressed her lips to his again and pretending no one else existed beyond them.

No one would know this ever happened, and it was better for everyone else except them two.

It becomes a habit, after particularly terrible missions. Them seeking comfort and love and understanding in the only slice of heaven here. Just them and their tree.

“When I was dancing with Meatball, I kept wishing I could have the balls to dance with you, Di.” He admits as they kiss against their tree.

She won’t say what she saw, and he knows its terrible, bad or worse than Regensburg by the way she tries not to cry.

“Then take me dancing when you come back, Major.” Di laughs quietly as they sit against the tree like they did that first day they met. “Tom won’t mind.”

And Marge won’t know why.

He never wanted to be like his father and yet, here he was in love with two women and one as oblivious to the other just like his mom had been.

“You’re not your father, Buck, you won’t ever be like him. And if you want, this can be the last time we ever do this.” She always knows what he’s thinking, claims its part of her gifts.

He thinks its because she’s come to know him just as good as Bucky and Marge have.

He knows her as good as her Tom does. Tom who is a tall blond man she keeps in her locket and doesn’t know she loves him as well.

No one would ever know this ever even happened, just him and Diane. And somehow, that made it all the sweeter.

“I’ll give you an answer when I come back from Bremen, Di.” That night he carves their initials on the bark of the tree.

On October 8th of 1943, Major Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven’s fort, Our Baby, is shot down and all 10 men inside are made prisoners of war.

It is October 9th, 1946 that he comes back to that tree ,both are happily married and know their time together will always remain a secret.

When Buck comes to take Meatball back one last time, he wonders what could’ve been if they’d been free to love each other outside of the shade of their tree.

A/n: thank you for reading!!!!

If you find Diane Shelby sounds familiar, it is because she is actually an oc taken from my Tom Bennett x Peaky Blinders! oc for my cringe af world on fire and my peaky blinder fanfic crossover.

Au where Buck and Diane do get together: no one but you

#gale cleven #buck cleven x oc #gale buck cleven x oc #buck cleven #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #diane shelby #mota fanfic

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