A/N: The new Spider-Man trailer has inspired me. Whatever the fuck is happening to Peter has so much yandere potential.
WC: 0.6k
CW: Kidnapping, Obsession, General Yandere Things.
You’re fairly certain that Peter Parker has been following you.
No, you know that Peter Parker has been following you. You’ve seen him far too much lately. He claimed that the two of you just have similar schedules, but you weren’t even in the same major! There was no reason for an engineering major to hang around the liberal arts building. Not when the engineering school got a multi-million dollar upgrade last year and the liberal arts building was lucky to have a handful of outdated computers and study tables that always wobbled.
Yeah, Peter Parker was definitely following you. You just didn’t know why.
You told yourself he was harmless. Peter wouldn’t ever hurt you. He was probably just interested in you. A simple crush. Nothing to worry about.
You really, really wish you had worried about it. Maybe if you had worried about it, you wouldn’t have been bitten by Peter on your way back to your dorm. Maybe if you had worried about it, you wouldn’t have passed out. Maybe if you had worried about it, you wouldn’t have woken up in a fucking web cocoon in some shitty off campus apartment.
You were so totally screwed.
You twist in the webbing, trying to find some way out. As much as you push and fight, however, you remain very firmly stuck. It almost seems like the webs were getting tighter the more you struggle against them.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You freeze as Peter crawls into the apartment through the window, “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“P-Peter? What’s going on?” You stammer nervously as Peter draws closer. He doesn’t look good. He’s swaying slightly on his feet and he looks vaguely feverish.
“I tried to stay away from you, y/n.”
“Wh-what?” Your breath catches when you see the manic look in Peter’s eyes. Peter’s entirely black eyes. Something is very wrong.
“After you forgot. I tried to stay away from you, but I couldn’t. I need you, y/n, and you need me.” Peter’s smile is too wide, showing off a set of fangs as he reaches up to touch your face. “I know you don’t remember anything, but it’s okay. I’ll fix it. You’ll see…I’ll make you remember.”
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The grand hall was alive with the murmur of noble voices, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melody of strings playing in the background. You stood at the far end, carefully picking through your gown, every detail meticulous, every piece of jewelry calculated. Minthara had been busy greeting the guests, her presence as imposing as ever, and for a moment, you had entertained the idea of keeping her company for the night.
But where was the fun in that?
You had embraced your role as her wife, her consort, but over time you’d found little ways to amuse yourself, to regain some semblance of control in the shadows of her possessive love. And one of those ways was to make her jealous, to stray from her side, and feel the invisible leash pull taut as you played with the fire of her wrath. She hated it when you didn’t stay close, hated even more when you garnered attention from others. That possessiveness was something you could manipulate to your advantage. You relished the game.
Tonight was no different. With a sly smile, you glanced at Minthara, who was speaking with a group of high-ranking nobles. Her eyes momentarily flickered toward you, a warning glance, but you simply gave her a playful nod and turned your attention elsewhere. You had your fun to be had.
You started to make your way toward the center of the hall, mingling with guests who eagerly turned their attention to you. You could feel their gazes trailing over you, flattering words and offers of drinks slipping into your ears. One lord in particular leaned in closer than necessary, whispering something far too forward, but you only smiled, knowing full well how Minthara would seethe if she saw it.
As you laughed softly at some flirtatious comment, a sudden sharp pain lanced through your wrists. It was as if invisible chains were tightening around them, burning, searing into your skin. You gasped, stumbling slightly, your hand shooting to clutch at your wrist, but there was nothing there—no mark, no cause.
Then you looked up, searching the crowd, and your eyes found Minthara’s.
She was standing across the room, still engaged in conversation, but she caught your gaze. And she smirked. That knowing, dangerous smirk. She gave a small nod before turning her back on you, walking away without a care.
The pain intensified, a wave of fire crawling up your arms, forcing you to double over slightly. You had no choice but to follow her. You could barely keep up appearances as you excused yourself from the conversation and hurried after her, the pressure easing only when you neared her. The closer you got, the lighter the sensation became.
It didn’t take long before you caught up with her, breathless and frustrated, your wrists throbbing from the lingering sensation of her hold. Minthara didn’t stop walking, but she acknowledged your presence with a sideward glance. Her lips curled into a wicked grin, one that sent a shiver down your spine.
"Quick learner, aren’t you?" she purred, her voice low, teasing, as she continued her stride, pulling you deeper into the halls.
"Minthara, what did you—" you began, but the second the words left your mouth, you felt a jolt of pain again, fiercer this time, snapping through your wrists and curling into your chest.
You gasped and winced, instinctively stepping closer to her, where the pain abated, leaving you trembling and on edge. She stopped walking now, turning fully to face you, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"You think you can play your little games, darling?" she said, her voice silken, yet edged with danger. "Straying from me? Mmm, you should know better by now."
"I was just…" you tried, but before you could finish, she was upon you, her hands finding your wrists. The pain melted away under her touch, but you could feel the simmering control behind her grasp.
You wanted to protest, to tell her this was going too far, but before you could speak, she kissed you. Her lips pressed hard against yours, possessive and dominant, pulling you into her with an intensity that left your head spinning. You tried to pull away—tried to resist, but the second you did, the pain flared in your wrists again, an electric pulse of agony that forced a whimper from your throat.
You stilled, letting her continue, your mind reeling. She released your wrists, her hands moving to cup your face as she deepened the kiss, and you could feel her satisfaction, her smug triumph seeping into every touch.
When she finally pulled away, your breathing was ragged, your wrists throbbing faintly, and she whispered against your lips, "You belong to me. Don't forget it."
Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between frustration, fear, and the lingering remnants of that burning pain. The game you had played had turned on you, and now, you realized that straying from her would only bring more suffering. Minthara had bound you to her side—physically, emotionally, and with the cruelest kind of magic.
You were hers, and there was no escaping it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The Sharran cloister had always been a place of shadows and whispers, a sanctuary where every member was expected to devote themselves fully to the Lady of Loss. But despite the darkness that clung to the air, you had found an unexpected warmth among some of the devotees. They were different from the rest—curious about you, gentle in their interactions, and not nearly as rigid as the others. It wasn’t long before you found yourself seeking their company more and more, slipping away from Shadowheart’s watchful gaze to spend time with them.
They’d talk with you, sharing stories of their lives before the cloister, laughing quietly in hidden corners where the light barely reached. For a moment, you felt something close to freedom, as if the suffocating control Shadowheart held over you had loosened, just a little. You didn't inform her about these meetings, knowing full well how possessive she could be. But even in your small acts of rebellion, you felt an exhilaration you hadn’t experienced in months.
You should have known that nothing escaped the Mother Superior. One evening, as you returned from one of your secret rendezvous, you found her waiting for you in your shared quarters, her arms crossed, her eyes dark and unreadable. She didn't say anything at first, merely watched you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
“You’ve been very busy,” she finally said, her tone deceptively calm. “Making friends, are we?”
You tried to stammer out an explanation, but she raised a hand to silence you.
“Don’t lie to me,” she hissed, stepping closer. “You’ve been meeting with them behind my back. You know how much I despise being kept in the dark.”
"I didn’t mean to—"
“Enough,” she snapped, and you could feel the cold touch of her magic wrapping around you, tightening like an invisible leash. “If you wish to be entertained by them, then let’s see just how entertaining they can be.”
You were dragged to the main hall, the other Sharrans already gathered, their eyes wide with curiosity and fear. The ones you had grown close to stood at the center, their faces pale, their eyes flickering with uncertainty. Shadowheart stepped forward, her presence commanding the attention of every soul in the room.
“These followers of Shar,” she announced, gesturing to them, “have forgotten their true purpose. They have become weak, complacent.” Her gaze fell on you, a wicked smile curling on her lips. “But tonight, they will remember.”
Your heart sank as she turned to the group you had befriended, her voice taking on a chilling, almost tender tone. “You will fight. To the death. Prove your devotion to Shar, embrace the ultimate loss, and perhaps she will find you worthy.”
There was a murmur of disbelief, a ripple of fear that spread through the group, but Shadowheart’s voice cut through it all. “Begin.”
They hesitated, looking at you, as if hoping you might intervene, might speak on their behalf. But Shadowheart’s grip tightened around your wrist, her nails digging into your skin, and you knew there was nothing you could do.
The first blow was struck—a hesitant punch, almost gentle, as if they still couldn’t believe what they were being asked to do. But it was enough to break the dam. Fear took over, and soon they were upon each other, teeth bared, fists flying. You watched in horror as they tore into one another, their movements wild and desperate, their cries echoing through the hall like a twisted symphony of agony.
You tried to turn away, but Shadowheart’s magic kept you rooted in place, forcing you to watch every moment, every drop of blood spilled.
"Look at them," she whispered in your ear, her voice like silk. "This is what happens when you defy me. This is the fate of those who try to steal what is mine."
Tears blurred your vision as you watched the people you had come to care for destroy each other, their bodies bruised and broken, their eyes filled with pain and betrayal. One by one, they fell, their blood staining the cold stone floor until only one remained—a young woman, barely standing, her body trembling with exhaustion and grief.
Shadowheart released you then, and you stumbled forward, your legs barely holding you up as you moved toward the woman. She looked at you with hollow eyes, and you reached out to her, wanting to say something—anything—to make this right.
But before you could utter a word, Shadowheart’s dagger flashed, the blade plunging into the woman's chest with a sickening thud. You gasped, a choked sob escaping your lips as she collapsed to the ground, her life snuffed out in an instant. Shadowheart turned to you, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Now, do you understand?” she asked softly, wiping the blood from her blade. “You belong to me. You always have. And I will not share what is mine.”
You collapsed into her arms, too numb, too broken to resist as she pulled you close, her hands stroking your hair with an almost tender touch.
“Shh, my love,” she murmured. “This is how it must be. This is how I will keep you safe.”
And as you clung to her, your body shaking with silent sobs, you realized with chilling clarity that there would be no escaping her grasp. You were bound to her, trapped in this twisted love, and there was no one left to save you from the darkness that had swallowed you whole.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
The evening had started like so many others since you had ascended with Gale. The soft glow of candles flickered around the chamber, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air as you sat at Gale’s side, idly leafing through a tome of ancient magic. The two of you were intertwined in both power and passion, your lives fused together in a celestial dance that had made you Gale’s consort, his muse, his equal—or so you thought.
It was meant to be a simple prayer session, an astral gathering of Gale’s followers to offer their tributes and praises. You had grown accustomed to their reverence, their adoration. And it wasn’t unusual for them to address you, their God’s beloved, with a certain level of affection. You were Gale’s inspiration, after all, the mortal embodiment of his ambitions and dreams.
But tonight, something felt different. As you listened to the murmured prayers from across the hall, you began to notice the way the followers spoke to you. Their words were tender, more intimate than before, and you could sense a shift in their worship. They praised your beauty, your wisdom, the way you had inspired Gale to become the god he was today. Their eyes gleamed with longing, their voices thick with emotion as they addressed you, not just as Gale's consort but as if you were their own lover, their muse.
"Divine one," one whispered fervently, "grant us a glimpse of your grace. Let us be worthy of your gaze, as you are of Gale's love. Through you, we feel his power, his passion."
Gale stiffened beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. You could feel the tension radiating off him, a low hum of annoyance that crackled in the air like a gathering storm. His fingers twitched, just the slightest, and you knew that your partner, your god, was displeased.
“Enough,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with warning. “They forget their place.”
You turned to him, meeting his eyes with an expression of exasperation.
"They're harmless, Gale," you said softly, trying to placate him. "It's their way of feeling closer to you, of connecting with your divinity. It’s no different from the way they praise you."
But Gale’s eyes darkened, his expression sharpening into something dangerous.
"They mistake you for something you are not," he said, his voice dropping to a low, threatening growl. "You belong to me, not them."
You rolled your eyes, a flicker of impatience bubbling up before you could stop yourself.
“Then act like a god,” you snapped, more out of irritation than any real defiance. “This is what you wanted, Gale. You are their deity now. Show them you’re worthy of that title, and stop acting so…” You paused, searching for the right word, "…petty."
The instant the words left your lips, you felt the weight of them settle like a stone in your stomach. Gale’s eyes flashed with a fury you had only seen a handful of times, his expression turning cold and sharp. You opened your mouth to take it back, to smooth things over, but it was too late. The damage was done. Gale’s lips curved into a smile, one that sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’re right,” he murmured, almost tenderly, and for a moment, you thought you had managed to calm him. But then, with a snap of his fingers, the room was suddenly filled with the scent of smoke, the acrid taste of burning wood seeping into the air. He turned his head, and through some magic only a god could possess, you saw it: the tavern where the followers had gathered, engulfed in flames, their screams rising in a crescendo of agony as they burned alive.
You stared in horror as the building collapsed in on itself, your heart seizing in your chest. It was over in seconds, a display of power so absolute, so unyielding, that you could scarcely comprehend it. And then it was gone—the tavern reduced to ashes, the followers nothing more than charred remains.
“Gale,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “What have you done?”
He turned to you, his eyes shining with an eerie light.
"I acted like a god," he said simply, reaching out to cup your face in his hand. His touch was gentle, his thumb brushing against your cheek, but there was a weight behind it, a reminder of just how easily he could destroy everything you held dear. “And I think,” he continued, his tone soft, almost loving, “it’s time you remembered your place, my muse.”
You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from his. There was no point in arguing, in trying to reason with him. He had shown you the extent of his power, the depth of his possessiveness, and you knew, in that moment, that there would be no escape from it.
You nodded, swallowing the fear and the regret that threatened to choke you.
“Yes, my love,” you whispered, forcing a smile to your lips. “Of course.”
Gale’s smile widened, his thumb pressing just a bit harder against your skin.
“Good,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s never have this conversation again.”
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
It started as a small comfort, a distraction from the constant shadows that clung to your life with Astarion. His servant spawn had always been around, dutiful and obedient, but you had found a certain camaraderie with them, a strange bond formed in shared servitude. They, like you, were trapped by Astarion's whims, bound to his will, but where you saw fear in the eyes of others, you saw something else in theirs—an unspoken understanding, a sense of solidarity.
You would often find yourself in their company, quietly conversing in the dimly lit halls of Astarion’s estate. They were kind in their own way, respectful but not groveling, and you appreciated the moments of normalcy they brought into your life. When Astarion was away, you could almost pretend that you weren’t under his control, that there was still a piece of you that was yours alone.
It wasn’t long before Astarion began to notice the way his spawn looked at you. At first, he found it amusing—the little glances, the way they seemed to linger just a moment too long whenever you were in the room. But as the weeks passed, that amusement turned to irritation, and then to something darker. He could feel the unspoken defiance in the air, the way his spawn dared to look at you as if you belonged to them, as if they had any right to claim you in any way. It was an insult, one he couldn't ignore.
One evening, as the sun began its slow descent beyond the horizon, Astarion watched from the shadows as you laughed at something his servant spawn had said. The soft, genuine sound of your laughter stirred something in him—a flicker of jealousy, of possessiveness, that quickly fanned into a burning rage.
He waited until you left the room, until the spawn was alone, before he emerged from the darkness. His eyes glinted with malice, and the servant's body stiffened in response, sensing the danger but unable to flee.
“You know,” Astarion began, his voice deceptively light, "I’ve been very patient with you. Allowing you to exist in my home, to serve me, to breathe the same air as I do. And yet, despite all my generosity, you’ve been quite ungrateful, haven’t you?"
The spawn lowered their gaze, murmuring, "Master, I—"
"Silence," Astarion snapped, the word laced with compulsion. The servant froze, their mouth hanging open but unable to form any more words. Astarion circled them slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. "I’ve seen the way you look at them. The way you think you could ever be their equal, that you could ever hope to stand by their side as anything more than what you are—a pitiful, pathetic extension of my will."
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against the servant's ear. "You forget yourself," he whispered, his voice venomous. "And that is something I cannot tolerate."
With a sudden, sharp movement, he grabbed the servant's chin, forcing them to look up at him. "You love them, don't you? Or at least, you think you do. It’s adorable, really. Pathetic, but adorable."
The servant tried to shake their head, tried to deny it, but Astarion's compulsion held them in place.
"No lies," he murmured, his tone almost affectionate. "No more pretending."
There was a flicker of defiance in the servant's eyes, and for a moment, they managed to tear their gaze away from Astarion, looking instead toward the door where you had disappeared moments before. Astarion’s grip tightened, his nails digging into their skin, and he sneered.
"You think you could ever have them? That you could take them away from me?" He laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "No, my dear. No one will ever take them from me. Not even you."
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with the power of his compulsion, his voice dripping with the weight of his command.
“Go,” he ordered, his tone unyielding. “Walk into the sun.”
The servant’s eyes widened in terror, their body trembling as they fought against the irresistible pull of Astarion’s will. But it was useless; his command was absolute. With slow, halting steps, they began to move toward the door, their movements jerky, as if every step was a battle against the invisible chains dragging them forward.
You returned just in time to see them reaching for the door, their eyes wide and frantic, silently pleading for help.
“Wait!” you cried out, rushing forward, but Astarion caught you by the wrist, pulling you back against him.
“Now, now, darling,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “This is a lesson, you see. For both of you.”
You struggled against his grip, tears filling your eyes as you watched the servant open the door. The first rays of the morning sun crept into the room, bathing them in golden light. For a moment, they stood there, illuminated, before their skin began to burn, wisps of smoke rising from their flesh as they let out a choked, agonized scream.
“No!” you cried, your voice breaking, but it was too late. The light consumed them, reducing them to ash, until there was nothing left but a pile of soot on the ground.
Astarion released you, letting you collapse to your knees in front of the remnants of the person who had been your friend, your only source of comfort in this nightmare.
“You see?” he murmured, kneeling beside you, his voice soft and almost tender. “You belong to me. And I don’t share.”
You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you saw him for what he truly was—a monster, wrapped in the guise of a man you had once thought you loved. And as he gently brushed the tears from your cheeks, you felt the last pieces of your hope crumble into dust, just like the ashes scattered at your feet.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
You were kneeling in the soft grass of the grove, a small wounded bird cradled delicately in your hands. The creature's tiny heartbeat was fluttering wildly against your palm as you whispered words of comfort, your fingers glowing faintly with healing magic. It was in moments like these that you could almost forget the gilded cage you were trapped in, lose yourself in the gentleness of caring for these broken animals. They were a distraction, a small solace in a life you had no control over.
As you carefully tended to the bird's injured wing, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. It was the young druid, the one who had been helping you for the past few weeks, offering his aid and companionship. You had grown fond of him in a way—he was kind, and his presence had become a small light in the darkness that surrounded you. But today, there was a nervousness about him, an anxiousness that you could feel even before he spoke.
He knelt beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"I need to talk to you," he whispered, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. You sighed, your attention still focused on the bird.
"Now isn't the best time," you murmured, gently coaxing the creature to test its newly mended wing.
"Please," he insisted, his voice trembling. "I can't keep this to myself anymore." He reached out, and for a moment, you froze as his hand brushed against your arm. "I care about you. More than I should, more than is safe. I’ve been watching you, and I know you’re not happy here. I can help you. I can get you out of here."
Your breath hitched, and for a brief moment, hope sparked in your chest, but it was quickly doused by fear.
"You fool," you hissed, shaking your head vehemently. "You shouldn’t be saying such things. Not here, not where he can—"
The ground beneath you shuddered, and your words died in your throat as you felt the pulse of magic in the air. Vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around the druid's wrists and ankles, yanking him backwards with a force that sent him sprawling onto the ground. He struggled, panic setting in as the vines tightened, dragging him towards the center of the grove.
"No," you breathed, a chill running down your spine. "No, no, no." You turned to run, but you collided with something solid.
Halsin stood behind you, his expression calm, almost serene. There was no anger in his eyes, only that familiar, unsettling sense of ownership. He offered you his hand, his voice gentle but commanding.
"Come," he said, "you need to see this."
You hesitated, trembling, but you knew there was no choice. He would make you watch, one way or another. You took his hand, your fingers curling around his, and he led you to the center of the grove. The other druids stood silently, their faces a mixture of fear and resignation as they watched the scene unfold. No one dared to intervene.
The young druid was gasping, struggling against the vines that held him, but they only tightened further, cutting into his skin, drawing blood.
He turned his eyes to you, desperation and pain etched across his features. “Please,” he choked out, “please…”
You looked away, unable to bear the sight, but Halsin’s hand was there, cupping your chin, forcing you to face it.
"Watch," he commanded softly, his breath warm against your ear. "You need to understand. This is what happens when others try to take what is mine."
You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to close your eyes, to shut out the horror unfolding before you, but Halsin’s grip kept you anchored, kept you from turning away. The vines began to tighten further, wrapping around the druid’s limbs, pulling them in different directions. There was a sickening crack as bones snapped, and he screamed—a sound that echoed through the grove, chilling you to the bone.
Tears blurred your vision, but still, you watched, helpless, as the vines continued their relentless tearing, ripping him apart piece by piece. The ground was stained with blood, and his screams slowly turned to whimpers, then silence.
When it was finally over, Halsin turned you to face him, brushing your tears away with gentle fingers.
"You see now?" he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You belong to me. No one else will ever take you from me."
You nodded, unable to find your voice, your heart shattered in your chest. Halsin's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and for a moment, you felt the illusion of safety in his embrace. But you knew—deep down, you knew—you would never truly be safe, not as long as you remained his.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
The grand ballroom was awash with music and laughter, an endless sea of glittering gowns and polished boots swirling in a dance of politics and pleasure. You were no stranger to these gatherings; as the Grand Duchess, your presence was expected, your smile a fixture of grace and warmth. And tonight, like so many nights before, you were by Wyll’s side, your arm looped through his, playing the role of his perfect companion.
But it wasn’t long before a certain lord—a man of considerable wealth and far less sense—decided to test his luck. Lord Alderidge, an aging noble with graying hair and a belly full of wine, had taken an immediate interest in you. Throughout the evening, he grew bolder, more insistent in his pursuit, his every sentence dripping with clumsy flattery as he found excuse after excuse to hover near you.
"You are an absolute vision," he slurred, his words just slightly too loud, just slightly too close. “The way you carry yourself… It’s as if the moon itself envies your radiance.”
You managed a polite smile, aware of Wyll’s eyes on you from across the room, his gaze never straying far.
“You’re too kind, Lord Alderidge,” you replied, attempting to shift the conversation to safer ground. “I’m sure there are countless beauties here tonight who would be far more deserving of your attention.”
But Alderidge wasn’t deterred. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he whispered, “None as captivating as you, my lady.”
You caught Wyll’s gaze again, and you saw the storm brewing in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. You sighed inwardly, excusing yourself from Lord Alderidge’s advances and moving swiftly to Wyll’s side.
"He's harmless, Wyll," you said softly, intertwining your fingers with his. "Just a foolish old man who’s had a bit too much to drink. There’s no need to worry."
Wyll’s eyes didn’t leave Lord Alderidge, his fingers tightening around yours.
“He oversteps,” he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. You squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you.
“It’s sweet, in a way,” you said, offering him a smile. “It’s just the drink talking. He’ll forget all about it come morning.”
For a moment, Wyll’s expression softened, and you thought you’d managed to convince him. He nodded slowly, drawing you closer and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “You always are.”
Relief flooded through you, and you allowed yourself to enjoy the rest of the evening, keeping a careful distance from Lord Alderidge but otherwise letting the night pass without further incident. You thought you had put the matter to rest, that Wyll had seen reason and let the slight pass.
It was only the next morning, as you stepped out onto the balcony with a cup of tea in hand, that you realized how mistaken you had been.
The palace was abuzz with whispers, the servants exchanging furtive glances as they rushed about their morning duties. You caught snippets of their conversations, enough to piece together the grim news: Lord Alderidge was dead. Found in the river that very morning, his body battered and broken as if he’d taken a terrible fall.
You stood there, frozen, the porcelain cup trembling in your grasp. It was an accident, they said. A tragic end to a night of revelry. But as you turned back to your chambers, you found Wyll lounging by the fireplace, a glass of wine already in hand despite the early hour.
His eyes met yours, and there was a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Good morning, my love,” he greeted, his tone light, as if he hadn’t just orchestrated the murder of a man.
Your breath caught in your throat. “Wyll,” you began, your voice unsteady. “Lord Alderidge… They said he—”
“Such a terrible accident,” Wyll interrupted, his gaze never wavering. “One would think he’d have been more careful.” He took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. “But then, some men just don’t know their limits, do they?”
You stared at him, the truth sinking in like a stone in your chest.
“You did this,” you whispered, more a statement than a question. “You had him killed.”
Wyll merely shrugged, as if the matter were of no consequence.
“He was becoming a nuisance,” he said simply, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “And I’ve told you before, haven’t I? I won’t allow anyone to come between us.”
You felt the world tilt beneath your feet, the reality of your situation crashing down around you. There would be no convincing him, no gentle words that could dissuade him from this possessive madness. Wyll would do whatever it took to keep you by his side, to eliminate any perceived threat, no matter how innocent or inconsequential.
And as he crossed the room to pull you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, you realized with a sinking heart that you would never be free. You would always belong to him, bound by chains made not of iron, but of love twisted into something dark and unyielding.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ooooooo I forgot how much I love writing for these evil bastards oml, and they are evil bastards. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
I don't know of you have done something like this, but if not, could you do scenarios for the dark au where tav gets hurt by someone who wants to take their place? Maybe they think they are unworthy? Adore your writing 😊
Ahhh thank you so much !! This was super fun to write !
CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader only noticeable in Wyll's though
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Conqueror Minthara:
The dark silence of the Underdark gardens wrapped around you like a shroud, broken only by the echo of your own hurried footsteps. The recent fight with Minthara had left you frustrated, her possessive nature grating at you until you’d finally stormed off. You knew it would unsettle her; Minthara wasn’t one to let anyone, least of all you, slip from her grasp so easily. Still, you had hoped she’d give you a moment to breathe. As you heard footsteps approaching, you rolled your eyes, assuming she had come after you, too possessive to let even a single disagreement take you from her.
But something felt wrong.
The figure moving toward you was silent, controlled—lacking Minthara’s usual predatory grace. You barely had time to react before you saw a glint of steel, and a sharp pain seared across your side. You stumbled backward, clutching the wound, blood slipping through your fingers. As you looked up, your gaze met with the cold, disdainful eyes of Minthara’s second in command, the drow who had always regarded you with thinly veiled contempt. Her smile was a twisted thing, cold and malicious.
“Surprised?” she sneered, moving closer, her weapon dripping with your blood. “You really thought Minthara would care about some pet who has no place here? I’m going to end this—make it look like you couldn’t handle the Underdark after all. That you tried to escape. Minthara will believe it. She’ll have no choice but to move on.”
A chill ran through you as you realized the depth of her envy. This wasn’t just hatred; it was the envy of someone who despised what you had with Minthara, resenting that Minthara would choose you over anyone else. She stepped forward again, preparing to strike. But before she could make contact, you shoved her back with all the strength you could muster, sending her stumbling.
She staggered, then stopped short as her back hit something solid.
No… someone.
The second-in-command whirled around, eyes widening in horror as she came face-to-face with Minthara herself, who stood in the shadowed path with a deadly calm. Minthara’s gaze was dark, her face set into an expression of quiet, simmering rage that made the air feel even colder. Her eyes flicked from her subordinate’s trembling form to the blood dripping from your wound, taking in the entire scene in an instant.
“It’s not what—” the second-in-command stammered, scrambling for words, but Minthara cut her off with a look that could freeze fire.
“Silence.” Her voice was low, yet filled with an icy fury that sent a shiver down your spine. She reached out with a quick, brutal motion, grabbing her second-in-command by the throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off any attempt at explanation. The drow gasped for air, her eyes wide with terror as Minthara’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the delicate skin of her neck.
Minthara leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper.
“You thought you could lay a hand on what belongs to me? You dared to assume you had any right to touch them?” With a powerful surge, Minthara threw her to the ground, her movements sharp and precise, her eyes blazing with an almost unhinged rage. “You’ll wish for death before I’m done with you.”
The second-in-command lay incapacitated, her body twitching as Minthara’s magic left her unable to move, trapped in a state of suspended agony. Only then did Minthara turn her attention to you, her expression softening slightly as she moved toward you with an almost predatory care. She knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to steady you as she examined the wound on your side.
“You were hurt,” she murmured, a faint trace of anger still lacing her tone, but there was something else, too—a flicker of concern beneath the dark fury. She ran a gentle hand over your wound, applying enough pressure to stem the bleeding, her touch unexpectedly tender.
Despite the pain, you found yourself laughing, a soft chuckle that echoed through the silence.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me out of your sight,” you managed, your voice laced with irony. “Couldn’t lose control over me for even a moment, could you?”
Minthara’s eyes met yours, a dangerous glint in them, but there was something close to satisfaction there too.
“And a good thing it was,” she replied, her lips curving into a dark smile. “Or perhaps I would’ve had to hunt down the fool who thought they could steal you from me.”
Her hand moved from your wound to cradle your face, her thumb tracing your cheek in a gesture that was both possessive and strangely affectionate.
“You belong to me,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “No one else. Don’t ever forget that.”
She helped you to your feet, her arm around your waist, her grip both a support and a reminder of her control. You leaned into her touch, feeling the strength in her hold, the unyielding protection that came with her possessive love.
Behind you, her second-in-command lay helpless, bound by Minthara’s spell, and you knew without a doubt that her fate would be brutal. You didn’t need to watch to know that Minthara’s punishment would be swift and merciless. She would make an example out of her former subordinate, a warning to anyone who dared threaten what was hers.
As Minthara led you back through the garden, her hand firm around you, you felt a mixture of relief and resignation. She had saved your life, yes, but the possessiveness that drove her had been there all along, the dark and consuming love that wouldn’t allow you even a moment of freedom. She had saved you, but it was all to preserve what she saw as hers.
The pain in your side pulsed, but Minthara’s hand remained steady on your waist, her grip almost comforting in its possessiveness. In her twisted mind, her actions were justified. She had protected you, saved you from harm—she would do anything to keep you, even if that meant wrapping you tighter in her control.
As you walked together, you glanced up at her, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of something soft in her gaze. But then her expression shifted, her smile dark and triumphant. In her mind, she had won; she had kept you safe, defeated any threat to her claim on you.
And as she led you deeper into her realm, into the shadows where you would remain by her side, you knew that you would always be hers.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The courtyard of the cloister was cloaked in the muted gray light of early morning, shadows creeping along the stone walls as you squared off against your opponent. You took in the young Sharran before you, an ambitious acolyte whose eyes gleamed with a familiar hunger—a dangerous mix of ambition and jealousy.
You’d noticed their glances toward Shadowheart, the way they lingered when she walked past, barely concealing the devotion in their gaze. It was almost amusing to you, for no one in this cloister could threaten the place you held at her side. The memory gaps may have left holes in your mind, but your body moved with sharp, instinctual precision, honed through countless battles. You didn’t need memory to remind you that you were one of the best.
You circled each other, fists raised, and the acolyte’s stance was confident, too confident. You could feel the arrogance radiating from them, and it made you chuckle under your breath. They thought they were someone to be feared, someone with the skill to challenge you. And yet, as the fight began, it was clear they had underestimated your reflexes, your raw power.
Blow after blow, you dodged, struck, and blocked with a near-effortless grace that left them seething. It was obvious now they were outmatched, but there was no sign of retreat in their eyes. Instead, their lips curled into a sneer, and they muttered something under their breath—something too low for you to hear, but the bitterness was evident. And then, with a swift, practiced motion, they reached inside their cloak and pulled out a dagger, its blade glinting sharply in the dim light.
You felt a flicker of surprise. This was supposed to be a sparring match, nothing more, and yet they’d brought a knife into the fight. You tensed, muscles coiling as your eyes narrowed on the blade in their hand.
“So,” they taunted, their voice laced with venom, “the Mother Superior’s pet isn’t as sharp as she used to be. Gaps in memory, isn’t it? She doesn’t tell you everything, does she? How does it feel to be kept like a mindless tool, only good for taking orders?” They circled closer, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “You don’t belong by her side. You’re just… convenient. Nothing more.”
The words stung, gnawing at the back of your mind. It was true that there were holes in your memories, pieces that didn’t quite fit, details that you couldn’t fully recall. But you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to let them take root. Whatever was missing, whatever had been forgotten, it didn’t matter. You were here, and you were hers. That was all that mattered.
But the Sharran sensed your hesitation, a flash of doubt, and they pressed their advantage, lunging forward with the dagger. You dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air, but their relentless attacks began to push you back. You caught glimpses of their smirk, their taunting gaze, as if they were relishing every missed block, every moment of weakness.
And then, in a swift, brutal move, they managed to slip through your guard, the dagger cutting across your arm. You hissed in pain, blood dripping from the fresh wound, and you staggered back, feeling the weight of the fight suddenly shift. They saw the opening, and their eyes lit up with a triumphant gleam. They lunged forward again, the dagger poised for the killing blow.
But just as the blade was about to strike, they stopped—frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. Their limbs were rigid, locked in a stance of helpless fury, and a faint, dark aura shimmered around them. You looked up, following the line of their terrified gaze, and saw her.
Shadowheart stood at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes blazing with fury, her hand raised in a silent spell. With a flick of her wrist, the Sharran acolyte’s head twisted sharply, an audible snap echoing through the air as their body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
For a moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing as Shadowheart strode forward, her expression a cold mask of wrath. She didn’t even glance at the fallen acolyte, her focus entirely on you. She knelt beside you, her hands gentle as they traced over the wound on your arm, her fingers glowing with a faint healing light.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft, a sharp contrast to the deadly fury she had just displayed.
You nodded, your gaze flicking between her and the lifeless body nearby.
“They… they mentioned something about gaps in my memory,” you said cautiously, searching her eyes. “They said I don’t belong here. That I don’t know the whole truth.”
A shadow passed over her face, and for a moment, her grip on your arm tightened slightly. But then she softened, her fingers brushing over your skin as if to soothe the hurt beyond the physical wound.
“They were just trying to weaken you, to plant seeds of doubt in your mind,” she replied, her voice steady and calm. “Your place is here, with me. By my side. You belong nowhere else.”
She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “The gaps in your memory… they’re a consequence of the life you had before. A life that no longer matters. I saved you from that. I brought you here, to the cloister, where you can be who you’re meant to be. With me.”
The warmth of her magic seeped into your wound, and you felt the pain ebb away, replaced by a comforting numbness. The lingering doubt in your mind was overshadowed by the strength of her conviction, her unwavering belief in the path she had set for you. Shadowheart was your anchor, your guiding star, and you could feel the weight of her possessive devotion wrapping around you, a reminder that whatever had come before no longer held any power over you.
You managed a small smile, nodding as you reached up to brush a hand over her cheek, feeling the coolness of her skin.
“I trust you,” you murmured. “And I’m grateful to be by your side.”
She returned your smile, her gaze softening as she covered your hand with her own.
“Good. Because that’s exactly where you belong.” She cast one last, dismissive glance at the body of the acolyte, her lips curling in distaste. “No one else will threaten you. They don’t deserve to stand in your shadow.”
As she helped you to your feet, her arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you back to the cloister, the doubt faded away entirely. Whatever shadows lingered in your past, whatever memories had been lost, it didn’t matter. You were hers, and she was yours, and no one would ever take that from you.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
The dim candlelight of the summoning chamber cast flickering shadows over the cold stone walls, and the air was thick with incense and chanting. You shifted slightly, testing the limits of the runic circle that bound you in place, but every movement was met with an oppressive, invisible force, pressing down on you with unyielding weight.
As the realization settled in, your initial smirk of amusement at this mortal’s audacity faded, replaced by a gnawing unease. It was almost laughable how easily they had managed to capture you; Gale’s control over your divine power left you vulnerable, deliberately kept weak to prevent you from ever fully escaping his grasp. And now, as you felt your strength ebbing, you understood the gravity of your situation.
The follower knelt before you, a zealous glint in their eyes as they recited incantations, their voice laced with fervor. Dressed in elaborate robes, they wore talismans devoted to Gale, symbols of their fanatical devotion etched into every surface of the summoning chamber. The entire place was a shrine to ambition itself, each detail meticulously designed to honor your god—and your captor.
The follower finally lifted their gaze to you, a manic smile stretching across their face.
"You don’t deserve him," they hissed, their tone a poisonous mix of reverence and disdain. "You’re a weak god, nothing more than a hollow vessel given power by him. But me…" They leaned forward, their voice trembling with adoration. "I could worship him in ways you never could. Gale deserves undivided devotion, unbroken ambition. Not… someone as faint and powerless as you."
You opened your mouth to respond, to laugh off their words, but the runes pulsed, and with each pulse, you felt a new wave of your strength drain, seeping out of you and into the lines of the ritual. Your heart sank. This wasn’t just a simple binding. It was a siphoning—a slow, deliberate draw on your power, meant to weaken you enough to fuel the summoning of Gale himself.
They took a step closer, their eyes wide with triumph as they watched the light fading in your eyes.
"How does it feel, I wonder, knowing your own god keeps you shackled like a plaything? To be so close to greatness, yet to never truly be allowed to touch it?" They tilted their head, enjoying your silence, interpreting it as surrender.
And for a moment, there was fear in you. Not for yourself but for the terrible emptiness left behind as your power faded—a hollow reminder of Gale’s relentless control. You knew he saw you as his own, a piece of his ambition that could never exist independently, even as a god. This mortal, in their arrogance, had taken advantage of that very control, and now you were helpless in a way that gnawed at you.
The ritual circle blazed with renewed energy, and the room shook as a presence took form in the air—a dark, powerful force pressing down on everything within the chamber. The candle flames flickered and bowed as if in reverence, and a sudden silence swallowed the chanting, the air itself holding its breath as Gale stepped into the room, his very presence swallowing up all light and sound.
The follower fell to their knees, eyes wide with reverence and ecstasy.
"My lord!" they whispered, their voice filled with adoration as they reached out toward him. "I have shown you my devotion, captured this… pretender, to prove my worth. I am yours, my lord. Take me in place of—"
Gale’s gaze shifted from you to his devotee, a glint of curiosity sparking in his dark eyes as he studied them. His expression was unreadable, his face set into that unsettlingly calm mask he wore whenever he assessed someone who had piqued his interest. For a moment, the acolyte seemed to believe they had earned his favor, their face glowing with hope as they knelt before him.
But then Gale’s eyes narrowed, and a chill swept over the room as his expression darkened.
“You misunderstand your place,” he said, his voice soft, the calm tone belying the fury simmering beneath it. "You, a mere follower, believed yourself capable of taking what is mine?" He took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving the trembling form before him. "Did you think that capturing a god under my domain would earn my favor? Or did you simply seek to undermine me, thinking yourself worthy of such… ambition?"
The follower’s eyes widened in terror as they tried to back away, words of apology tumbling from their lips, but Gale’s power was already wrapping around them, a dark, suffocating force that held them immobile.
“It seems you lack an understanding of devotion," Gale continued, his voice chilling in its softness. "Let me show you what happens to those who overstep their bounds."
With a flick of his wrist, the follower’s body seized up, their breath catching in their throat as they gasped, unable to move. Gale’s magic seemed to compress around them, their bones creaking as his power slowly crushed the life from them, his face a mask of calm detachment. Their eyes rolled back in agony, their limbs contorting as Gale made his judgment swift and final, using them as an example of ambition misguided.
And then, in a flash, it was over. The follower’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, leaving a chilling silence in the air.
Gale finally turned his attention to you, his expression softening as he regarded you, though the possessiveness in his gaze was as strong as ever. He stepped into the circle, effortlessly dispersing the runes with a wave of his hand, releasing you from the binding that had held you so helplessly in place. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek with a strange tenderness, his touch a reminder of both his power and his control over you.
“Fear not, my muse,” he murmured, his voice rich with dark affection. “No one else will touch what belongs to me. Not even those who worship me.”
You nodded, your head dipping in a gesture of submission, knowing that he would take no other answer. Gale smiled, his thumb tracing your jawline with possessive satisfaction, and he pulled you close, his hand settling at the back of your neck.
“You are bound to me,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with command. “Your power is mine to grant or withhold, and none shall touch it, or you, without my will.”
And with that, he led you from the chamber, the empty remains of his follower a silent warning to any who dared question the place he had carved out for you in his unyielding ambition. Gale was your god, your captor, and your guardian all in one—and no one would come between you and his dark, consuming love.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
The sunlight was unforgiving, searing down on your skin the instant you were thrown into it. Agony flared as the delicate warding spell that had protected you disintegrated, leaving you exposed to the relentless rays of the sun. Pain consumed you, blinding and unbearable as your flesh burned, blistering and cracking in mere seconds.
You stumbled, gasping as the raw heat seared through muscle and bone. You tried to scream, but your voice died in your throat, choked out by the fire consuming you. The world was blurring in and out, and through the haze of agony, you could make out the blurred silhouette of your attacker, smirking from the safety of the shadows just inside the door, watching with satisfaction as you writhed.
The spawn had been relentless in their ambition, and it was only in that agonizing moment that you finally understood just how deeply their envy ran. They thought themselves worthy of Astarion’s favor, the one destined to be his dark consort, and they had waited for the right opportunity, the chance to strip you of your place by his side.
Your vision dimmed as the fire ate away at you, the edges of consciousness fading. You barely registered the door bursting open again or the cold shadow that swept over you as hands—cold, firm hands—gripped you and pulled you away from the merciless light. The next thing you felt was the cool press of stone beneath you, the oppressive heat gone, and then… nothing. There was nothing but pain and darkness.
Through the haze, you felt something pressed to your lips—warm and metallic, filling your senses with the rich, familiar scent of blood. Instinctively, you drank, the sensation grounding you, soothing the burning wounds with each pull. Slowly, the pain dulled, replaced by a distant, comforting hum. Your senses began to return, the blurry edges of the room coming into focus as you felt the charred skin mending, painfully knitting back together as life returned to your broken form.
As you finally blinked the haze from your eyes, you found yourself staring up at Astarion’s face, his crimson eyes softened with an uncharacteristic tenderness, though his mouth was drawn into a taut line. His hand cupped your cheek as if you were something fragile, his thumb brushing over the fresh, healed skin where burns had marred it only moments ago. He was murmuring softly, words flowing over you in a tone both soothing and possessive, though you could hardly process them in your dazed state.
“It’s all right, my sweet,” he cooed, his voice low and warm as he leaned over you, his face barely inches from yours. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone harm you, not like that.”
You blinked, slowly looking past him, only to freeze as the full scene came into focus. Scattered around you were bloodied remains—the spawn, or rather, what was left of them, was strewn across the room. Their limbs had been torn from their body, reduced to a gruesome pile of parts on the cold stone floor. The once-confident smirk you had seen on their face was gone, replaced now by a horrified stillness in their lifeless eyes.
Astarion’s grip on you tightened as he followed your gaze, his expression darkening.
“Oh, don’t waste your energy on them,” he murmured, his tone smooth but edged with a chilling coldness. He tilted your face back to him, forcing your gaze to meet his. “They thought they could take what’s mine, dared to strip you of the protection I gave you, to hurt you. But they forgot one simple thing.”
His hand traced down from your cheek to your throat, where his fingers rested possessively, feeling the steady pulse of your blood.
“You’re mine. Body, soul, and everything in between,” he whispered, his voice a velvet command. “No one else could ever take your place.”
The fear, the agony, the helplessness of moments ago seemed to fade as he held you, his arms wrapped around you with a fierce protectiveness. His fingers stroked through your hair as he continued to murmur assurances, the words as binding as a spell, each one a reaffirmation of your place at his side. There was no room for doubt; in his arms, you were shielded from the pain, shielded from everything but his absolute, consuming devotion.
“They all think they’re special, my dear,” he said, casting a disdainful glance at the remains. “But they’re not like you, none of them. You, my sweet, are the only one worthy of my power, my attention. You belong to me—and I to you.” He smiled, a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he brushed a lock of hair back from your face. "And I won’t let anyone interfere with that."
You managed a weak nod, leaning into his touch as he continued to hold you close. The last vestiges of the agony you had endured melted away, leaving only the soft, possessive murmur of his voice, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing over your skin, as he soothed and calmed you back from the brink. He was your anchor, your constant, and in this moment, his power was a shield around you.
As he held you, the remnants of his wrath still lingering in his gaze, you knew that no one else would ever challenge your place beside him. Astarion had made his stance clear in the most brutal way possible, a warning to any who would dare cross him—and a reminder to you that, no matter what, he would always keep you close, bound to him in his dark, all-encompassing love.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
The grove was quiet, the leaves whispering softly as a gentle breeze passed through, but that night, something felt amiss. Halsin lay beside you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, and assumed you were simply exhausted from the long day spent in the forest. He smiled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and closed his own eyes, content to rest with you beside him. But when he stirred from sleep later in the night, something had changed. A low, strangled sound pulled him from his slumber, and in the faint moonlight, he saw your body trembling, the tremors rolling through you like a shiver from the deepest cold.
You weren’t asleep; you were convulsing, and a dark glisten of sweat clung to your brow. Alarm shot through Halsin, who immediately recognized the signs of poison—a potent, slow-working concoction he’d seen used in rare cases within the grove.
His mind raced as he searched for the antidote, pulling it from his stores and carefully administering it, tilting your head back to help you drink, whispering words of encouragement as he steadied your shaking hands.
After a few agonizing moments, the worst of your spasms subsided, and your breathing leveled out. Weak and shaken, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, trying to focus. Halsin kept his gaze soft, filled with concern but tinged with a growing anger simmering beneath. He held you close as you regained your strength, his hand a steady presence on your back.
Once you could stand, Halsin supported you, guiding you from your resting place out into the heart of the grove. Under the canopy of starlit leaves, he called upon the druids, summoning them with a low, commanding tone. His voice reverberated through the grove, uncharacteristically severe, and one by one, the druids gathered in the clearing, forming a loose circle around you both.
Halsin’s protective arm around your shoulders lent you strength as you looked at each of their faces, searching for the one who had betrayed you.
Though your hands still trembled, your gaze hardened as you focused on a single figure at the edge of the circle, a druid whose stance was too stiff, whose eyes averted yours. The poisoner looked back at you, a faint glint of resentment flashing in their eyes before they began to back away, inching toward the cover of the trees. Without hesitation, you raised a shaky hand, pointing directly at them.
"It’s… it’s them," you whispered, your voice weak but sure.
The druid’s face twisted with fear and defiance, and in one swift motion, they turned, making a desperate break toward the edge of the grove, hoping to escape into the shadows.
But Halsin would not allow them to flee. His jaw tightened, his fury coming to the surface in an uncharacteristic, brutal wave. With a single gesture, he summoned thick, thorned vines from the earth.
They erupted from the soil with a life of their own, coiling like serpents as they slithered after the fleeing druid. The vines caught up quickly, wrapping around the traitor’s legs and yanking them down to the ground, winding up over their body with fierce intent.
The thorned vines tightened, digging into flesh, piercing through clothing and skin alike. Blood began to pool, dark and stark against the earthy ground, as the vines tore through, showing no mercy. The grove seemed to hold its breath, watching as the very nature that the traitor had twisted for their own purposes now turned on them. Halsin’s gaze was unyielding as he watched, his expression set, the compassion he usually reserved for his people absent.
The druid let out a strangled cry as the thorns pressed deeper, breaking skin and severing tendons, each tightening coil met with a gory result. Their blood soaked into the earth, nourishing it, just as Halsin had intended, a grotesque reminder of what happened to those who threatened his own. For him, this act was justice—a stark, undeniable message to any who might dare undermine the safety of his grove or his kin.
Finally, as the druid’s life slipped away, Halsin released his hold, the vines loosening and receding back into the ground, leaving only silence and the faint scent of blood on the forest floor.
When it was over, he turned to you, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
"You are safe now," he said, his voice a blend of calm and the fierce protectiveness that had driven him to act so ruthlessly. “No one will harm you here again.”
Though you were shaken, you found strength in his touch, nodding as he pulled you close, his embrace as unyielding as the very nature he had summoned to protect you. The grove was a place of sanctuary, of balance—and Halsin had shown that he would stop at nothing to keep it that way, even if it meant spilling blood into the very soil he had sworn to protect.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
The opulence of the ballroom shimmered around you, chandeliers casting warm light over the swirling dancers, the ornate fabrics, and glittering jewels. You held your head high beside the Grand Duke, finding solace in the joy of the night despite the whispers that trailed in your wake. Nobles murmured, their words carrying faintly over the music. Most of it you had learned to ignore, but tonight, the gossip felt sharp and unrelenting. Snippets of conversation floated past, just loud enough to reach your ears.
“Can you believe they let her into the ballroom at his side?” one of them whispered with a haughty laugh. “She looks more suited to a servant’s position,” sneered another, their words laced with contempt. You clenched your hands at your sides, taking steady breaths to brush off their malice. But then, their murmurs grew darker.
“I heard the Grand Duke only keeps her around for amusement. How long, I wonder, until he tires of her?” someone murmured, laughing softly. “It would be such a scandal if she were to just… disappear, wouldn’t it?”
Their venomous words stung in a way that you hadn’t anticipated, pressing upon a wound that you had tried to bury. You excused yourself, weaving through the crowd until you found the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars twinkled overhead, their beauty a quiet comfort against the bitterness of the nobles’ words. You leaned against the balustrade, the city lights below calming you, giving you a moment’s peace. But that peace was short-lived.
Behind you, the same group of nobles had followed, lingering just by the doorway. One of them tittered, their tone thick with false innocence.
“Out here on the balcony, alone?” another mocked, their tone feigning concern. “Careful, dear. You wouldn’t want to lose your balance.”
You turned to leave, but they circled around, blocking your path with thinly veiled malice. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intent as they crowded closer, nudging you further out toward the edge of the balcony. Your pulse quickened as your back met the cold stone of the balustrade, the space behind you yawning into open air.
“Oh, no need to look so frightened. We’re simply having a little chat,” one of them cooed, their smirk betraying their intent. They pressed closer, each small movement edging you nearer to the ledge.
Then, a voice rang out, slicing through the tension like a knife:
“Enough.” Wyll’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable, sharp edge beneath it that cut the air like steel. The nobles immediately straightened, stepping back from you, their sneers evaporating as they turned to face the Grand Duke himself.
“We were only talking to her, Your Grace,” one of them stammered, their tone suddenly meek. “No harm intended.”
Wyll’s gaze was dark, his eyes smoldering as he took in the scene, his jaw set and expression unreadable. He looked at you, his expression softening for a moment.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentler, the protective undercurrent unmistakable. You swallowed, brushing off the fear that had crept in.
“Yes, Wyll. I’m fine,” you replied, trying to steady your voice.
But he didn’t release his hard gaze from the group of nobles before him. His mouth curved slightly, a hint of a chilling smile playing at his lips as he issued his next command: “Jump. Off. The. Balcony.”
The nobles’ eyes widened, shock rippling through their features. One of them dared a weak laugh, disbelief clear in their tone. “Your Grace, we were only—”
Wyll’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of cold steel. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low and final, his gaze unwavering as he pointed toward the balcony’s edge. “If you think it’s amusing to dangle someone on the edge, let’s see how you enjoy it.”
You placed a hand on his arm, trying to dissuade him. “Wyll, it’s not necessary,” you murmured softly. “They were… they were just being cruel.”
He turned to you, his eyes softening as he spoke, but the resolve remained.
“No one threatens what is mine,” he replied, his words more promise than explanation. “No one.”
He looked back at the nobles, who now trembled under his gaze, each one of them calculating their next move. They understood the Grand Duke’s reputation well—his ruthlessness and sadistic side were spoken of in hushed tones among court circles, and none of them were willing to test his patience further.
With shared glances of terror, one by one, they stepped up to the edge, each steeling themselves before casting nervous glances back at Wyll. They preferred to take their chances with the fall than face his wrath.
With a reluctant step backward, the first noble swung a leg over the edge, preparing to lower themselves down rather than leap, followed by the others, each descending with as much dignity as they could muster. Their terrified breaths and grunts of effort echoed faintly as they made their way down to the ground below. Each fall was punctuated with a sickening thud that made your stomach lurch each time.
When the last of them was gone, Wyll turned back to you, his expression softening again. He reached out, brushing a gentle hand against your cheek, his voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “No one will ever make you feel less than what you are, not while I am here. Do you understand?”
You nodded, his touch grounding you, the earlier fear beginning to fade. Wyll wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close, his gaze lingering protectively as he looked back over the balcony, ensuring that no one was there to help any unfortunate survivors, he wanted to let them rot, let the world see what happens to those who threaten what is his.
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Okay so no cambions in this, I'm going to add them when I finish their catch ups because I kind of follow a narrative with these and I have not fully fleshed out their narritives yet. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
After hiding from your lover due to the person they've become, what happens when they finally find you?
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Conqueror Minthara:
The tranquility of the small, secluded village had been a balm to your wounded, broken soul. Hidden deep within the forest on the surface, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the chaos and bloodshed of the Underdark that had come to define your life with Minthara. For months, you managed to lived in peace, and the horrors of the Underdark and Minthara's ruthless conquest slowly became distant memories. But peace, you learned, is a fleeting, foolish, illusion.
It was a quiet evening when she found you. The sun was setting, casting shadows across the village square. You were tending to a small garden, your hands deep in the earth, when the first screams pierced the air. Your heart lurched, a cold dread settling in your stomach. You looked up to see villagers running, their faces twisted in terror, as dark figures emerged from the surrounding forest.
You immediately recognised them to be Minthara's soldiers, ruthless and efficient, and spreading through the village like a hideous plague. Houses were set ablaze, and those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies quickly put on brutal display, their home, their burning pyre. Panic seized you, and you turned to flee, but it was too late. She stood before you, a dark, imposing figure against the backdrop of burning homes.
"Did you really think you could hide from me?" Her voice was a chilling blend of amusement and anger. "There is no place you can go that I cannot find."
Her eyes, once a source of fascination and allure, now bore into you with a cruel, predatory intensity. She advanced slowly, savoring the fear that radiated from you.
"You disappoint me," she said, her voice a venomous whisper. "I thought you were stronger than this, more loyal and that your standards were extraordinarily higher than this."
Minthara gestured with disgust the small homestead you had made for yourself. You tried to speak, to explain, but words failed you. The memory of the person she once was clashed violently with the reality of the monster before you. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.
"I gave you everything," she continued, her voice soft yet seething with underlying fury. "Power, purpose, and a place by my side. And you ran away."
Her hand moved to grip your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Now, you will watch as everything you tried to build without me burns to the ground."
With a wave of her hand, she commanded her soldiers to bring forth the villagers who had been captured. They were dragged into the square, their faces marked by fear and confusion. You knew them, they had helped you, taken you in, wanting nothing but to see you smile. You struggled against her hold, desperate to help them, but Minthara's grip was unyielding.
"Look at them," she hissed, her lips close to your ear. "They suffer because of you. Because you dared to defy me."
Tears of helpless rage filled your eyes as you watched the villagers, they were killed slowly, painfully. You watched the light drain from their eyes, their pleas for you to do something resonating in your skull. Minthara moved closer to you, her lips trailing up your neck, the touch both intimate and suffocating.
"You will stay with me," she murmured, her voice a dark promise. "You will learn that there is no escape from my will. And in time you will love me."
As she kissed your neck, a gesture that once brought warmth now filled you with a chilling dread, she pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you see now? You belong to me, and no matter where you go, I will always find you."
The village continued to burn, the flames casting flickering shadows on Minthara's face. She smiled, a cold, triumphant smile, and you knew that your fate was sealed. In her eyes, you saw the reflection of your own helplessness, a stark reminder of the power she wielded and the chains you could never break.
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Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dense forest. You had been on the run for months, trying to escape the clutches of Shadowheart, the Mother Superior of the Sharrans. Her cruelty towards others had finally driven you away, you didn't believe your own excuses for her anymore, and you couldn't bear to see the darkness that had consumed her heart. But no matter how far you ran, you always felt her presence lingering, a shadow that refused to let you go.
One night, while you were sleeping in a small, hidden cave, the best you could do without risking interaction with civilisation, you awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the feeling of an oppressive force drawing near. Panic surged through you, but before you could react, you felt a cold hand cover your mouth, stifling your scream. Shadowheart's face emerged from the darkness, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
"Did you really think you could hide from me?" she whispered, her voice a chilling mix of anger and possessiveness. "Did you think I would let you go so easily?"
Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself, but Shadowheart's grip was unyielding. She muttered an incantation under her breath, and you felt a wave of magical energy wash over you. Your body went limp, and your vision blurred as the world around you faded into darkness.
When you awoke, you were back in the Sharran temple, bound to an ornate chair in Shadowheart's private chamber. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadowheart stood before you, her expression unreadable as she looked upwards, muttering incantations, channeling the power of Shar. Her hands glowed with dark energy as they moved and flicked, as you came to you realised the strange sensation in your mind, as if memories were being played and plucked from your consciousness.
"You left me," she said softly, as she looked down at you, her voice filled with a mix of hurt and determination. "But I can't allow that. I won't allow that."
As the spell took hold, the memories of her cruelty and your subsequent escape began to fade. You tried to resist, to hold on to the truth, but the power was too strong. The love you once felt for Shadowheart, the passion and devotion, surged back to the forefront of your mind, overpowering everything else.
"You belong to me," Shadowheart continued, her eyes fixed on you. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."
Your head swam with conflicting emotions, but the magic of Shar twisted your thoughts until you could no longer remember why you had left in the first place. Instead, all you could think about was your love and adoration for Shadowheart. The memories of her cruelty were buried deep within your subconscious, replaced by a distorted version of reality where she was your everything.
Finally the darkness fully enveloped you, seeping into every corner of your mind, erasing the memories that had driven you away. You felt your resistance slip with it, replaced by a warm, all-encompassing love for the woman before you.
When you awoke again, you were no longer bound, and you were in Shadowheart's arms, both of you tucked under silk sheets in her lavish private chamber. She was holding you close, her fingers gently stroking your hair. You looked up at her, confusion and love warring within you.
"Shadowheart," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "What happened? Why do I feel... strange?"
She smiled down at you, her eyes soft and filled with love. "You had a bad dream, my love," she said soothingly. "But it's over now. You are safe with me."
You nodded, the memory of the dream already fading. You were with Shadowheart, the woman you loved more than anything. How could you ever have doubted her?
She kissed your forehead, her lips warm and comforting. "Rest now, my love," she whispered. "We have each other, and that is all that matters."
As you closed your eyes, the last remnants of your fear and doubt melted away, replaced by the warming love and trust you felt for Shadowheart. She was your everything, and you would never leave her again.
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God of Ambition Gale:
You step into your quarters, the familiar, sacred tranquility enveloping you like a comforting shroud. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room. As you close the door behind you, a chill runs down your spine—a sensation that is both foreign and unnerving in this place of sanctuary.
Then, you see him.
Gale stands in the center of the room, his presence as imposing and magnetic as ever. His eyes, once filled with mortal passion, now burn with the intensity of a god. He claps slowly, the sound echoing ominously in the silence. "Well done," he says, his voice a smooth blend of admiration and something darker. "To turn to Selûne, of all deities. Clever. So very clever."
You stiffen, every muscle in your body screaming at you to flee, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "Gale," you begin, your voice steadier than you feel. "You shouldn't be here."
He laughs, a sound rich with amusement and irony. "Shouldn't I? You think you can hide from me, even with the Moonmaiden's help? Oh, my dear, it only made me love you more. The cunning, the defiance. It's intoxicating."
Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape. "I don't want to return to you," you say, the words rushing out in a desperate torrent.
His expression softens, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes. "You don't have a choice. I've carved out a place for you in the heavens, a place by my side. It's where you belong."
Panic surges through you, and you turn, racing for the door. But before you can reach it, he is there, materializing in front of you with a god's effortless speed. You crash into him, the impact jarring, but he remains unmoved, his arms encircling you in a grip that is both tender and inescapable.
"I've missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "And I know you've missed me, too."
You shove him, your hands pushing against his chest with all the strength you can muster. He staggers back, not from the force of your push, but from the sheer surprise of it. And then he laughs again, the sound filling the room like rolling thunder.
"Is this the game you want to play? So be it." he asks, his eyes alight with a fierce, unholy joy. His power surges, the air around him crackling with divine energy. "Maybe I can show you a bit of godly wrath,"
You back away, your mind racing for a plan, a way to escape the inevitable. But even as you retreat, you know that this is a game you cannot win. Gale's love, his obsession, is a force of nature, and he is determined to claim what he believes is rightfully his. The room darkens, the shadows deepening as his power swells, and you realize with a sinking heart that there is no sanctuary left for you—not from him.
The room trembles as Gale's godly wrath unfurls, the very air around you becoming charged with his immense power. The ground beneath your feet shudders violently, and you can feel the tremors spreading far beyond your quarters. Objects rattle and crash to the floor, and outside, you hear the distant, terrified screams of innocents caught in the wake of his fury.
Lightning arcs across the sky, its blinding flashes followed by deafening cracks of thunder that shake the walls. The cries of the people intensify. You rush to the window, your heart sinking as you witness the chaos unfolding below. Bolts of divine lightning strike indiscriminately, setting buildings ablaze and sending people scrambling for cover.
"Gale, stop this!" you shout, turning back to him, your voice barely audible over the cacophony of destruction. "You're hurting them! Please, stop!"
But his eyes are fixed on you, burning with an intensity that leaves no room for mercy or reason. He steps closer, and the tremors grow stronger, the ground splitting open in jagged fissures. You can feel the raw power emanating from him, an unstoppable force driven by his relentless ambition and obsession.
"Gale, please!" you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "You're killing them! Stop!"
He seems not to hear you, his focus unwavering, his expression unyielding. The room continues to shake, the walls cracking, pieces of the ceiling starting to fall. You drop to your knees, the weight of the situation crushing you, and tears stream down your face as you beg. "Gale, I'm begging you. Stop this madness. I'll go with you. Just please, stop!"
For a moment, the earth stills, the roaring thunder quiets, and the flickering lightning halts. Gale's expression softens as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"There," he murmurs, his voice soothing but laced with satisfaction. "Was that so hard?"
Tears stream down your face, your body trembling from the emotional and physical strain. The cries outside have lessened, but the damage is done—buildings lie in ruins, and lives forever changed. He helps you to your feet, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"I never wanted to hurt them," he says softly, his eyes searching yours. "But you needed to understand. You belong with me. And now, you see that."
You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. The power he wields, the destruction he can cause—it leaves you with no illusions about your fate. With a heavy heart, you nod, resigned to your destiny by his side.
"Good," he says, his smile returning. Placing a tender kiss to your forehead, as if hadn't just thrown a deadly tantrum. "Let's leave this place behind. There's a place I've prepared just for you."
As he leads you away, the ground beneath you begins to heal, the tremors fading into memory. The devastation left in his wake serves as a grim reminder of the price of defiance, and as you take his hand, you know that your life will never be the same.
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Ascended Astarion:
The tavern was alive with the chaotic energy of revelry—a madness of laughter, music, and clinking tankards that seemed to drown out the troubles of the world. You had sought solace in its bustling atmosphere, hoping the crowd would shield you from the relentless pursuit of your ex lover, a man you used to call your world, now a godling born of malice.
For months, you had managed to elude him, slipping through shadows and distant towns, always one step ahead. But tonight, fate had caught up with you. As you mingled with the merry throng, trying to blend into the sea of faces, a shiver ran down your spine—a sensation you knew all too well.
There he was, leaning casually against a pillar, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a chill through your veins. Astarion, now ascended to a dark power beyond mortal comprehension (or so he kept telling you), exuded an aura of dominance and danger. He wore a smirk that promised both pleasure and pain, and it chilled you to the bone.
You tried to slip away, to disappear into the crowd, but he moved with an unnatural speed, cutting off your escape route effortlessly.
"Running again, my dear?" His voice was like velvet over steel, laced with amusement and a hunger that sent a jolt of fear through you.
Before you could react, he pulled you into the swirling dance of the tavern. Around you, oblivious revelers spun and laughed, lost in their own joyous abandon. But your world narrowed to the commanding presence of Astarion, his touch igniting a familiar fire of longing and dread.
"You won't get away this time," he murmured, taking your hand in his cold, firm grasp. As the dance continued, his grip tightened, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin. "You've made me chase you for so long," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "But tonight, you are mine."
Before you could respond, he dipped you low, his lips finding the curve of your neck. The world spun as his fangs sank into your flesh, a sharp pain followed by a heady rush as he began to drink. The room seemed to blur, the sounds of the tavern fading into a distant hum.
Your strength ebbed away with every pull of his lips, the life draining from your body as he fed. When he finally withdrew, his eyes blazed with triumph and possessiveness.
You collapsed into Astarion's arms, the sensation of his cold embrace the last thing you felt before darkness claimed you. He held you close, cradling your lifeless body with a tenderness that belied his monstrous nature
"She’s had a bit too much to drink," he called out to the concerned onlookers, his voice tinged with faux amusement. "Don't worry, I'll take care of my darling fiancée."
The tavern erupted in good-natured cheers and applause, the patrons none the wiser to the sinister truth. Astarion carried you towards the door, the night air cool against your skin as you drifted in and out of consciousness.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Did you really think you could escape me, little love? You belong to me forevermore. The gift I am about to give you will ensure that."
His voice, filled with dark promise, was the last thing you heard before the world went black.
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Naturist Halsin:
The rhythmic clattering of the factory machines was your lullaby and your solace. The industrial din was a constant reminder that you were safe, cocooned in the heart of Baldur's Gate, far from the forests and nature that had once felt like home. Now, those same woods were a nightmare, haunted by the shadow of the man you once loved.
Halsin had changed. His belief in the balance between nature and civilization had twisted into a dark crusade. What had started as a noble cause to protect the wilds had turned into an extremist vision, with Halsin determined to return the world to a primal state at any cost. You had watched in horror as he resorted to violence, razing villages, and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Unable to reconcile the gentle druid you knew with the monster he had become, you fled.
Baldur's Gate was your sanctuary. The bustling city, with its stone buildings and cobbled streets, was the furthest you could get from the greenery Halsin now worshipped. You threw yourself into your work at the factory, rarely leaving its grimy confines. The city's heart was far from the forest's edge, making it the safest place you could be.
An accident at the factory changed all that.
You awoke in a jostling wagon, the familiar scent of the city replaced by the earthy aroma of the countryside. Panic surged through you as you realized you were on the outskirts of the forest. The attendant, a kindly old man, noticed your distress but dismissed your fears, assuring you that everything would be alright.
"No," you rasped, your voice filled with desperation. "You don't understand. It's not safe here."
The attendant patted your hand, his smile meant to be reassuring but only deepening your sense of dread. "The healer is just a little further. You'll be well taken care of."
As the wagon continued its journey, every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the wind set your nerves on edge. You knew Halsin would find you; he always did. The wagon eventually came to an abrupt halt. The attendant frowned and stepped out to investigate, despite your urgent pleas for him to stay.
"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "Don't go. It's dangerous."
"Nonsense," he replied with a chuckle. "I'll just see what's blocking the path."
He vanished from view, and the silence that followed was more terrifying than any noise. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes, each one a reminder of the peril you were in. You strained to hear anything - footsteps, voices, anything that could tell you what was happening.
A sudden rustle outside the wagon snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned just in time to see a massive figure emerging from the trees, cloaked in green and brown, a silhouette that was both familiar and terrifying. Halsin. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached, his eyes dark and intense, the very embodiment of nature's wrath.
The attendant's scream was brief, cut off by a sickening crunch. You felt a wave of nausea, but there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get away. The door of the wagon creaked open, and a towering figure filled the doorway. Halsin's once gentle eyes now burned with an intensity that made your blood run cold. His presence radiated raw, untamed power, and the forest seemed to respond to him, the trees whispering and shifting as if alive.
"There you are," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "I have missed you."
You shrank back, pressing yourself against the far side of the wagon. "Please, Halsin, don’t do this. I had to leave. You’ve changed."
"You shouldn't have run," he said, his voice a dark, velvet caress. "You belong with me, in the wilds."
"No," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Not like this, Halsin. Please."
He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. "The world must return to its natural state," he murmured. "And you will be by my side when it does. I won't let you go, my heart, not again."
You tried to pull away, but your injuries and his strength made it futile. He wrapped you in his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt a mix of despair and a twisted sense of comfort in his embrace.
"You’ve been hurt," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I will take care of you."
You wanted to fight, to scream, but your body betrayed you, too weak to resist. As he carried you into the forest, you looked back at the wagon, the nice old man lying lifeless beside it, plants already making their home in his corpse. Tears blurred your vision. You knew there was no escape now. You were back in Halsin's world, a prisoner of his love and twisted vision for the future.
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Something a bit different, but enjoyed writing it, let me know if you want more dark bg3 ! - Seluney xox
P.S Polite reminder that inbox for requests are closed but if you want to just drop in and say hi that fine!
Hello, I loved your piece of the dark companions and their children. I was wondering if your could do a follow up of the companions comforting the child? Maybe something bad happens to the reader? Thanks 🩷
yesyesyeysyes the absolute grip this trope has on me is insane, like gnawing at the bars of my enclosure insane
The scent of blood still hung heavy in the air. Even though the battle was over, its echoes lingered in every corner of the stronghold. Healers murmured urgently around the chamber, their hands glowing with magic as they worked to mend your wounds. The blow you had taken—meant for her—had nearly killed you. And now your daughter, barely seventeen, stood outside the healer’s quarters, arms slick with blood, staring at the stone floor as if it might crack open and swallow her whole.
Minthara arrived in near silence, though every soldier who caught a glimpse of her stormed gait quickly made way. Her armor was still fastened, though stained from the aftermath—she had come straight from the field when she heard what had happened.
Her daughter stood stiffly when she sensed her mother’s presence, fists clenched so tightly the knuckles had gone pale. Her dark red eyes were rimmed red—not from crying, no, she would not give herself that release—but from rage and shame, boiling quietly behind her skin.
“I should have seen them,” she rasped. “I should have known the snakes of House Velvryn would try something again.”
Minthara’s expression hardened at the name, but she said nothing yet. She stepped closer. Her daughter did not move.
“She jumped in front of me,” your daughter said in a low voice, as if confessing something sacred. “I didn’t see the blade. Mama did. I should’ve been the one to—” Her jaw trembled, and she turned her head, biting it down. “I killed them all. Everyone in that pathetic nest. I didn’t even wait for orders. I just—slaughtered them. Like animals.”
Minthara studied her for a moment—her daughter’s tunic was torn, her vambrace cracked, her hair matted to her face. And beneath all that was the trembling storm of guilt.
“I failed you,” your daughter whispered. “I let them get close to her. To the house. I was reckless. I should’ve died. I…” She trailed off, shoulders shaking. “If you want to exile me—I get it. I wouldn’t even blame you. I deserve to be scorched on the surface.”
Minthara’s voice was cool and even as obsidian when she finally spoke.
“Is that what you think I would do? Cast you aside?” she asked. “After what you’ve done?”
Her daughter didn’t answer. Minthara stepped forward again and reached out, her fingers surprisingly gentle as they tilted her daughter's chin up. Her daughter’s eyes met hers for the first time—and what she found was not rage. Not disdain. But fierce, burning pride and admiration.
“You fought with fury,” Minthara said, her voice low. “With purpose. You made them pay for what they tried to take. I saw what you left behind.” Her lips curved into a sharp smile. “It was beautiful.”
The girl blinked, startled. “You’re… not angry?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” Minthara said, drawing her close, arms wrapping around her bloodstained daughter in a fierce embrace. “But not with you. I’m furious that they dared lay a hand on you. That they tried to take you from this world. That they made you watch the one you love most fall before your eyes.”
Minthara’s voice softened, and she pressed a hand to the back of her daughter’s head.
“You are not going anywhere. You are my pride. My joy. You are mine. And what you did today was not failure. It was vengeance. And it was earned.”
The girl stiffened for a moment longer, uncertain what to do with such warmth, such gentleness from the ruthless woman she had always looked up to. But then, quietly, she let herself lean into it, closing her eyes. For the first time since the attack, she breathed.
“Mother, I thought I’d lost her,” she whispered. “I couldn’t—”
“She will recover,” Minthara promised. “The healers are confident. She is strong. She is loved. By both of us.”
A silence passed between them.
Minthara leaned back, one brow raised now, a flicker of amusement in her dark eyes. “And since you did such a good job turning House Velvryn into paste, I think it’s only fair you get to finish the work.”
Your daughter blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Minthara said with a savage grin, “you’re going to lead the siege against their remnants. Take what they had, steal what you want. Burn what you don’t want. Let them remember the name of the girl, my daughter, who tore them from their rotting roots.”
A beat. Then her daughter smiled. A slow, vicious smile that echoed her mother’s.
“I won’t disappoint you, mother.”
“You haven’t yet, my child.”
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Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The infirmary was quiet. Too quiet. The sort of stillness that made every breath feel like a betrayal, every whispered word too loud, every creak of wood or rustle of cloth an unbearable intrusion. Candlelight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows over the bed where you lay, unmoving. Peaceful, they said. Resting. Healing.
But to your daughter, it was a nightmare.
She sat hunched beside your bed, her fists clenched tight in her lap, her dark eyes hollow with worry and helpless rage. A few hours ago, you had been smiling at her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, promising everything would be fine. A selûnite sect simply got too close. Now you were silent. Breath shallow. Eyes shut.
And no one could explain why.
Shadowheart entered the room in a hush, robes dark and heavy, the silver clasp of Shar resting over her chest. Her eyes softened as she approached, taking in the sight of her daughter folded in on herself.
Her child—your child—looked so young in that moment. Fragile in a way that made something twist and ache behind Shadowheart’s ribs.
"Little one," she said gently, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. Her daughter didn’t flinch. She was too still, too quiet. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse.
"She won’t wake up." Shadowheart crouched beside her, brushing a lock of hair back from her daughter's face.
"She’s not gone," she said firmly. "Her body is protecting her. A coma. She’s fighting to come back."
“But why?” her daughter whispered. “What did this? You said it was just a spell, a feeble attack from the selûnite scum. You said she’d be okay.”
Shadowheart’s jaw tensed, eyes flicking briefly to your face, pale against the pillow. She swallowed and placed both hands on her daughter's arms.
“It was the Selûnites,” she said, voice dark with conviction. “They meddled. Their magic is treacherous, subtle. Perhaps something of it was still buried deep in her mind from her past. When I tried to ease her pain, they twisted it. They turned it back on her.”
Her daughter blinked, wide-eyed and stricken. “Selûne did this?”
“Yes,” Shadowheart said, leaning in closer, letting her voice drop into something velvety and fierce. “That false goddess and her followers will always find ways to punish those who stray from her light. Even when they pretend to be merciful. They want control, not healing. They want obedience, not love.”
The girl looked at your hand, pale in hers. She tightened her grip, and her lip trembled.
“She said she left Selûne behind,” she whispered. “She said she chose you.”
“She did,” Shadowheart murmured, stroking her daughter's cheek with the back of her hand. “And they hate her for it. That is why they did this to her.”
Your daughter said nothing, but her breath hitched. Her nails bit into her palm. Shadowheart could feel the heat of anger kindling beneath the grief—good. It would keep her strong. It would focus her pain. She would not crumble beneath this weight. Not her daughter.
“She’s in there,” Shadowheart whispered. “She’s fighting. You have to be strong for her now. As strong as she was for you. And when she wakes, you’ll be ready.”
Her daughter looked up at her, tears glimmering in her eyes. “You promise she’ll wake up?”
Shadowheart wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly, protectively. She pressed a kiss to her temple.
“She will,” she whispered. “And when she does, we’ll burn every Selûnite temple from here to the Spine for what they tried to do to our family.”
Her daughter finally let the tears fall—but her jaw was set, and her hands were no longer shaking. The seed of vengeance had been sown, watered with love and lies alike. Shadowheart closed her eyes and held her tighter.
She had made a mistake. Tampering with your mind so much that it was forced to shut down. But her daughter would never know.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
In the heart of Gale’s opulent sanctum—an arcane haven suspended half in the weave and half in the real world—time had begun to blur. Crystalline orbs spun lazily around the edges of the floating chamber, humming with restrained power. But none of that mattered. Not the enchantments etched into the marble floor, not the ethereal glow of Gale’s spellwork nor the distant thrumming of Mystra’s influence pulsing through the Weave itself.
Because you lay still on the velvet-draped bed at the center of it all. Pale. Motionless. Cursed.
And at your side, never once leaving, sat your daughter.
She had barely slept. Barely eaten. Her young face was drawn tight with worry, eyes shadowed, her hand wrapped around yours with desperate constancy. She flinched at every subtle movement of your chest, every faint breath, terrified that it might be the last.
Gale, meanwhile, paced.
His fury burned through the sanctum like wildfire, drawing sharp cracks of power from the walls themselves. Books flared with arcane energy, sigils lit and faded in chaotic bursts. His robe flared behind him like a storm cloud, and his voice had gone hoarse from muttering plans, retaliations, hexes most ancient and cruel.
“Mystra thinks she can touch what is mine,” he hissed aloud, voice trembling with divine rage. “She dares to make a lesson of you, as if I have not already repented tenfold. As if I—”
The realm shivered.
At first it was subtle—the orb-lights flickering, the color of the walls shifting from warm umber to dusky violet. Then came the distortion: the mirrors cracked, the floor warped, and somewhere, very faintly, the sound of a sob echoed from nowhere—and everywhere.
Gale stilled.
He turned and saw his daughter, slumped forward, her face buried in your blanket-covered arm. Her whole frame shook with quiet, repressed weeping, her other hand pressed to her mouth as though afraid her voice would wake you.
She was unraveling—and the realm responded. Of course it did. She was the child of gods.
The realization hit Gale harder than any of Mystra’s curses. For all his intellect, all his ambition, all his fire, he had not noticed the most important thing. His daughter—his light, his legacy—was breaking, and he had been too consumed with vengeance to see it.
He crossed the space in an instant, his fury draining from him as if siphoned by her pain. Kneeling beside her, he reached out and gently touched her shoulder.
She stiffened, then slowly turned to face him, tear-streaked and pale.
“I don’t care about Mystra,” she whispered, voice raw. “I don’t care about temples or power or the Weave. I just want her to wake up. I just want Mama back.”
Gale’s heart cracked cleanly down the center. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head.
“Oh, my starlight,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here. With you. By her side, I was too caught up in my own anger, in Mystra that I was blind to you.”
She clung to him like she was drowning. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
“I won’t,” he promised, voice gentle now, woven with warmth. “I swear on every thread of the Weave, on every star in the sky—I will stay. I’ll be right here. With you. With her.”
Her tears soaked into his robe, but her shaking eased, her breathing began to steady. Slowly, the realm calmed. The walls settled, the orbs resumed their slow dance, and the echoes of sorrow faded into stillness.
“You’re not just the god of ambition,” she said, muffled against his chest. "You're my dad, remember that."
“Of course,” Gale agreed, brushing her hair back and resting his forehead against hers. “I’m the father of a remarkable daughter. And the husband of a woman stronger than any curse.”
Together, they turned to face you—still quiet, still resting, but the air felt just a little lighter. And in that moment, Gale didn’t plot or pace. He just sat. Holding his daughter’s hand in one of his, and yours in the other. A god at peace—for now.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
The moon hung low over Baldur’s Gate, casting silvery light across the grand black marble of Astarion’s manor. Inside, all was quiet save for the soft, shallow breaths you took in the lavish bedchamber, your skin pallid, touched with an unnatural gray—a result of the curse inflicted by the vengeful gur you’d crossed paths with that night. The run-in had been unexpected, brutal, and all because your daughter had slipped away into the night for a taste of thrill she wasn’t meant to have.
She had returned with one of the spawn at her side, your unconscious form draped between them like a broken doll.
And now, she sat beside you, trembling, eyes rimmed red with tears she didn’t know how to stop. Her hands gripped yours like her life depended on it, her knuckles white, her breath erratic.
Astarion stood across the room.
He was the picture of composed elegance: arms crossed over his chest, fine silk shirt pristine, fangs hidden behind a wry little smirk that masked the calculations in his eyes. He didn’t come to your bedside. He didn’t gasp or crumble with worry. No.
He knew you’d survive.
You were his consort, after all. You were his. And he was the Ascendant.
There was no version of reality where you didn’t recover. He wouldn’t allow it. But the girl—your daughter, his daughter—she was another matter.
Suddenly she jolted to her feet, knocking over the chair with a harsh clatter.
“It’s my fault!” she screamed, voice raw and wild. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault—!” The words became a chant as she stumbled away from your bedside, pulling at her own hair, curling her claws into her arms. “She wouldn’t have been out there if I just stayed put! If I just—I did this!”
“Darling,” Astarion said smoothly, voice cutting across her panic like velvet-wrapped steel.
But she didn’t stop. “I killed her—I killed my mama—!”
In a flash, he was across the room. He grabbed her gently but firmly by the shoulders, steadying her.
“Enough,” he murmured, his voice dipped in power now, commanding without cruelty. “That’s quite enough.”
She collapsed against him, sobbing, beating her fists weakly against his chest. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to—”
He held her close, stroking her hair as she wept. “Shhh… There now. You didn’t kill anyone. She’s still breathing, isn’t she?”
“She’s not awake!”
“No. But she will be,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I will see to it. Personally. She’ll wake up, lecture you for being reckless, and then scold me for the village I just razed in her name, and all will be well."
She sniffled into his shoulder. “Promise?”
Astarion tilted her chin up so she looked into his crimson eyes. “Have I ever let you down before?”
There was a pause. A watery little shake of her head.
“Good. Now. You snuck out. You made a mistake. We’ll handle that. But you’re not a murderer, dearest. You’re just... grounded.”
Her tear-streaked face twisted into a small frown. “For how long?”
“A month,” he said breezily.
“A month?” she gasped, scandalised.
“Indeed. And that includes no hunting peasants.”
Her jaw dropped in exaggerated horror. “But—”
“Especially no hunting peasants,” he said firmly, though his smirk returned just slightly. “You may, if you’re good, have a single pickled noble.”
She gave a soggy little laugh, wiping her nose. “Fine…”
“There’s my girl.” Astarion hugged her once more, then guided her gently back to your side. “Stay with her. Talk to her. She’ll hear you, even like this.”
“And you?” she asked.
He smiled as he moved toward the door, cloak billowing behind him. “I’m going to tear apart a few threads of fate and force this curse to behave.”
And with that, the Ascendant vanished into the shadows—grinning like a devil, but humming softly under his breath.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
The small cabin was warm, a gentle fire flickering in the hearth, casting soft amber light over the carved wooden walls. Outside, the storm had calmed, but inside, another kind of quiet struggle endured. You lay tucked into the bed, fevered and flushed, but no longer trembling. The worst had passed—your breathing was easier now, your skin less clammy. You were still pale, still weak, but you were healing.
At your bedside sat Halsin, a comforting presence of earth and strength. He hadn’t moved in hours, not really. He sat in silence, watching your face, occasionally dabbing at your brow with a damp cloth. When healers had come and gone, he had thanked them, but stayed put. His hand had scarcely left yours since you fell ill.
And yet, it wasn’t Halsin who bustled about the cabin—fetching water, steeping tea, gathering herbs, checking your blankets, adjusting the shutters, stoking the fire.
It was your daughter.
Your gentle, golden-hearted teenage girl—so much like her father in soul, but more like you in spirit. Since the fever first took you, she had been tireless, every ounce of her poured into tending to you. At first, it had made Halsin smile. She was devoted, tender, always careful not to disturb your sleep. But as the days went on, he noticed the shadows under her eyes deepen, the way her hands had begun to tremble when she poured tea, how her smile was brittle around the edges.
And now—now she was kneeling beside the bed, meticulously folding yet another blanket, her eyes glassy and red-rimmed, jaw clenched tight. The quiet of the room made her ragged breathing all the more noticeable.
“That’s enough,” Halsin said gently, but firmly.
His daughter looked up at him, eyes widening as if just noticing he was still there. “I’m just making sure she’s warm enough. I—she was cold earlier, and the draft—”
“You’ve done enough, little seedling.” He stood, his presence towering but never harsh, and reached for her. “Come now. Time to rest.”
“I can’t,” she snapped, louder than intended. “What if she needs something? What if the fever comes back, or she can’t breathe again, or—”
Her voice cracked, and then she folded in on herself, the words dissolving into sobs.
Before she could fall to her knees, Halsin caught her, sweeping her up into his arms with ease. She didn’t fight him this time. She clutched at his shoulder, burying her face in the curve of his neck as she wept—heart-wrenching, panicked sobs that had clearly been held in too long.
Halsin whispered soothingly in her ear as he carried her to the other side of the cabin. “You are not alone in this. I am here. We are here. And she is getting better. Slowly, yes—but surely.”
He settled her onto the bed by the window, the smaller cot they had made up for her days ago. She hadn’t used it once.
“I just—” she hiccupped, trying to speak through tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do if—if she—”
“She won’t,” Halsin said, smoothing her hair back from her damp cheeks. “She’s stronger than this illness. Just as you are.”
She looked up at him, still crying, and he dried her tears with the edge of his sleeve. “But you must rest, too, my heart. You are not her healer. You are her daughter. And she needs you whole, not broken.”
“But—”
“No buts. I promise you, if she so much as stirs, I will wake you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, like he had done when she was a child frightened of shadows. “Sleep now. Just for a little while.”
Exhaustion finally claimed her, and Halsin sat by her cot until her breathing slowed, evened out.
Then he returned to your side. He sat once again, reaching for your hand, cradling it between his own.
“She’s resting now,” he murmured softly, as if speaking to you might anchor you closer to the waking world. “She’ll be alright. We all will be. You just need a little more time, and we’ll be whole again.”
And in the hush of the firelight, with his daughter sleeping peacefully and you still breathing beside him, Halsin finally allowed himself to close his eyes and hope.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
The door to the master bedchamber whispered shut behind Wyll as he stepped out, his hand still stained faintly with your blood. The healers were confident now—you would recover, they said, though the wound had been close. Too close. He had sat beside you until your breath evened, until the flicker of pain beneath your lashes eased into a feverish but steady sleep. Then he had stood, every inch of him trembling with fury barely contained.
The robbers would not see another dawn.
Wyll’s voice had been ice when he gave the order. “No trials. No leniency. They bled the mother of my child. Let them learn what it means to cross the Grand Duke.”
And now, moving through the corridor with his cloak billowing behind him, he felt the heat of that rage pulse through his chest. But it fractured—sharply, completely—when he rounded the corner and saw his daughter.
She sat on a low upholstered bench in one of the smaller receiving rooms, bathed in the amber glow of evening lanterns. The warmth of the fire nearby did little to touch the chill that clung to her shoulders. A thick blanket had been thrown haphazardly around her, yet she was shaking—small, fragile tremors that racked her whole body. Her dress was torn and streaked with dried blood, both hers and yours. A shallow but angry-looking gash ran along her upper arm, still untended. Two healers knelt in front of her, trying to coax her hand away from where she clutched her arm tightly, trembling like a leaf caught in the wind.
She wasn’t listening to them.
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, glossy with tears that refused to fall. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will.
Wyll's breath caught in his throat.
His daughter—his rebellious, defiant, endlessly stubborn daughter—looked like a frightened child again. And gods, he had not seen her like this in years. It was as though every wall she’d built between them had been stripped away by blood and fear.
One of the healers made a gentle attempt to move her arm. She flinched violently.
“No! No, don’t—don’t touch me—don’t—” Her voice cracked, rising to a shriek as she recoiled, her entire body tensing as if expecting to be struck.
The moment shattered Wyll’s frozen limbs.
“Stop,” he said firmly, his voice deep and low.
The healers backed away at once.
He crossed the space to her in long strides, dropping to his knees before her with the grace of a man trained to be a knight, now undone by the sight of his daughter unraveling.
“Darling,” he said, reaching for her gently, like he might spook a wounded animal. “Look at me.”
Her eyes snapped to his—and the dam broke.
Tears burst forth, and with them a torrent of emotion. She lunged into his arms, fists clutching at his coat, sobs tearing from her throat like something primal.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Papa, I’m sorry—I was awful, and now Mama’s hurt and it’s my fault and I—I didn’t mean it—I didn’t mean any of it—”
Wyll’s arms closed around her immediately, pulling her into the safety of his embrace. She melted against him, shaking and keening softly, burying her face in his shoulder like she used to when she was small and the thunder outside had been too loud.
“No, no, hush now,” he murmured, stroking her hair, his voice a low balm. “None of this is your fault. You hear me? Your mother is going to be fine. You are going to be fine.”
“But I can’t—” she whimpered. “They want to stitch me up. I can’t. I can’t do needles, Papa, I can’t—”
“I know,” he said soothingly, his hand cradling the back of her head. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
With a soft grunt, he shifted, lifting her easily into his lap like he had done when she’d scraped her knee as a toddler. He settled back against the bench, her slender form curled against his chest.
“Stay right here,” he said. “Hold onto me. Focus on my voice.”
She nodded against his chest, clutching him tighter.
He nodded to the healers.
They moved swiftly, quietly. She flinched at the touch of antiseptic, a hiss escaping her lips. But Wyll didn’t let go. He held her closer, kept her anchored with whispered encouragement.
“Just a few more moments, my brave girl. You’re doing so well.”
She whimpered, barely managing to hold back another sob. “Hurts…”
“I know it does,” he said, kissing her brow. “But pain passes. And I’m not going anywhere.”
When it was done, the healers stepped back, murmuring their praises. Wyll nodded in thanks, but didn’t move.
His daughter stayed clinging to him, as if afraid that if she let go, everything would unravel again.
He held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her middle. Her breath evened slowly, but she never stopped holding onto him.
“Will she really be alright?” she asked at last, her voice barely audible.
“She will,” Wyll answered without hesitation. “Your mother is strong. Stubborn, too. Like someone else I know.”
She gave a small, broken laugh.
“I thought I didn’t care,” she whispered. “I thought… I was so angry. But when she got hurt—gods, Papa, I thought we were going to lose her.”
Wyll’s chest ached at the words. He tilted her chin gently so she would meet his eyes.
“There is nothing in this world—nothing—that you could do to make me love you less,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t care about rebellion or distance or cold silences. I care that you’re here. And that you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Her eyes brimmed again—but this time, they were gentler tears. She nodded once, and rested her head against his chest again.
She didn’t let go.
Not that night.
And Wyll, for all his titles and accolades, counted that as the greatest gift he’d been given in years.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
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Warnings: a baby, mentions of pregnancy + struggles with pregnancy, most basic elf girl name ever, Astarion’s a sap and Tav is a little emotional, breastfeeding, referenced unplanned pregnancy (no shock if you’ve read literally any dadstarion fics), tender domestic fluff, afab Tav.
Description: late night cuddles with Star and your guys’ baby daughter.
WC: 800
Astarion is feeling quite all right.
An understatement, really.
He’s happy.
You and the angel soaking up your body warmth make him happy.
Arwen suckles at your breast, her tiny head of white tufts blocking his view as she feeds.
He can see you though, soft and glowing in the small space.
“You’re staring,” you say, one arm holding Arwen and the other beneath your pillow.
“Shall I stare at the walls instead?” He lifts a hand in the air. “The dust, perhaps?”
“Yes.”
Astarion hums lowly, placing his arm around your waist.
“Unfortunately for you,” he starts, “I don’t take well to orders.”
Smiling softly, you feel him shift closer.
Glancing down at your daughter as she nurses, you gently pull your fingers through her small, light curls.
“She’s got some appetite,” you remark. “Almost as bad as you.”
He scoffs, softly, and rolls his eyes for show.
“At least she knows what she wants,” he says. He looks down at her then, watching the baby feed despite the obscured view.
For a while you two lay in the quiet.
Arwen’s only a few months old; you guys got pregnant on the road, unsettled as you hadn’t found a place to stay and remain, or a plan of what you wanted in permanence.
A baby had not been the then idea, but one too many nights of unsafe romps managed to override Astarion’s low fertility.
Being an elf already made reproduction hard, but being undead made it even less viable.
That made your pregnancy even riskier.
In the beginning, neither of you were sure if letting the gestation continue was right.
It could be dangerous to your health, and you two had not anticipated it. But you kept your options open.
You’d stopped in a village for a consultation, mostly to confirm your suspicions, and assess the state of your… condition.
The dangers of the pregnancy were affirmed, but you also learned there was a reasonable chance of continuing the growth to full term.
That had made you both realise that the prospect of a child was less unrealistic than you’d each believed, though still came with a lot of things to keep consideration of.
You talked. And then talked more.
Took the time you needed to really consider if that was something you two could want—did want.
Then came Arwen.
It was a twist, but still a planned, surprisingly pleasant one.
Loving Arwen was one of the simplest things Astarion had ever done.
Not that it was more than his love for you; both were in excess. It wasn’t deeper, but it flowed from a different stream.
For a long time, accepting himself—and the real, genuine care of others—was hard.
His feelings for you were strong, and chaotic, and profoundly rooted in his being like his unticking heart and chilled bloodstream.
But falling for you, and building an actual relationship, took effort. It took time.
It required healing.
And you two got there, eventually. Then came your little dhampir—granted, it’s been many years between those two events.
Astarion interrupts the silence.
“You know, domesticity suits you far better than I ever imagined.” His tone is flirtatious yet honest.
Humming, you meet his gaze, running your palm down Arwen’s hair. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t respond right away, but when he does it’s softer, spoken with a clear trace of vulnerability.
His knuckles reach out, brushing two along your daughter’s cheek thoughtfully.
“I never thought I’d live to see myself a father. Must less be able to. Or—want to.”
You give him the opportunity to continue.
Meeting your gaze again, he does.
“You changed . . . everything.” He grasps the hand of the arm you’ve got beneath your head, bringing his lips to your skin.
“You made this all possible,” he says. “Not just by guiding our daughter into this realm. But by standing by my side; helping me. Making me realise all of this was… well and truly available to me. To us. Thank you.”
Not entirely sure how to respond, you simply stare at him for a minute before saying, “You give me too much credit.”
“On the contrary, love.” He mimics the action of affection be bestowed Arwen, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “You underestimate your influence.”
Letting out a wet chuckle, you avert your eyes momentarily, briefly closing them against his touch.
“You’re going to make fun of me if I cry.”
“Oh, darling, absolutely. Relentlessly.”
Mocking and tender all at once, he smiles at you.
“And perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll kiss it better,” he murmurs.
Arwen unlatches, and you shift, adjusting your clothing and cradling her in the crevice of your inner elbow.
“Well,” you say, “I am feeling pretty lucky.”
Beside the two of them, it’s hard not to.
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The dagger left Astarion’s hand with perfect aim, until the bandit lurched forward at the last second. The blade clipped your side instead. You gasped. The sound made him spin instantly. “What—?” His eyes dropped to the spreading red on your tunic and the little color he had drained from his face. “Oh hells… I didn’t—”
He was beside you in seconds, catching your arm before your knees could give out. For once there was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue. Only worry.
“Stay still,” he murmured, pressing a cloth to the wound. His hands were steady, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
“I’ve been stabbed before,” you tried to joke weakly.
“Yes, well, I’d prefer not to be the one responsible,” he shot back quickly. Then quieter, almost reluctantly, “I’ve spent two centuries surrounded by monsters. You’re the one good thing I’ve managed to find.”
Once the bleeding slowed, his thumb brushed gently against your wrist “Next time,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours, “try not to stand between me and my targets.” After a pause, he added with a faint, fond smile, “…or I might start thinking you’re important to me.”
Gale-
“Now, theoretically,” Gale began, raising a glowing hand, “this spell should behave perfectly.” The weave on the other hand had other ideas. in a twisted sense of humor way the arcane surge cracked outward like lightning, snapping across your arm before the magic dispersed.
You yelped.
Gale froze mid-cast. “Oh no.”
He rushed to you immediately, eyes wide with alarm. “That—was absolutely not part of the theoretical model.” His hands hovered uncertainly before gently taking your arm, examining the burn with deep concern.
“Let’s see… minor arcane backlash, slight energy discharge—nothing permanent, thank Mystra.” His fingers glowed softly as he channeled a careful healing spell. The sting faded quickly. Gale let out a relieved breath, shoulders relaxing as he finished the incantation.
“I do apologize,” he said sincerely. “It seems my enthusiasm occasionally outruns my caution.” You smiled at him.
He returned the look, softer now.
“For what it’s worth...” he added gently, “if I must test dangerous magic… I’m rather glad you’re the one who stays by my side anyway......still maybe we try this with you further way next time, yeah?"
Wyll-
The demon lunged faster than Wyll expected. He stepped forward to meet it, blade flashing—but the fiend twisted at the last moment. His strike still landed… just not where he intended.
Your cry cut through the clash of steel.
Wyll’s heart dropped.
He turned instantly, horror flooding his face as he saw the shallow cut along your side. “No—no, that wasn’t meant for you!” He caught you before you could stumble, one arm wrapping firmly around your back while the other pressed cloth to the wound. His hands were steady from years of battle, but the panic in his eyes betrayed him.
“I swear, I had it under control,” he said breathlessly, shaking his head at himself. “The Blade of Frontiers, defeated by his own terrible aim.” “It barely hurts,” you tried to reassure him.
“That’s hardly the point,” Wyll replied softly. Once the fight was over, he guided you to sit beside the campfire, carefully tending the injury himself. His fingers moved with gentle precision as he tied the bandage.
“You spend far too much time protecting me,” he murmured. You smiled faintly. “Someone has to watch the hero’s back.”
Wyll looked up at that, something warm settling in his expression. He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Well then,” he said quietly, “when this adventure is over, I think the hero owes his shield a proper reward.” You raised an eyebrow.
“A dance,” Wyll said with a small grin. “Under the moonlight. Somewhere far from monsters.” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “And this time,” he added softly, “I promise not to hurt you.”
Karlach-
Karlach charged into the fight with a shout, swinging her axe in a wide arc. The enemy went down instantly—but the momentum knocked you off balance and straight into the dirt. The moment she realized, her triumphant grin vanished.
“Oh shit! Hey, hey—!”
She dropped the axe immediately and rushed over, crouching beside you. “You alright? Tell me you’re alright.” You groaned, pushing yourself up. Karlach carefully checked your arms and shoulders like you might fall apart if she moved too fast.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “I forget sometimes I hit like a runaway cart.”
When you assured her you were fine, the tension finally left her face. Her grin slowly returned. “Good,” she said, helping you to your feet with surprising gentleness. “Because if I accidentally flattened you, I’d never forgive myself.”
She bumped her forehead lightly against yours, warm and affectionate. “C’mon,” she said with a laugh. “Next round, you stand behind me. Safer for everyone involved.”
Lae'zel-
Steel rang sharply as your blades clashed during training. Lae’zel moved with brutal precision—but the final strike nicked your shoulder before she could stop it. You hissed. She froze instantly. Her yellow eyes flicked to the cut, studying it with intense focus. “You lowered your guard.” The words came automatically.
But when she saw the blood running down your arm, something in her expression shifted. Lae’zel stepped closer, gripping your arm firmly to examine the wound.
“…Still,” she admitted after a moment, “my strike was excessive.” She wrapped the injury with quick, practiced efficiency. When she finished, her hand lingered on your arm just slightly longer than necessary.
“A warrior protects their ally,” she said quietly. “You fight beside me. That makes your safety… my responsibility.” After a pause she added, voice softer, “And I do not intend to fail you again.”
Shadowheart-
The battle had barely begun when Shadowheart’s guiding bolt burst past you in a flash of radiant light. The spell struck the enemy, but its edge caught your side. Your sharp inhale made her heart drop. She turned immediately, horror flickering across her usually guarded expression. “Wait.. did I—?” The sight of you clutching your ribs answered the question.
“Gods,” she whispered, already kneeling beside you. Her hands glowed softly with divine magic as she pressed them against the wound. “Hold still.” Warm light spread through you as the pain faded. Shadowheart kept her hands there longer than necessary, concentrating harder than the injury demanded. “You’re supposed to be the reckless one,” she muttered, shaking her head.
When the healing finished, she helped you sit up, her fingers lingering around yours. “I’ve spent my life learning how to mend wounds,” she said quietly. “Hurting you was… not part of the plan.” You squeezed her hand reassuringly.
She huffed softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Well,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “if you’re going to keep getting injured, you might as well stay close to me.”
What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?
Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader
Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.
Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)
Words: 2.3k
Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.
Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf
Yearning scale: 8/10
He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.
But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.
You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.
At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.
But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.
Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.
“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”
Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.
He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.
He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.
Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep
Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10
Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.
Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.
He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.
With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.
He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.
It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.
His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.
But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.
Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.
His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.
Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider
Yearning scale: 6/10
It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.
Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.
“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”
He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.
A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.
Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.
Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.
For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.
He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.
For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.
Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice
Yearning scale: 8/10
Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.
He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.
He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.
His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.
Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.
He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.
After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.
Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.
But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.
Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.
💠
Author’s note. Thank you for reading!
I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!
The boys reacting to reader collapsing from exhaustion please?
Gale:
The stars had just begun to glimmer overhead, the velvet sky above the Shadow-Cursed Lands dimming into the kind of darkness that swallowed sound. The campfires crackled gently, casting flickering halos of warmth against the long stretch of gloom, but you were still going. Still walking. Still sorting. Still preparing.
You hadn’t rested. Not really. Not since that last fight, not since the argument with the goblins in the pass, not since the near ambush from twisted shadows. You’d kept your pace steady, your shoulders square, pushing through the weight in your limbs and the ache behind your eyes. You thought if you just did one more thing, the tension would stop building in your chest.
But your body had other plans.
You didn’t even remember falling. One moment you were standing, checking your gear, your fingertips trembling from fatigue, and the next—
Blackness.
A quiet thump. The faint scuffle of feet on earth.
Then a voice, fraying at the edges with fear:
“Wait—wait! No, no, no—gods, please—!”
You came to slowly, like rising through molasses, every sound muffled by a distant ringing. The smell of lavender and parchment hit your senses before anything else—then warmth. Gale. He was crouched beside you, cradling your head with trembling fingers, his brow furrowed with frantic concentration.
His face was pale beneath the firelight, lips pressed in a tight line, panic storming behind his eyes like thunderclouds.
“There you are,” he breathed, voice rough, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until you stirred. “You—by Mystra’s grace, you scared the life out of me.”
You tried to sit up. “I’m fine—”
“No, you are not,” Gale snapped. The edge in his voice shocked you—it was so rare, so unlike his usual soft-spoken warmth. But it cracked with strain, with the sharp weight of helplessness. “You collapsed. Not tripped. Not stumbled. Collapsed. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and you think I wouldn’t notice?”
You blinked at him, throat dry. “I just—there was a lot to do. I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to?” he echoed, his eyes going wide, almost wounded. “That somehow makes it better?”
His hands trembled as he brushed dirt from your cheek, then stilled when he cupped your jaw gently. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t have to carry it all.”
You looked away, ashamed—because you had been trying to carry it all. Because you didn’t want to be a burden. Because you thought if you didn’t slow down, maybe everything else wouldn’t catch up.
But Gale wasn’t done.
“You think I wouldn’t burn the very weave itself if it meant keeping you safe?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft again, but still fierce. “You think your worth is measured by how much pain you can ignore?”
Your lip trembled, just a little. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh, eyes glistening. “Then you’ve failed spectacularly.”
You smiled despite yourself, and Gale immediately folded forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and shaking.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t apologize. Just let me help. You don’t have to prove your strength by hiding your exhaustion. Not from me.”
He helped you sit up, guiding you gently like you were made of glass—his hands constantly checking for bruises or signs of injury, his eyes flicking across your face like he might lose you again if he looked away too long.
“I’ll rest,” you murmured finally.
“You’ll rest now,” Gale corrected, brushing your hair back. “And you’ll let me stay, even if all I can do is hold you while you sleep. Agreed?”
“…Agreed.”
And so he settled in beside you, holding you close beneath the stars, heart still racing, fingers still trembling—but never letting go.
Astarion:
The campfire crackled gently in the distance, its glow barely brushing the edges of the clearing as the evening slipped into deeper shades of indigo. The world beyond was all hush and shadow, quieted by the oppressive weight of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Everyone had started winding down, preparing for rest. Everyone except you.
You had been pacing—relentlessly. Repacking your gear. Polishing a blade you’d already sharpened twice. Pretending that the tremble in your limbs wasn’t there. That the weight behind your eyes didn’t burn. That you hadn’t been pushing yourself beyond the brink for days.
And then, quite simply—your body gave out.
Your knees folded. The world tilted. And the last thing you heard was a very undignified shout:
“Oh for—you dramatic idiot!”
You woke with a sharp inhale, but the moment you stirred, cold hands were already gripping your shoulders, a familiar voice hissing through clenched teeth:
“Don’t you dare try to sit up.”
Astarion loomed over you, silver hair in slight disarray, cravat askew, red eyes wild with something that looked like fury—but was far too sharp-edged to be anger alone. He was kneeling at your side, holding you like you were made of glass and pure trouble at once.
“You absolute menace,” he growled, inspecting you as if he might hex your exhaustion into submission. “I knew you were overdoing it. I told you. And what do you do? You drop like a sack of poorly stitched laundry!”
You blinked slowly, confused. “Astarion—”
“And not gracefully, mind you,” he continued, indignant. “You just crumpled. I had to catch you like some harlequin in a second-rate opera. I nearly broke a nail.”
Despite the scolding, his hands were maddeningly gentle, checking your pulse, brushing back damp hair from your forehead. He was so close you could smell the faint hint of bergamot and aged leather. You could feel the tension in his jaw, in the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into your sleeve as if grounding himself.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, voice hoarse.
He froze.
And then something shifted.
Astarion’s eyes softened—not much, but enough to crack the veneer of aristocratic outrage. He sighed, exasperated and... undeniably worried.
“Gods, darling, what were you thinking?” he said, this time quieter. “You looked like death warmed over hours ago. Why didn’t you say something? Or sit? Or, Mystra forbid, actually rest?”
You tried to offer a weak smile. “Didn’t want to trouble anyone.”
His face twisted like you’d just said the most offensive thing imaginable.
“Trouble—? Oh, how dare you,” he snapped, but now it sounded almost... wounded. “You think I waste my charms on just anyone? You think I go around catching unconscious fools for fun? You are my trouble, you idiot.”
He pulled you upright against his chest with surprising tenderness, wrapping his arms around you as he shifted you into his lap, cradling you like something precious and exasperating all at once. You could feel the way his thumb traced circles along your spine, even as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll—well, I’ll write a very strongly worded sonnet about your irresponsibility.”
You laughed softly against his shoulder. “A poem? That’s my punishment?”
“I am an artist of many talents, thank you very much,” he said primly. “But don’t tempt me. I’ll make it rhymed and awful.”
You looked up at him through tired eyes, heart aching with affection. “You were worried about me.”
“Oh, perish the thought,” he sniffed dramatically. “I was worried about me. What would I do if my favorite pillow went and died from pure stubbornness?”
And yet he pulled the blanket tighter around you. And his hand never left yours. And he didn’t stop holding you—not for the rest of the night.
Furious, indeed.
Wyll:
The world drifted back in slow fragments—light, sound, breath. You stirred, faintly aware of something heavy draped across you, of warmth pressed along your side, of a steady rhythm pulsing through fabric and skin: a heartbeat, far too quick to be your own.
“Wyll?” your voice came out as a rasp, thick and uncertain.
He did not move.
Your eyes blinked open to find him kneeling at your side, bent low, his forehead resting just over your heart like he was listening for something—proof you were still there, still beating beneath his hands. His fingers gripped your shirt, knuckles white, the rest of him utterly still save for the occasional tremble that betrayed just how close he was to coming undone.
“…You’re awake,” he whispered, voice hoarse, like speaking louder might break whatever fragile reality he’d constructed around himself while you were unconscious.
“I’m fine,” you croaked, trying to push yourself up.
Instantly, Wyll surged upward, pressing a firm hand to your shoulder and another to your hip, holding you flat against the bedroll with all the strength of someone who had just seen the person they love go limp and collapse in front of them. His dark eyes were wide, frantic, and furious—not at you, but at the helplessness clawing at him from the inside.
“Don’t you dare try to move,” he growled. “Not after that stunt.”
“I said I’m fine,” you muttered, wriggling against his grip. “I just overdid it a little—”
“You collapsed,” he snapped. “Like a marionette with its strings cut. One minute you were walking, talking, and the next—” He choked, fingers tightening for a split second. “You hit the ground and I—I thought you were dead.”
You opened your mouth to dismiss him again, to soothe, but Wyll leaned in, his voice low and sharp like flint striking steel.
“You don’t get to tell me this is nothing,” he hissed. “Because if you keep running yourself into the ground like this, someday it won’t just be a collapse. It’ll be you not waking up. And I—” He shook his head, his expression crumpling. “I can’t go through that.”
“Wyll—”
“I need you to understand what it does to me,” he interrupted, suddenly, dangerously close. “To see you fall and not know if I’ll ever hear your voice again. So if I seem dramatic, if I seem over-the-top, it’s because I’m trying to teach you something.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his curls. His tail flicked with restless tension behind him.
“Because when the real thing happens—when I do lose you—I’ll be ruined. You are the flame I measure all warmth by. And if that flame ever goes out…”
He swallowed hard. “Then I’m nothing but ash.”
Your heart twisted at the way his voice faltered, how the last word was barely more than a breath.
You tried to sit up again, to offer some comfort—but he lunged, practically threw himself down, sprawling across your torso like an overgrown, armored cat with an overdeveloped sense of righteous vengeance.
“You are resting.” His voice was muffled against your chest, but the weight of his body was firm, final, and very much unmoving.
You blinked. “…Are you pinning me down?”
“Yes.”
“You weigh a thousand pounds.”
“I will increase it if I have to.”
You sighed, flopping back with a groan of surrender. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you’re being reckless,” he retorted, not budging. “So now we’re even.”
There was a long silence. Then a quiet chuckle slipped out of you, reluctant but real. You carded your fingers through his hair, letting the tension bleed from your limbs.
“Fine. I’ll rest.”
Wyll tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to your sternum, his voice a low murmur. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
Halsin:
The moment your eyes cracked open, you knew you were in trouble.
The air inside Halsin’s tent was thick with the scent of dried herbs and pine resin, heavy with the warmth of the furs layered beneath you. It was dim—his tent flap drawn shut—but soft light filtered in, revealing the familiar shape of his travel gear stacked in its usual meticulous order. The cot creaked softly beneath you as you shifted, muscles aching, limbs leaden. There was a wet cloth resting on your brow, cool and fragrant with some kind of forest mint.
You had absolutely, unequivocally passed out from exhaustion.
And Halsin had clearly been the one to find you.
A groan built low in your throat, and with it came your brilliant idea: sneak out. Maybe—just maybe—you could slink off before he returned. You didn’t relish the idea of a lecture from a near seven-foot-tall druid whose entire body seemed to be carved from oak and thunderclouds.
You swung your legs over the cot, wincing as the rush of dizziness hit you. But you were determined. Quiet. Graceful. Almost at the—
“Where,” came a low, thunderous voice from behind, “do you think you’re going?”
You froze mid-step. Slowly, guiltily, you turned.
And there he was—Halsin—massive, bare-chested, his thick arms crossed over his chest, golden eyes narrowed and jaw clenched with a sternness that belonged more to a storm than a man.
“Ah,” you said. “I was just—stretching.”
Before you could retreat or formulate another weak excuse, he closed the space between you with startling speed, scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all, and slung you over his shoulder.
“Halsin!” you protested, smacking at his back as he turned and carried you—without effort, without ceremony—right back to bed. “Put me down!”
“You’re lucky I’m not tying you to the cot,” he rumbled, voice edged with exasperated affection. “You collapsed in the middle of the clearing. In front of everyone. I had to carry you back here—twice, apparently.”
He set you down with far more care than his grumbling suggested, adjusting the furs around you, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they brushed a damp curl from your temple. Then, without another word, he reached behind him and produced a small bundle of cloth.
He opened it to reveal a collection of deep red and violet berries nestled in soft moss. “I foraged these. You need to eat.”
You blinked. “Halsin, I—”
“Eat,” he said simply, with that patient, immovable tone he used when dealing with stubborn animals and, apparently, stubborn lovers.
You gave him a sheepish look, but obeyed, popping a few of the berries into your mouth. They were sweet, tart, and immediately grounding. Halsin watched you the entire time, gaze softening only after he saw you swallow a second mouthful.
Once satisfied, he slid in beside you, the cot creaking in protest beneath his weight. You barely had time to blink before his arms wrapped around you, strong and encompassing, pulling you into the heat of his chest. One leg tangled with yours as he pulled the furs up around both of you.
“You frightened me,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear, breath warm against your hair. “I have seen wounds. Disease. Poison. But watching you crumble from something so preventable? It... it undid me.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice already thick and slipping into sleep again. “Didn’t mean to—”
“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No apologies. Just rest.”
You tried to protest, but your words slurred, consciousness unraveling like smoke. You barely registered his arms tightening around you protectively, his deep voice rumbling softly as he murmured something soothing in Druidic, something meant to lull, to calm.
“I’ll watch over you,” he promised into your hair. “You are safe now. Just sleep.”
And this time, you listened.
IM BACK WITH THE BOYS ugh I love it, also I'm on a dark bg3 brain rot so that will be the next post. Hope you guys enjoyed this and thank you all for your contiued support!- Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
After hiding from your lover due to the person they've become, what happens when they finally find you?
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Conqueror Minthara:
The tranquility of the small, secluded village had been a balm to your wounded, broken soul. Hidden deep within the forest on the surface, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the chaos and bloodshed of the Underdark that had come to define your life with Minthara. For months, you managed to lived in peace, and the horrors of the Underdark and Minthara's ruthless conquest slowly became distant memories. But peace, you learned, is a fleeting, foolish, illusion.
It was a quiet evening when she found you. The sun was setting, casting shadows across the village square. You were tending to a small garden, your hands deep in the earth, when the first screams pierced the air. Your heart lurched, a cold dread settling in your stomach. You looked up to see villagers running, their faces twisted in terror, as dark figures emerged from the surrounding forest.
You immediately recognised them to be Minthara's soldiers, ruthless and efficient, and spreading through the village like a hideous plague. Houses were set ablaze, and those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies quickly put on brutal display, their home, their burning pyre. Panic seized you, and you turned to flee, but it was too late. She stood before you, a dark, imposing figure against the backdrop of burning homes.
"Did you really think you could hide from me?" Her voice was a chilling blend of amusement and anger. "There is no place you can go that I cannot find."
Her eyes, once a source of fascination and allure, now bore into you with a cruel, predatory intensity. She advanced slowly, savoring the fear that radiated from you.
"You disappoint me," she said, her voice a venomous whisper. "I thought you were stronger than this, more loyal and that your standards were extraordinarily higher than this."
Minthara gestured with disgust the small homestead you had made for yourself. You tried to speak, to explain, but words failed you. The memory of the person she once was clashed violently with the reality of the monster before you. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.
"I gave you everything," she continued, her voice soft yet seething with underlying fury. "Power, purpose, and a place by my side. And you ran away."
Her hand moved to grip your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Now, you will watch as everything you tried to build without me burns to the ground."
With a wave of her hand, she commanded her soldiers to bring forth the villagers who had been captured. They were dragged into the square, their faces marked by fear and confusion. You knew them, they had helped you, taken you in, wanting nothing but to see you smile. You struggled against her hold, desperate to help them, but Minthara's grip was unyielding.
"Look at them," she hissed, her lips close to your ear. "They suffer because of you. Because you dared to defy me."
Tears of helpless rage filled your eyes as you watched the villagers, they were killed slowly, painfully. You watched the light drain from their eyes, their pleas for you to do something resonating in your skull. Minthara moved closer to you, her lips trailing up your neck, the touch both intimate and suffocating.
"You will stay with me," she murmured, her voice a dark promise. "You will learn that there is no escape from my will. And in time you will love me."
As she kissed your neck, a gesture that once brought warmth now filled you with a chilling dread, she pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you see now? You belong to me, and no matter where you go, I will always find you."
The village continued to burn, the flames casting flickering shadows on Minthara's face. She smiled, a cold, triumphant smile, and you knew that your fate was sealed. In her eyes, you saw the reflection of your own helplessness, a stark reminder of the power she wielded and the chains you could never break.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dense forest. You had been on the run for months, trying to escape the clutches of Shadowheart, the Mother Superior of the Sharrans. Her cruelty towards others had finally driven you away, you didn't believe your own excuses for her anymore, and you couldn't bear to see the darkness that had consumed her heart. But no matter how far you ran, you always felt her presence lingering, a shadow that refused to let you go.
One night, while you were sleeping in a small, hidden cave, the best you could do without risking interaction with civilisation, you awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the feeling of an oppressive force drawing near. Panic surged through you, but before you could react, you felt a cold hand cover your mouth, stifling your scream. Shadowheart's face emerged from the darkness, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
"Did you really think you could hide from me?" she whispered, her voice a chilling mix of anger and possessiveness. "Did you think I would let you go so easily?"
Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself, but Shadowheart's grip was unyielding. She muttered an incantation under her breath, and you felt a wave of magical energy wash over you. Your body went limp, and your vision blurred as the world around you faded into darkness.
When you awoke, you were back in the Sharran temple, bound to an ornate chair in Shadowheart's private chamber. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadowheart stood before you, her expression unreadable as she looked upwards, muttering incantations, channeling the power of Shar. Her hands glowed with dark energy as they moved and flicked, as you came to you realised the strange sensation in your mind, as if memories were being played and plucked from your consciousness.
"You left me," she said softly, as she looked down at you, her voice filled with a mix of hurt and determination. "But I can't allow that. I won't allow that."
As the spell took hold, the memories of her cruelty and your subsequent escape began to fade. You tried to resist, to hold on to the truth, but the power was too strong. The love you once felt for Shadowheart, the passion and devotion, surged back to the forefront of your mind, overpowering everything else.
"You belong to me," Shadowheart continued, her eyes fixed on you. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."
Your head swam with conflicting emotions, but the magic of Shar twisted your thoughts until you could no longer remember why you had left in the first place. Instead, all you could think about was your love and adoration for Shadowheart. The memories of her cruelty were buried deep within your subconscious, replaced by a distorted version of reality where she was your everything.
Finally the darkness fully enveloped you, seeping into every corner of your mind, erasing the memories that had driven you away. You felt your resistance slip with it, replaced by a warm, all-encompassing love for the woman before you.
When you awoke again, you were no longer bound, and you were in Shadowheart's arms, both of you tucked under silk sheets in her lavish private chamber. She was holding you close, her fingers gently stroking your hair. You looked up at her, confusion and love warring within you.
"Shadowheart," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "What happened? Why do I feel... strange?"
She smiled down at you, her eyes soft and filled with love. "You had a bad dream, my love," she said soothingly. "But it's over now. You are safe with me."
You nodded, the memory of the dream already fading. You were with Shadowheart, the woman you loved more than anything. How could you ever have doubted her?
She kissed your forehead, her lips warm and comforting. "Rest now, my love," she whispered. "We have each other, and that is all that matters."
As you closed your eyes, the last remnants of your fear and doubt melted away, replaced by the warming love and trust you felt for Shadowheart. She was your everything, and you would never leave her again.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
You step into your quarters, the familiar, sacred tranquility enveloping you like a comforting shroud. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room. As you close the door behind you, a chill runs down your spine—a sensation that is both foreign and unnerving in this place of sanctuary.
Then, you see him.
Gale stands in the center of the room, his presence as imposing and magnetic as ever. His eyes, once filled with mortal passion, now burn with the intensity of a god. He claps slowly, the sound echoing ominously in the silence. "Well done," he says, his voice a smooth blend of admiration and something darker. "To turn to Selûne, of all deities. Clever. So very clever."
You stiffen, every muscle in your body screaming at you to flee, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "Gale," you begin, your voice steadier than you feel. "You shouldn't be here."
He laughs, a sound rich with amusement and irony. "Shouldn't I? You think you can hide from me, even with the Moonmaiden's help? Oh, my dear, it only made me love you more. The cunning, the defiance. It's intoxicating."
Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape. "I don't want to return to you," you say, the words rushing out in a desperate torrent.
His expression softens, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes. "You don't have a choice. I've carved out a place for you in the heavens, a place by my side. It's where you belong."
Panic surges through you, and you turn, racing for the door. But before you can reach it, he is there, materializing in front of you with a god's effortless speed. You crash into him, the impact jarring, but he remains unmoved, his arms encircling you in a grip that is both tender and inescapable.
"I've missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "And I know you've missed me, too."
You shove him, your hands pushing against his chest with all the strength you can muster. He staggers back, not from the force of your push, but from the sheer surprise of it. And then he laughs again, the sound filling the room like rolling thunder.
"Is this the game you want to play? So be it." he asks, his eyes alight with a fierce, unholy joy. His power surges, the air around him crackling with divine energy. "Maybe I can show you a bit of godly wrath,"
You back away, your mind racing for a plan, a way to escape the inevitable. But even as you retreat, you know that this is a game you cannot win. Gale's love, his obsession, is a force of nature, and he is determined to claim what he believes is rightfully his. The room darkens, the shadows deepening as his power swells, and you realize with a sinking heart that there is no sanctuary left for you—not from him.
The room trembles as Gale's godly wrath unfurls, the very air around you becoming charged with his immense power. The ground beneath your feet shudders violently, and you can feel the tremors spreading far beyond your quarters. Objects rattle and crash to the floor, and outside, you hear the distant, terrified screams of innocents caught in the wake of his fury.
Lightning arcs across the sky, its blinding flashes followed by deafening cracks of thunder that shake the walls. The cries of the people intensify. You rush to the window, your heart sinking as you witness the chaos unfolding below. Bolts of divine lightning strike indiscriminately, setting buildings ablaze and sending people scrambling for cover.
"Gale, stop this!" you shout, turning back to him, your voice barely audible over the cacophony of destruction. "You're hurting them! Please, stop!"
But his eyes are fixed on you, burning with an intensity that leaves no room for mercy or reason. He steps closer, and the tremors grow stronger, the ground splitting open in jagged fissures. You can feel the raw power emanating from him, an unstoppable force driven by his relentless ambition and obsession.
"Gale, please!" you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "You're killing them! Stop!"
He seems not to hear you, his focus unwavering, his expression unyielding. The room continues to shake, the walls cracking, pieces of the ceiling starting to fall. You drop to your knees, the weight of the situation crushing you, and tears stream down your face as you beg. "Gale, I'm begging you. Stop this madness. I'll go with you. Just please, stop!"
For a moment, the earth stills, the roaring thunder quiets, and the flickering lightning halts. Gale's expression softens as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"There," he murmurs, his voice soothing but laced with satisfaction. "Was that so hard?"
Tears stream down your face, your body trembling from the emotional and physical strain. The cries outside have lessened, but the damage is done—buildings lie in ruins, and lives forever changed. He helps you to your feet, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"I never wanted to hurt them," he says softly, his eyes searching yours. "But you needed to understand. You belong with me. And now, you see that."
You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. The power he wields, the destruction he can cause—it leaves you with no illusions about your fate. With a heavy heart, you nod, resigned to your destiny by his side.
"Good," he says, his smile returning. Placing a tender kiss to your forehead, as if hadn't just thrown a deadly tantrum. "Let's leave this place behind. There's a place I've prepared just for you."
As he leads you away, the ground beneath you begins to heal, the tremors fading into memory. The devastation left in his wake serves as a grim reminder of the price of defiance, and as you take his hand, you know that your life will never be the same.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
The tavern was alive with the chaotic energy of revelry—a madness of laughter, music, and clinking tankards that seemed to drown out the troubles of the world. You had sought solace in its bustling atmosphere, hoping the crowd would shield you from the relentless pursuit of your ex lover, a man you used to call your world, now a godling born of malice.
For months, you had managed to elude him, slipping through shadows and distant towns, always one step ahead. But tonight, fate had caught up with you. As you mingled with the merry throng, trying to blend into the sea of faces, a shiver ran down your spine—a sensation you knew all too well.
There he was, leaning casually against a pillar, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a chill through your veins. Astarion, now ascended to a dark power beyond mortal comprehension (or so he kept telling you), exuded an aura of dominance and danger. He wore a smirk that promised both pleasure and pain, and it chilled you to the bone.
You tried to slip away, to disappear into the crowd, but he moved with an unnatural speed, cutting off your escape route effortlessly.
"Running again, my dear?" His voice was like velvet over steel, laced with amusement and a hunger that sent a jolt of fear through you.
Before you could react, he pulled you into the swirling dance of the tavern. Around you, oblivious revelers spun and laughed, lost in their own joyous abandon. But your world narrowed to the commanding presence of Astarion, his touch igniting a familiar fire of longing and dread.
"You won't get away this time," he murmured, taking your hand in his cold, firm grasp. As the dance continued, his grip tightened, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin. "You've made me chase you for so long," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "But tonight, you are mine."
Before you could respond, he dipped you low, his lips finding the curve of your neck. The world spun as his fangs sank into your flesh, a sharp pain followed by a heady rush as he began to drink. The room seemed to blur, the sounds of the tavern fading into a distant hum.
Your strength ebbed away with every pull of his lips, the life draining from your body as he fed. When he finally withdrew, his eyes blazed with triumph and possessiveness.
You collapsed into Astarion's arms, the sensation of his cold embrace the last thing you felt before darkness claimed you. He held you close, cradling your lifeless body with a tenderness that belied his monstrous nature
"She’s had a bit too much to drink," he called out to the concerned onlookers, his voice tinged with faux amusement. "Don't worry, I'll take care of my darling fiancée."
The tavern erupted in good-natured cheers and applause, the patrons none the wiser to the sinister truth. Astarion carried you towards the door, the night air cool against your skin as you drifted in and out of consciousness.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Did you really think you could escape me, little love? You belong to me forevermore. The gift I am about to give you will ensure that."
His voice, filled with dark promise, was the last thing you heard before the world went black.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
The rhythmic clattering of the factory machines was your lullaby and your solace. The industrial din was a constant reminder that you were safe, cocooned in the heart of Baldur's Gate, far from the forests and nature that had once felt like home. Now, those same woods were a nightmare, haunted by the shadow of the man you once loved.
Halsin had changed. His belief in the balance between nature and civilization had twisted into a dark crusade. What had started as a noble cause to protect the wilds had turned into an extremist vision, with Halsin determined to return the world to a primal state at any cost. You had watched in horror as he resorted to violence, razing villages, and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Unable to reconcile the gentle druid you knew with the monster he had become, you fled.
Baldur's Gate was your sanctuary. The bustling city, with its stone buildings and cobbled streets, was the furthest you could get from the greenery Halsin now worshipped. You threw yourself into your work at the factory, rarely leaving its grimy confines. The city's heart was far from the forest's edge, making it the safest place you could be.
An accident at the factory changed all that.
You awoke in a jostling wagon, the familiar scent of the city replaced by the earthy aroma of the countryside. Panic surged through you as you realized you were on the outskirts of the forest. The attendant, a kindly old man, noticed your distress but dismissed your fears, assuring you that everything would be alright.
"No," you rasped, your voice filled with desperation. "You don't understand. It's not safe here."
The attendant patted your hand, his smile meant to be reassuring but only deepening your sense of dread. "The healer is just a little further. You'll be well taken care of."
As the wagon continued its journey, every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the wind set your nerves on edge. You knew Halsin would find you; he always did. The wagon eventually came to an abrupt halt. The attendant frowned and stepped out to investigate, despite your urgent pleas for him to stay.
"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "Don't go. It's dangerous."
"Nonsense," he replied with a chuckle. "I'll just see what's blocking the path."
He vanished from view, and the silence that followed was more terrifying than any noise. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes, each one a reminder of the peril you were in. You strained to hear anything - footsteps, voices, anything that could tell you what was happening.
A sudden rustle outside the wagon snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned just in time to see a massive figure emerging from the trees, cloaked in green and brown, a silhouette that was both familiar and terrifying. Halsin. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached, his eyes dark and intense, the very embodiment of nature's wrath.
The attendant's scream was brief, cut off by a sickening crunch. You felt a wave of nausea, but there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get away. The door of the wagon creaked open, and a towering figure filled the doorway. Halsin's once gentle eyes now burned with an intensity that made your blood run cold. His presence radiated raw, untamed power, and the forest seemed to respond to him, the trees whispering and shifting as if alive.
"There you are," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "I have missed you."
You shrank back, pressing yourself against the far side of the wagon. "Please, Halsin, don’t do this. I had to leave. You’ve changed."
"You shouldn't have run," he said, his voice a dark, velvet caress. "You belong with me, in the wilds."
"No," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Not like this, Halsin. Please."
He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. "The world must return to its natural state," he murmured. "And you will be by my side when it does. I won't let you go, my heart, not again."
You tried to pull away, but your injuries and his strength made it futile. He wrapped you in his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt a mix of despair and a twisted sense of comfort in his embrace.
"You’ve been hurt," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I will take care of you."
You wanted to fight, to scream, but your body betrayed you, too weak to resist. As he carried you into the forest, you looked back at the wagon, the nice old man lying lifeless beside it, plants already making their home in his corpse. Tears blurred your vision. You knew there was no escape now. You were back in Halsin's world, a prisoner of his love and twisted vision for the future.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Something a bit different, but enjoyed writing it, let me know if you want more dark bg3 ! - Seluney xox
P.S Polite reminder that inbox for requests are closed but if you want to just drop in and say hi that fine!
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Hello! Could I request a pregnant reader running away from the Dark ending characters to protect their unborn baby? Sort of an alternative scenario where the dark characters don’t know their darling is pregnant and they successfully manage to run away and hide with their child for a few years before they’re both found again by their yandere?
It had taken every ounce of strength you possessed to leave Minthara, but your pregnancy had propelled you forward. Each moment of your escape was a dangerous gamble, every step a silent prayer, relying on old allies and, for the first time, even the enemies of the Baenre estate to help you vanish into the world above. You'd known the risks, the chance that Minthara’s dark reach might find you anywhere, but when you finally stepped into the light of the surface world, the chill of fear faded, replaced by something warmer, something you hadn’t felt in years. Freedom.
In that quiet, sunlit village, you built a new life. It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it was wholly yours, unburdened by the constant dread of Minthara’s ambition and possessive cruelty. It was a simple existence, but peace had always been elusive for you, and here, you had finally grasped it.
And when your daughter was born, small and soft and untainted by any darkness, you felt a strength bloom within you that was fiercer than any resolve you had known before. She was innocent, untouched by Minthara’s world, a part of you that you would fiercely protect. In her small face, you saw the promise of a life unshadowed by fear. She became your joy, your purpose, and the villagers who took you in became a family, treating her as a precious miracle. For the first time, you felt safe.
Life became a quiet rhythm: tending to her, letting her laugh at the birds that flew outside your window, and feeling her small fingers tug at your hair as she babbled with wonder at every new thing. In the peaceful warmth of the village, the sounds of morning birds and evening lullabies replaced the echo of Baenre’s cold vicious halls. It felt safe enough, at times, that you dared let yourself relax. You would take small naps in the afternoons, letting sleep claim you while she lay in her cradle.
It was on one of those afternoons, feeling content and unburdened, that you allowed yourself to truly sleep. It was a mistake.
You awoke, not to the warmth of your small bed, but to the touch of silk sheets. No longer were you wrapped up in the knitted jumper your elderly neighbour had made you but the finest robes the Underdark could offer. The comforting scent of home had been replaced by the stale, heavy air you had left behind. Your eyes flew open in panic, and terror surged through your veins as the truth settled over you. The bed, the cottage, the life you had built—it was all gone. You were back within the Baenre estate, its dark silence pressing down on you like a nightmare.
You staggered to your feet, the terror clawing at your chest, but only one thought filled your mind: your daughter. You tore through the familiar, hated halls, shouting her name, your heart pounding as you passed door after door, corridor after corridor, each one empty and devoid of life. No warmth, no gentle light from the village. Only darkness and the cold.
Then, in the dim light of Minthara’s chambers, you saw her.
Your daughter, barely a few months old, sat on Minthara’s lap, her small hands reaching out, curious, to touch the dark fabric of Minthara’s robes. Minthara’s face held a strange gentleness—a softness you once trusted, now contorted into something twisted and terrifying. She murmured to the child, her tone almost affectionate, the sound catching in your ears like broken glass.
"Your mama had a little… lapse. She thought she could leave us,” Minthara cooed, her words soft, her gaze never leaving your child. “But it’s alright now. She’s returned to where she belongs, where you belong, my love."
Her eyes lifted, meeting yours, a cold gleam in them. She gave you a pitying, patronizing smile, as though you were nothing more than a child caught in a foolish game. Your legs felt like lead, each step heavy as you stumbled into the room, desperate and helpless.
“Minthara…please,” you choked, reaching out, your voice thin and trembling. “Give her back to me.”
Minthara’s smile grew sharper, and she shifted your daughter on her lap, as though she were cradling a prize, a possession that was irrevocably hers.
“You weren’t well, darling. Call it pre-partum delusions, if you will. Motherhood…does things to the mind.” Her voice was calm, patronizing, almost soothing, and each word sank into you like a blade. “But rest assured, I’ll make sure this never happens again. You’ll be protected, watched over.”
A heavy, cold weight settled over you as she dismissed everything you had fought for as if it were nothing but a passing illness. She was rewriting your escape as nothing more than a fit of irrationality, a lapse in judgment, the precious life you’d built reduced to a fevered dream. She continued, her tone sharp, each word a stone that buried your resolve.
“Rest assured that I’ve forgiven you. I understand what might have driven you to this… lapse.” She reached down, brushing a strand of hair from the child’s forehead with a delicate hand as though you weren’t standing there, each word diminishing you. "But worry not, you two will never leave again. I’ll see to it myself.”
You took a step forward, trembling, your gaze shifting from Minthara’s possessive hand on your child to her eyes, which held no warmth, only an unyielding, terrible love. “Minthara… please, I was only trying to protect her from—”
“Protect?” she interrupted, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. “You were confused. You were delusional.” Her voice softened, taking on a chilling gentleness. “But I know it was only fear that drove you to such… irrational behavior. Now, our family is whole again. Our baby will grow up in both of her mothers' embrace."
Her voice left no room for protest, and when you tried to step forward again, she shifted your daughter further away, holding her closer, her gaze hardening with an unspoken threat. Your protests died on your lips as you curled in on yourself.
“Now,” she continued, her voice soft, almost soothing, “you will stay here with us, and in time, you will understand that this—this is the only place you need to be.” Her eyes softened with a chilling, twisted affection. “You and our daughter, bound together in this family. You’ll see it’s what’s best.”
A shudder of helplessness ran through you as you realized there was no escape. Not now, not ever. Minthara’s control was unbreakable, her possession over you, over your daughter, as absolute as the stone walls that surrounded you. She had taken everything and redefined it under her own iron will, trapping you within a nightmare disguised as love.
Your daughter gurgled, reaching for you, her small, trusting eyes unaware of the darkness that loomed. As Minthara held her close, her fingers brushing the child’s cheek with a cruel tenderness, you felt the weight of her claim settle over you—a cage you could never escape. And as you looked into Minthara’s eyes, you knew she would never let you go.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The news had settled within you like a quiet revelation, a blooming certainty despite the fog of your fractured memories. You were pregnant, carrying Shadowheart's child. It was surreal and daunting, your memories of her a shattered mirror, fragments of affection and fear intertwined. But as soon as you felt the life stirring within you, something undeniable broke free—a fierce, protective instinct you hadn’t felt before. Whatever your past held, this future, this child, needed something else—somewhere safer than the Sharran cloister’s shadowed halls.
Days turned to weeks as you hid the truth from Shadowheart, burying your own memories further, blending into the routines she expected of you. Finally, in the dead of night, you slipped away, cradling your belly and the life within it, guided only by that need to protect, even as your own mind’s certainty waned. Exhaustion and the pain of fleeing left you breathless, but you pressed on, slipping past the cloister’s walls and through the wilderness, seeking the solace you knew lay elsewhere.
It was through sheer resilience that you found the Selunite community—a hidden sanctuary of gentle souls who embraced you without question, taking you in like the family you barely remembered. Their kindness was a balm, a healing force that soothed you as you neared the end of your pregnancy. And when the time came, their hands and prayers guided you through childbirth, their soft words of encouragement weaving through your pain. Finally, you held your daughter, her small face serene, a spark of light in the world that had been so dark.
Those first few days passed in a haze of wonder and exhaustion, their gentle care enveloping you as you recovered. You felt a faint glimmer of hope as you watched your daughter sleep in your arms, her little face peaceful, untouched by the fear that had followed you for so long. For the first time, you thought you might truly be free.
But then, the peace broke, the night pierced by screams and the clash of steel. Panic surged within you as you heard footsteps rushing through the halls, the murmur of prayers abruptly silenced. Sharran chants echoed against stone walls, a sound you knew too well. Shadows poured through the sanctuary, cutting down the Selunites one by one, the scent of blood thickening in the air. You held your child closer, frantically searching for a way to flee, but it was too late.
A familiar, chilling voice sounded behind you, and your blood froze.
“There you are,” Shadowheart murmured, her voice like silk, threaded with a dark satisfaction. She moved closer, her gaze fixed on your daughter with a haunting reverence, as if drawn by the innocent life you held. “Oh, look at her… what a beauty you’ve brought into the world.”
Her tone was deceptively soft, the twisted affection almost comforting if not for the malice that laced it. She extended a gloved hand, her fingertips grazing your daughter’s cheek with a gentleness that felt all wrong.
Instinctively, you pulled your child closer, your grip tightening, and Shadowheart’s gaze flicked to you. There was no anger, only an unsettling calm, her expression laced with twisted forgiveness.
“You ran,” she continued, her voice almost reproachful, as if she were scolding a disobedient child. “But it’s alright now. You’ve returned to me, to Shar’s embrace, and you’ve brought with you this… gift.”
Your heart pounded as you struggled to muster any courage to speak, but the words choked in your throat. Around you, the once-peaceful sanctuary was littered with the fallen, the Selunites lying motionless, their sanctuary now desecrated. Shadowheart’s followers moved silently, clearing away what remained of the Selunite resistance, their faces cold, their hands stained with blood. This was their version of mercy—Shar’s mercy, as Shadowheart would call it.
“All is forgiven,” she whispered, her lips curving into a smile that was both tender and terrible. “You see, even the Selunites now lie within Shar’s embrace. They fought so hard, didn’t they?” She reached out, her fingers gently touching your cheek, her gaze softening as if this massacre were an offering just for you. “But now, you and our child are home.”
“Shadowheart… please,” you finally managed to whisper, desperation fraying your voice as you held your daughter close. “We don’t… we don’t belong here. She deserves a life free of this darkness.”
Her smile faltered only for a heartbeat before she let out a soft, almost sympathetic laugh.
“No, my love. This is the only life we deserve—Shar has granted us purpose, blessed us with a future. And you were simply lost for a while, caught up in the false comforts of the light.” Her hand moved to cup the back of your head, her thumb tracing a slow, comforting path along your temple. “But I’ve forgiven you. And now, you willl be home again, and we can forget all about this.”
Your stomach lurched, though you couldn't place why, you just had an instinctual feeling that it had something to do with your broken mind. The remnants of your defiance withered under her touch, your heart heavy with dread as you realized there was no escape. You will return to the shadows, with your child, where Shar reigned, and would serve as your babe's twisted godmother. And there was nothing you could do about it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
The realization of your pregnancy struck you like a fever. Gale’s child—the product of the god of ambition’s indomitable will and your own caged heart—was growing within you. In that moment, you knew with certainty that whatever this child’s fate was meant to be, it would not unfold within Gale’s far-reaching grasp. The image of your child, bound by his ambition, molded into his vision of perfection, was enough to fuel your resolve. Determined to give your child a life beyond Gale's expectations, you tapped into your powers, cloaking yourself from his omniscient gaze and retreating into the mortal plane.
You found refuge within a hidden sect of your most devout followers, a sanctuary devoted to you in secret, where your faithful tended to your every need. You shielded them from Gale's prying eyes, weaving spells of concealment and drawing from your diminishing godly strength to protect them. You could feel Gale’s influence faintly brushing against your barriers, but for once, it was within your control. Your powers fortified with the growing life inside of you.
Months passed in tense quietude, but at last, your child was born, a tiny, fragile spark of life cradled in your arms. Your followers revered the newborn daughter, honoring the life that defied a god’s ambition and revered you for your defiance, vowing to protect this small, unknowing child. Yet as the days passed, you felt the dread looming over you—Gale’s influence was inescapable. The sense of his presence prickled at the edges of your consciousness, as if he were a shadow waiting to fall.
One evening, as you sat within the dim light of your sanctuary, you looked at your newborn, heart heavy with the choice that lay before you. You would entrust your daughter to your followers, let them raise them in secret and keep them far from the ambitions of her father. It was for her own protection, her only chance at freedom. Yet, as you gazed into your child’s innocent eyes, a new realization crept into your heart: you couldn't bear the thought of letting go.
Tears filled your eyes as the weight of your decision crushed you. How could you abandon her? The life you wanted her to live—untouched by divinity, free from expectation—seemed just out of reach. Sobs wracked your body as you clutched her closer, your resolve dissolving beneath the tidal wave of grief. You wanted to protect her, but giving her up felt like losing a part of yourself.
A gentle touch brushed your shoulder, and you turned, expecting to see your high priestess. But as your tear-filled gaze met familiar eyes, your breath hitched in horror.
Gale stood before you, his expression one of sympathy, yet his eyes shone with a satisfaction that was chilling. Clad in your priestess’s robes, his disguise melted away, revealing the truth you had dreaded. He had been here all along, watching, waiting for you to come to your senses.
"My love," he murmured, his voice like honeyed silk, soothing even as it constricted around your freedom, "you didn’t think I would let you face this alone, did you?"
You shrank back, clutching your daughter protectively, your mind racing with fear not for yourself, but for her. His gaze drifted to the child, and you could feel his mind already shaping her future, his plans and ambitions seeping into the air around you. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes gleaming with pride.
"Look at what you’ve created," he said softly, though his words held a dark undercurrent. "Our daughter. You were merely testing my resolve, weren't you? Testing my devotion to you and to our legacy. My ambition."
The air grew thick with his presence, oppressive and unyielding, as his hand tightened ever so slightly, rooting you in place. It wasn’t a request—it was an assertion, an unyielding truth in Gale’s mind that could not be challenged. He saw your devotion wavering and offered his own hand as a reminder, his grip unbreakable. You saw in his gaze the merciless edge of his ambition, a refusal to let anything—anyone—be outside of his control.
Stricken by fear, you forced yourself to nod, murmuring broken assurances.
"Yes, Gale," you whispered, voice trembling, "it was just… a test. I… I needed to be sure."
Satisfied, Gale smiled, his hand brushing your hair gently.
"Then all is well," he said, his tone rich with the contentment of victory. "Now, return to my realm, and let me help you raise our child as she’s meant to be—she is ours, after all."
Bound by his grip, by the weight of your followers’ lives and the fragile life of your daughter, you surrendered. He led you back, your daughter cradled against you, and you walked in silence, already haunted by the future that awaited her. You had once dreamed of freedom for her, but under Gale’s ambition, you knew that dream had faded into shadows.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
The discovery of your pregnancy had shaken you to your core. The idea of raising a child under Astarion's rule—within his twisted, blood-soaked world—was more terrifying than any threat you’d ever faced. Quietly, with every ounce of resolve you had left, you’d slipped away from him, vanishing into the shadows of the Underdark, determined to keep your child safe from his corrupted influence. Away from Astarion, you’d managed to carve out a small, hidden life for yourself, filled with the quiet joys of early motherhood. You nourished your child, watched over them, and, for a few precious months, knew peace. You allowed yourself to believe that, maybe, you’d succeeded in keeping them safe.
But that dream shattered the day you returned from gathering food, your child nestled in your arms, only to find Astarion sitting casually at the worn kitchen table, a ghostly figure of elegance against the dimly lit and modest surroundings. His crimson gaze fixed on you as he toyed with an empty goblet, his fingers tracing its rim with a nonchalant menace.
"Darling," he purred, voice dripping with amusement as he looked up at you, eyes flashing with a possessive intensity, "did you truly think I wouldn’t find you?"
He laughed, a soft, dangerous sound that filled the silence. You held your child closer, feeling your heart thunder beneath your ribs as you took in the sight of him, seated in the home you had desperately tried to keep hidden. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to escape, but you knew Astarion far too well. Running now would be useless. With no other choice, you drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
"What do you want?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper. He laughed again, standing and brushing down his pristine attire as though your question was absurd.
"What do I want?" he echoed, approaching with that chilling, gliding grace. "Isn't it obvious, my love? I came to retrieve what’s mine." His eyes glinted with a terrible amusement as he drew closer, his gaze drifting to the child in your arms. "Now, let me see them."
When he reached out, you instinctively tightened your hold, taking a step back, your body tensing at the idea of his touch on your child. The defiance only made him smile, a mockery of indulgence flashing across his face. With a small, irritated sigh, he rolled his eyes.
"Please, my dear," he said, his tone carrying an edge of impatience. "I’m not here to harm my heir… or the mother of my heir. I’d expect a little trust."
Unwilling but with no other options, you reluctantly loosened your hold, feeling your stomach twist as he gently lifted the child from your arms. He held them with surprising care, the barest hint of a smile gracing his face as he looked down at the small bundle. A strange light entered his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, there was an almost genuine affection there, albeit twisted by his possessive pride.
"Ah," he murmured softly to the child, his voice low and soft. "Such a marvelous life awaits you, little one. An entire world, ripe for the taking… as soon as your mother," he glanced at you with a smirk, "comes to her senses."
You felt a prickle of fear at his words, understanding the layered meaning beneath them. You took a cautious step toward him, trying to keep your tone steady. "Astarion… please, they deserve a chance at a real life. Not… this."
His smile hardened, his gaze cutting.
"Don’t be foolish," he replied, his voice like a caress tainted with steel. "A 'real life?' You were trying to raise my heir in squalor and shadows." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, the patronizing look in his eyes making your heart sink. "I’ll forgive your little rebellion, darling, but don't presume to know what's best."
Before you could speak, you felt something, some spell overtake you, and your vision began to swim. Your legs went weak, your world turning fuzzy at the edges as you felt your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you saw was Astarion’s mocking smile, and the last thing you heard was his cool voice murmuring, "Shh, it’ll all be over soon."
Darkness closed in, and when you awoke, you were back in Astarion’s palace, in his chambers, the opulence surrounding you an all-too-familiar prison. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, of inescapable control, as though you’d never left. Disoriented, you pushed yourself up, your mind racing.
The sound of a soft coo drew your attention, and your heart leapt as you saw your child in a gilded crib nearby, eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Relief washed over you—but only for a moment. The door creaked open, and Astarion stepped in, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of satisfaction and delight. He watched you for a beat, savoring the moment as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with quiet despair.
“See?” he murmured, gesturing to the luxurious room, to the crib. “Isn’t this a better life for our heir?”
You knew better than to argue, seeing the unyielding determination in his eyes. He wouldn’t be swayed by your pleas or logic. Any trace of freedom you’d tasted had evaporated, replaced by a chilling realization: this was your life now, and your child’s.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
Discovering you were carrying Halsin’s child had ignited a fierce urgency within you, a determination to protect them from the dark path Halsin had fallen into. You’d once loved him deeply, but as his views became increasingly extreme, his disdain for humankind palpable, you could no longer bear the thought of raising a child under his fervent ideology. With a heavy heart, you fled, finding refuge in a small druidic grove whose members welcomed you and promised to shield you from Halsin’s reach.
Months passed, and there, surrounded by trees and healing herbs, you gave birth. The grove offered peace, and you cherished the tranquil days, breathing in the clean air as you held your child close. You’d finally begun to believe you were safe, that your child might actually have a chance at a balanced life, away from Halsin's dominating influence. In this secluded grove, hidden away, life settled into a gentle rhythm, each day weaving hope and new beginnings.
But that illusion shattered in the dark hours of one quiet night.
The scent of smoke drifted through the air, thick and suffocating. You woke with a jolt, alarm shooting through you. Heart racing, you turned to the cot beside you, only to find it empty. A pang of panic sliced through your chest as you frantically searched the room, praying you’d somehow missed them in the dim light. But the cot remained empty, and dread clawed at your throat.
Barefoot and disheveled, you tore through the grove, ignoring the flames licking at branches, the heat scorching your skin. The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh choked you, but all that mattered was your child. You screamed their name into the chaos, your voice breaking with desperation as you stumbled over the fallen bodies of your new druid family, their lifeless forms strewn across the sacred earth.
The world around you blurred, reduced to a single, primal purpose—find your child.
At the grove’s edge, just past the smoldering ruins of what had been your sanctuary, you saw him. Halsin stood there, towering and blood-streaked, his face framed by the firelight. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. In his arms, nestled against his chest, was your child, unharmed and gazing up at him in quiet wonder.
Halsin looked down at them with a serene expression, cooing softly as he rocked them gently, whispering words you couldn’t make out over the roar of the flames. His hands, still stained with the blood of those who had offered you refuge, held your child as if they were the most precious treasure in the world.
Without thinking, you stumbled toward him, heart shattering as you reached for your child. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a strange mix of affection and pity.
“Our little one was waiting for me,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost soothing. “You must know by now—this was always meant to be.”
You were shaking, your fingers numb as you took the baby from his arms, clutching them desperately to your chest as if they were your lifeline. Tears spilled from your eyes, your body wracked with silent sobs as you stared at Halsin, the man you once loved and now feared beyond measure.
“Why, Halsin?” you choked out, voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do this?”
His gaze softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder with the same tenderness that had once comforted you.
“You lost your way, my love,” he said, as if explaining something simple to a child. “But it’s all forgiven now. You and our child are where you’re meant to be. Under my protection, with nature’s blessing. I had to save you from the lies they fed you here.”
You felt his grip tighten ever so slightly, a possessive strength beneath the facade of tenderness. His touch, once reassuring, now felt like a shackle, holding you firmly in place.
“For the greater good,” he murmured, his voice a low, almost reverent whisper. “You’ll understand, in time.”
Your mind felt trapped, your body frozen as you held your child, and all you could manage was a shaky nod. Because deep down, you knew: there was no escaping him now. As Halsin guided you back through the charred remains of the grove, his arm wrapped protectively around you, you realized you had no choice but to submit—to the man who believed he was saving you, even as he bound you to his twisted vision of the world.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
You’d felt a bittersweet sense of liberation the day you’d finally made it out of the Grand Duke’s clutches, a freedom carved out of sheer determination and love for the life growing within you. After months of moving cautiously, you had finally managed to reach Waterdeep, a sprawling city where you could blend into the crowds, creating a new identity for yourself and your child. You’d found a small home, modest yet cozy, and the months after the birth of your baby were a blissful exhaustion—nights spent rocking them to sleep, days filled with laughter and quiet joy. Here, Wyll’s shadow couldn’t reach you, or so you thought.
One lazy afternoon, while your baby napped, exhaustion overtook you, and you drifted off on the sofa. The next thing you knew, soft cries from the nursery roused you. You sat up quickly, your heart lurching in that familiar pang of maternal worry mixed with relief; your child’s cries were already softening, and you thought perhaps they’d just drift off again.
But as you approached the nursery, a strange, cold feeling gripped your heart. The quiet that greeted you felt unnatural, too calm, too steady. You pushed open the door and froze.
Wyll was sitting in the rocking chair, cradling your child with a gentle sway, his gaze wholly absorbed by the small bundle in his arms. He looked so at ease, as if he had always been here, always part of this quiet life you had so carefully built away from him. He was murmuring softly, his deep voice filled with adoration.
“You’re as pretty as your mother, you know that?” he cooed, his thumb gently brushing your baby’s tiny fingers. “Just as lovely… just as perfect.”
A chill ran through you, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Taking a steadying breath, you stepped forward, keeping your voice as calm as you could manage.
“Wyll,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, “you need to leave. You don’t belong here.”
But Wyll didn’t look up, his attention solely on the child, his child. He didn’t acknowledge your words—only continued to rock, a faint smile gracing his lips as he murmured to the baby.
“We need to leave soon, darling,” he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. “We have a carriage waiting for us, for our family.” His gaze finally drifted to you, and his eyes softened. “I know these past months have been difficult, darling. Pregnancy, childbirth… it’s exhausting, and sometimes it clouds the mind.” His voice was soothing, patronizing in its gentleness. “But that’s why I’m here now.”
You tried again, fighting to keep your voice calm, though each word came with a barely restrained tremor.
“No, Wyll. I’m not going back with you. This is my home now. Our home,” you emphasized, your hand protectively reaching out for your baby. “You need to understand that we’re not returning to your city, to your… rule.”
For the briefest moment, a flicker of something dark crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a sympathetic smile. He shifted the baby gently in his arms and rose from the chair, stepping toward you.
“You poor thing,” he murmured, voice thick with faux sympathy. “Sleepless nights, the overwhelming worry… it’s clouded your judgment. But that’s all right. That’s why I came myself, to bring you home, where you belong.”
Each word cut deeper as he dismissed your pleas. He walked toward you, and you tensed, stepping back on instinct. But as you moved, the quiet rustle of armor drew your attention to the door, where two of Wyll’s royal guards stood, their stoic gazes fixed on you, blocking any hope of escape. Wyll stepped closer, his eyes warm but resolute.
“We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.” His arms closed around you and the baby, his touch firm, unyielding, as he held both of you close. “It’s time to go home.”
You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you glanced down at your child, nestled contentedly in his arms, unaware of the tension in the room, of the silent battle being waged.
“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking as you looked up at Wyll. “Please let us stay. This is what’s best for our child. Can’t you see that?”
But Wyll only smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll have you feeling yourself again in no time. You just need rest, stability… me.” He lifted your chin, his gaze steady and calm. “Now, enough of these dramatics. Your carriage awaits.”
Helplessly, you watched as he signaled to his guards, his arm protectively around you as they escorted you both out. Each step away from the life you had built felt like a surrender, the world you had carved out of hope and freedom slipping further and further away.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Oooh this was delicious to write, I love this dynamic and this request was just *chef's kiss* - so thank you so much and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
"If they touch you, I'll kill them. It's that simple."
And another double-drabble! Astarion for @sky-lemonade ^-^
“If the others at the camp really mean something to you, you stay away from them, understood?”
Biting your own lip, you tried to hold back the arguments and tears. Before you lay the body of one of the nice Tieflings you had talked to that evening, after they’d been so nice to throw a celebration for your group’s help with the goblin attack. In fact, the mirthful party was still going on behind you, none the wiser of the death that occurred just out of sight. The culprit standing right behind you.
A hand wrapped around your throat, your body stumbling back into a cold chest as Astarian rubbed his cheek against your hair, lingering for a moment to inhale you.
“It’s your fault,” he murmured, sending a shiver of guilt down your spine. “I told you before that if they touch you, I’ll kill them. It’s that simple. Yet, you let this guy drool all over what is mine.”
“I didn’t mean to!” you protested, weakly, Astarion’s hand gripping your throat tighter. He planted a kiss to the top of your head, a quiet warning.
“Then this will be a lesson to be more careful next time, Darling.”
Connor (Detroit Become Human) being protective (and manipulative) with his human Darling? Scaring her away from work so she spends her time with him and only him.
Sure! You did not say what route to follow so I just kept in general. Implied to be Deviant! Connor, though.
Connor was an android you had met awhile back. He worked at the police station with you and needed a place to stay after the whole Revolution. You didn't go on dangerous cases like him, mostly kept evidence and cases organized. Hank had told you that Connor enjoyed your company, so you took up the offer to allow the android into your home.
At first, things were fine. Connor was fantastic to have around the house and was nice to talk to. He always had a smile around you, offering to do chores around the house when he was off-duty.
"You have your freedom, Connor! You don't need to do housework." You'd always laugh and playfully chastise him.
"It's the least I can do to thank you for giving me a home, (Y/N). What kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least try to help?"
Connor was also shown to be protective of you when you had to go out without him, asking to come with you. That was your first red flag. The android never liked you alone.
You just thought he was being concerned, having seen danger first hand in his missions! Then it escalated. Connor began trying to convince you to stay home.
He bought your groceries and supplies. He also made sure your house had good security. You thought all of this behavior was strange. Shopping for you was fine... but why the security?
Then he asked you to quit your job.
"I can always bring in the money, (Y/N). You shouldn't need to go out there without me. What if someone hurts you?"
You ignored his requests. You even asked Hank why he could've been acting like this. Even Hank, Connor's best friend, had no idea why he insisted on you quitting.
You then tried asking the android himself, Connor, why he was doing this. Connor's eyes only fixated on you before giving you a small smile.
"I'm just looking out for you."
Everything Connor said was so vague. Like he was trying to hide his true intentions from you. That alone scared you, but you should be able to trust Connor, right?
Then you started getting weird notes and gifts. All of which pointed towards you having a stalker. This only made your fear more prominent.
It was small notes of endearment at first. Then they became more graphic. Transitioning into threats instead of compliments.
The gifts followed the same pattern. Small things like chocolate and flowers quickly became strange effigies or photos.
Connor's offer of quitting work slowly but surely seemed more appeasing.
In fact once you told him about such events, Connor's eyes widened and he looked panicked. The android then quickly sits you down with him, holding you close.
"Don't be scared, (Y/N). I'll protect you from any danger. Would you like to stay home for now?"
You finally accept his offer, despite how suspicious it was.
With surprisingly skilled manipulation, Connor gets you to trust him. He keeps you safe at home and pampers you. You claim it's unnecessary but he disagrees.
"Isn't it nice to have someone take care of you at home? Safe from the outside world where no one can hurt you?"
Perhaps it was because the android was charismatic/affable you felt safe in his arms. Even if you had your suspicions he was scaring you out of work he acted so very kind. Kind and gentle to the point you had doubts he orchestrated the stalker problem.
Even if you told him you knew it was him, he probably wouldn't let you leave anyway. He's a trusted member of the department and he keeps everything locked. You couldn't leave even if you knew he caused all this.
But why would you want to? Connor does whatever he can to care for you. Claiming to do it out of a strange 'love' for you.
Humans are fragile in a world of androids and danger. You're lucky to have Connor protect you!
He doesn't plan on letting anyone, human or android, near you anyway.
You should only need him to love and adore you since you trusted him enough to come into your home.
Kindly said please watch yourself over this one because this is in fact a very dark content post and is a dead dove do not eat territory. You had read the trigger warning before and it may be even worse as it goes. Please proceed with caution and sincerely leave this post if it left you uncomfortable.
Albert Wesker, Leon Kennedy, Jake Muller, Kimimaro, Madara, Tobirama, Tsukishima Kei, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kuroo Tetsuro, Suna Rintarou, Childe, Dainsleif, Pantalone.
If this is your man, i pray for your sanity because honestly said, who the hell do you think you are? i am so sorry baby but the word “break up” might be a delusion before you could even said it fully to him. You think he's already bad before? now you're gonna be tied inside his basement while his TV played out a broadcast news about your missing status. Good luck seeing his maddening face everyday every night, and being shoved with his fat fuckin' cock anytime he wants because you're gonna be a full-time sex toy for him down there. Also said, he's pretty much the type to leave bruises all over your skin just to teach you a lesson here and there.
Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Carlos Oliveira, Hyuga Neji, Shikamaru, Orochimaru, Sawamura Daichi, Sugawara Koushi, Miya Osamu, Lev Haiba, Capitano, Alhaitam, Kamisato Ayato.
Not gonna lie which ones crazier either its you who tried to leave him or him, but it is definitely both of you because the way you folded after he offered you a last-time sex was something else. I wouldn't blame you, he had a wanging monster down there and the fucking is just too good. You might think this is a once and for all and without knowing it, he had already slipped his condom off and just pretty much bred the shit out of you. You'd probably gonna end the night looking like a cum rag beneath him. Ah, don't be sad! he's an extremely compensating man after all, and you guys are going to be a really good and lovely parents together!
Knife on the throat. Straight up. No, not you, but him. His own self. He'd shout at you, calling you a fucking liar, a bitch, a whore who deserves nothing. His eyes teared up, between shouts he sobs, and at the end he'll beg you to not leave him, he swore he will never forgive you if you do. But if you did? several bodies of your cherished ones would be dropped right in front of your door. And no one's gonna help you, no one. But him. So get back to him, tell him you love him, and promise that you'd never leave him again (not that he'll let you, not again.)
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