every wednesday (aka humpday…) i will dive into my submissions and post/elaborate on YOUR scenarios and/or headcanons!! they can be fluffy, angsty, or outrageously horny!!
tell me what a sweet domestic life your tav may have with lae’zel! submit a steamy scenario involving a certain bear! explain how you find kar’niss sexy!
scenarios can involve character x character (and so on aka poly and threesomes/foursomes/etc welcome), character x your tav, character x reader, and any other lovely thing you come up with!!
[disclaimer: i will not accept ANY submissions which involve the actual actors behind these characters.]
anyway i hope you will indulge with me! into the underdark!!
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how each origin (romanced) would take care of you after a fight:
shadowheart ‘s sharp eyes would flick over you as you entered her tent, expertly seeking each place your armor is weakened or dented. in prickling silence and with unusually soft hands, she’d deftly work the straps and buckles of your breastplate and gauntlets, letting them fall to the floor in a clatter, forgotten. she could have easily healed you with your armor on, but she wanted to watch her glowing blue light stitch up your skin. she wanted to watch your shoulders relax as the pain fades. and, once you were safe, she wanted to hold your warm body to hers and bury herself in your arms.
wyll would hold you under your elbows, steadying you as he tried to catch your weary gaze. he’d murmur something about the Triad and sit you down on a fallen log as he kneeled before you. he’d burrow through his pack with one hand, the other held firm on your knee. once he retrieved a healing potion, he’d hold it gently to your lips, cradling the back of your head as if it were every treasure on the Coast. after you’ve swallowed the potent mixture, he’d grip your hands in his roughened ones and wait with fierce loyalty and even fiercer tenderness for your vision to clear. once your eyes met his—crimson red and hard stone—unburdened by blurry dizziness, he’d let you recover with your face buried in his neck.
gale, clever and quick-witted wizard that he is, would lose all semblance of composure as soon as he sees the bloodied slash down your arm. he’d curse the fool who dared to hurt you, curse himself for not being there to take the hit in your place, curse the sun, moon, stars, and everything else that was watching over you but didn’t keep you safe. all the while, he’d be calling on the Weave, pulling at it like threads on a tapestry, focusing it on your wound—he’d unravel the sky itself if it meant you’d be alright. despite your reassurances that you’re fine, he can’t stand the thought of something wanting to taint a person as perfect as you.
lae’zel would admire your wounds—not for their cruelty, but how beautiful they make your body look. the fact that you’re still standing strong, muscles rippling as you move towards her, means that she’s picked her partner well. she sits you between her legs, gently cleaning and wrapping your cuts, murming to you in hushed Tir, the susurration of the gith language calming your nerves. she traces the outline of fresh red bruises turning purple on your biceps with the devotion of a scribe copying holy texts. she burrows her nose under your jaw, reveling in your scent of sweat and vigor.
astarion usually wouldn’t be caught dead being seen feeling concern towards someone, but it’s written in every furrow of his feline face when he looks at you. as you limp into camp, he’d usher you quietly to his tent—to save both of you the embarrassment of vulnerability—and demand you tell him exactly where it hurts. he’d cut you off before you can insist that you’re fine, his hands skimming carefully over the obviously painful cuts across your body, especially the one at your side. you’d wince as he peels the bloody fabric away, and he’d hiss at the sight. but you’d find yourself in quick, capable hands as he positions himself behind you. you’d chuckle at his intermittent quips despite the pain in your side as he carefully stitches the gash. but the aching distress on his face won’t leave until you’re sleeping peacefully at his side.
halsin sits you sideways across his lap. he’s a rumbling wave of comfort as he tucks you up against his broad chest. he guides your breathing as he works, and you soak in the smell of damp earth and warm fur, despite him being in his human form. the pain from your wounds became nonexistent as soon as he put his large hands on you, and you’re enveloped in a dizzy haze of utter peace. you eventually doze off to the tranquil symphony of his steadily thudding heart, his soft breathing, and the wind through the oaks.
karlach wouldn’t let you leave her sight. seeing you grimacing in pain scares her more than zariel does. with the precision and steadfastness of the soldier she is, she has your wounds cleaned and protected before you can even get back to camp. she lightens up once you’re no longer in danger—she sits you by the campfire at her side, jovially ordering the others to bring you food, water, and whatever else you may desire, reveling in the sight of her friends waiting on you hand and foot. she’s wrap a strong arm around your shoulder, noticing how you cuddle up to her warmth. she’s place her hands on your aching muscles, feeling the tension disappear beneath her touch. her eyes would spark blue as soon as she sees a contented smile tug at your lips.
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