POV: You Wake Up At Your Lover's Side

POV: you wake up at your lover's side

a/n: set between acts 2 and 3; implied act 2 spoilers.

You wake up in a bed. It wouldn’t be abnormal, you think, apart from the fact that you’ve been camping on the road to Baldur’s Gate for days. You should be upon a bedroll with the stars overhead, not in a bedroom with the sound of a dying fire in one ear and the rhythm of ocean waves in the other.

It isn’t the sounds or sights that you recognize; it’s the feeling. A mystic warmth surrounds you; you’re subconsciously aware that everything you touch is an illusion, and the fact is ever-present in your slowly waking mind.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the caress of a shared daydream. It’s a vision that’s not your own, but you welcome it into your mind anyway. Besides, the hand that rubs your hip, the chest that presses against your back, and the breath on the crown of your head are all quite real.

“You needed this,” Gale murmurs in your ear. “After Ketheric—”

You smile to yourself, refraining from pointing out that Gale, who is blessedly still here, needed this, too. “And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

He chuckles, and a rustling of sheets signals what’s about to come: Gale now moves like a man who knows he’s no longer on borrowed time. You’re entranced by the way one hand settles beside your head, while one knee swings over your hip. His center of gravity shifts, and he’s up above you, leaning down to lay his lips on your forehead.

“A good morning,” he says with a somber undertone, still used to the weight of his personal burdens. “A moment of quiet.”

Your smile grows. You reach up to cup his face with one hand, fingers grazing over stubble, while your other hand rests lightly on the back of his neck. “Quiet could be had at camp.”

A flash of mischief passes through his eyes, making him look younger and more full of life than you’ve ever seen him.

“Not,” he teases, leaning down again, but stopping before his smiling lips touch yours, “without prying eyes.”

Beautiful things come alive in your heart. Happiness. Anticipation. Romance. A sense of normalcy you haven’t felt since long before the tadpole. Who would have thought that a few grand illusions and several near-death experiences were all it would take to get you there? 

In bed, in the arms of a lover who touches your heart in ways no other ever has.

You lean upward, but you don’t need to move very far to reach him. With just a little tilt of your chin, your lips cover his in a kiss so sweet that your senses resonate like the most sublime of songs. You’re here, wherever here is, and so is he. Your hands touch his skin, and his touch yours. The little sigh he lets out reaches your ears, and you can taste him and all the life that’s reawakened in his soul.

When he pulls away, eyes full of a love that warms the very energy of the illusory room, you whisper, “Thank you.”

One side of his brow quirks up, but his smile hasn’t faded. “I’ll accept your thanks, but they’d be better if I knew what they were for.”

How could you ever answer that? There isn’t enough time to explain how grateful you are that he’s alive, here, with you. That he’s given himself the chance to chase what’s real instead of that which he cannot see.

So, you shake your head and reach to entwine your fingers with his. And then you settle upon thanking him for what he is: “Everything.”

I was in the mood for confident Karasu. I can't thank @iwanttobeaseme enough for helping me bring that vision to life.

Kita shinsuke gets confused after you start dating.

It’s not like it’s been a long time, far from it, but you felt so comfortable in his everyday life that he stops thinking too hard about your interactions.

You reach for his hand, he takes it. You shiver, he gives you his jacket. You’re hungry, he shares his snacks.

He gives you a compliment, you… hate him?

You must. There it is, in capital letters under his own blue text: OFBEOD KITAAAA I HATE YOU FRRR😭😭

His heart races as he rereads the text over and over again, unsure of what he could’ve possibly said to have you say ‘I hate you.’

Whatever it is, he needs to find a way to apologize.

The idea of upsetting you in a way he barely understands is concerning, it makes him extremely saddened, and he picks up his pace to get to practice.

He’s sure there’s someone there that can help him decipher your distress.

Leave it to the two twins, tying their shoes in sync, to be the first ones to notice his stress.

“Kita-San?” Osamu asks, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” atsumu continues. “You’re late- you’re NEVER late.”

“And you look like you’re about to upchuck.”

Lovely.

“Osamu, Atsumu,” he says, breath shaky as the twins turn to look up at him. “You’re… familiar with relationships, yes?”

“Well he’s been single since birth-“

“HEY!”

“-but I’ve got a little bit of knowledge. What’s up?”

Kita gnaws on his lip before he passes the phone to the grey haired twin, showing him your sudden outburst of hatred towards him. Osamu quirks a confused brow as his eyes glaze over the text, the blonde twin quickly popping on his feet to peer over Osamu’s shoulder to read along.

Osamu flicks his eyes from his phone up to Kita, “what am I looking at?”

“She hates me,” he says, a frightened lilt in his tone. “And I don’t know what I do. I don’t know what I did,or said, or how I can fix this. And I…” he takes a breath in to calm down, “I need your help.”

Osamu stays silent for a bit, and atsumu cracks a cheesy smile, “cap… you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t do anything- this is just… how some girls act,” osamu explains, and kita feels his cheeks warm up from the sudden crowd that’s gathered.

“Are we teaching Kita-San something now?” Suna teases, peering over Osamu’s shoulder to read the message. “Teaching him about giiiiiirls.”

And shinsuke wants to say something back, about how he knows girls and he doesn’t need to be taught anything…

But maybe he does.

Osamu takes a small breath in before passing his captain’s phone back to him, “sometimes, girls are just… uhm….”

“Aggressive?” He asks, and Akagi chuckles behind him.

“No,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “I would probably say more… excited than guys, and it makes them kinda wanna… be… ferocious?”

“Feral?” Suna chimes in.

“Buck wild?”

“How about all of the above,” Aran says easily.

Kita quirks a brow, “so she doesn’t actually hate me?”

“No! She’s just excited that you complimented her, I think.”

“Yeah Kita-San,” Atsumu chuckles. “Girls only say they hate you when they love you; that’s like. A thing.”

“They also bite,” Akagi cuts in. “For… some reason.”

“They BITE?”

“I’ve been smacked so many times,” Aran playfully laments, and Shinsuke’s head whips towards him, only to make the ace shrug, “what? She’ll get excited to see you, or something good happens, and she just. Smacks your arms. It doesn’t always hurt.”

“What do you mean ALWAYS!” Shinsuke is suddenly extremely nervous about whether he received a girlfriend… or a pitbull.

“Or she’ll bite you,” Suna hums.

“Or says she hates you,” the twins circle back. At seeing their captains new nerves, they rise to their feet to clap him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, cap,” the blonde assures. “It’ll catch you by surprise, sure.”

“May be a little painful,” osamu snorts.

Atsumu snickers, “but you’ve liked her for a long time. And if it’s too much, you tell her to stop.” He nods before turning on his heel and mumbling a soft ‘hell knows you’re good at that,’ under his breath.

The conversation makes Shinsuke… convinced. He’s sure that there’s minimal that you can do to upset him, even if these methods of love lean far into the unconventional. He gnaws at his lip as the crowd disperses, golden eyes glazing over the contents once more.

He cracks a small smile, taking a soft breath in and letting his fingers take over typing and saying everything he could want to say in just a few words.

SENT I love you, too :)

You reply with an absolute jumble of words and praises, capitals and random emojis. He smiles before planting his phone in his bag and heading out to practice, feeling it buzz more than a few times in his pocket.

Maybe a few well intentioned bite marks wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.

too pretty!

featuring : matsukawa issei the loml <3

notes : you're jealous your bf is too pretty

you're aware that your friends are very attractive. 

oikawa's somewhat charming personality easily grabs a girl's attention, iwaizumi's buff figure immediately turns heads whenever he enters a room and makki had this boyish ruggish look that somewhat looks cute to some people. it's normal seeing them being hit on by girls and sometimes it's like a form of entertainment for you.

but your boyfriend on the other hand, now this is new.

you've been together since high school. you've always found issei attractive. he's not a smooth talker like oikawa, but his attentiveness and response when you talk to him makes you feel seen and heard. he doesn't seem as built as iwaizumi at first glance, but underneath those baggy clothes hid something you're glad only you can see and touch. he's not as easy going as makki, but the way he spontaneously shows up at your house at 3 in the morning when you're upset tells you maybe he's easy going when it comes to you. 

so falling in love with him was inevitable because all the things he does with you and only you are attractive. 

but you're not the only one who thinks that anymore. 

see, after your boyfriend figured out his own style that weren't baggy clothes and instead fitted his physique and also found a way to style his usual mess of a bedhead into luscious curls, he suddenly became attractive to everyone around him. 

and it pissed you off. he was always attractive without the sudden change but now its like that's all people see. 

like when you visited oikawa and iwaizumi at the gym and the manager shamelessly flirted with issei the moment you left to greet them. or when you visited makki with him at the cafe he worked at and makki's coworker only paid attention to issei and completely ignored you. or when you were out grocery shopping and left issei for five minutes only to come back to a girl who had the audacity to ask if he was single.

so yeah you're pissed off. and there's only one logical way to fix this.

"what are you doing?" issei asks as you settle down on his lap and ruffle his already done up hair. "baby, i just fixed it."

"i know. i'm ruining it." 

instead of being mad his hair is being messy, he raises an eyebrow instead. "but then we're gonna be late."

"you'll go out like this then." 

he has this amused smile now. "okay, what's up with you?"

"nothing." you said, somewhat proud of your work. "just fixing you up."

"this is the opposite of fixing me up, babe." he took your hands and plants kisses across your palms, then he rests his own hands on your hips. "why are you making me look like i just made out with you? there are other ways to achieve that." 

in another situation you would cave in but you had a mission. "you're too good looking. i'm trynna make you look less good looking."

this time, he laughs. "gee thanks babe. i appreciate the compliment." 

"i'm serious." you pout, though issei just keeps on laughing. "you're too pretty and girls are swooning all over you and you don't even do anything about it."

"whoa what," he stops, eyes locking onto yours. "who's swooning over who now?"

"everyone is all over you. can't you tell?" you huff when you realize his bed head makes him look even more attractive. damn it.

"honestly no." he says simply. "and you're…jealous?"

"i'm not jealous. i'm pissed. there's a difference."

"pretty sure they're the same thing, babe."

you squish his cheeks, framing his face with your hands. "stop being so pretty."

he chuckles and brings his hands up to cover yours. "this is really bothering you, huh?"

"maybe just a tad bit."

"you know i only got eyes on you, right?" he takes your hands off and leans in so you both are nose to nose.

"i've been told so once or twice."

"once or twice?"

"maybe hundreds of times but who's counting."

"and you know im stuck with you forever, right?"

"mhm," you indulge him by wrapping your arms around him, "you better be."

"so there's no reason for you to get all jealous." he says, eyebrows raising up as if an idea popped into his head. "what if you just kiss me if that happens?"

"like stake my claim? what are we, animals?" 

"i mean that's what i've been doing when guys hit on you."

"it is? wait, back up, when has that happened?"

"you're delusional if you think guys don't hit on you."

"they don't!"

"yeah well they don't get the chance to do it properly because my radar is just too good."

"oh my god, you're serious."

"deadass. and lemme tell you, it always works." he says proudly. "i get to turn you into mush and also send a warning to other guys. win-win situation."

"i do not turn to mush."

"really now?" he wiggles his eyebrows. "want a reminder?"

you think you've indulged him quite enough so you flick his forehead instead. he winces. good.

"so you don't mind?" you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. "you don't mind me staking my claim on you next time it happens?

"baby, please, I encourage it." he says, almost too quickly.

you giggle, feeling some sort of satisfaction that your boyfriend is all on board with you staking your claim in front of people. it should make you feel shy or embarrassed but it kind of makes you feel giddy instead. but he doesn't need to know that yet.

tempted to do a pt2 but it's just me reader making out w issei

Pitch Black (Astarion x Reader)

TW - panic attack, claustrophobia, themes of death/rotting

I based this off some sad lore I found out about him yesterday :(

Recommended Song: Rainy Day Loop - SALES

There's a lot of things Astarion hasn't told you. You don't mind, because a lot of those things are hard to relive. Everything he tells you comes with a price, but he does it mostly out of necessity. There are times you know something lies deeper, and yet you don't pry. It will come to light if he decides it needs to.

However, he never told you about one of the first truly cruel things Cazador did. How one day he refused him, told him no for once. He woke up buried six feet under, starving in undeath for an entire year until his master dug him up again. That was the last time he disobeyed.

This led to a fear he never told you about, claustrophobia, that terrifying feeling of being unable to escape small spaces. He doesn't like closets, this you knew, but you assumed it was because they're dark and sad, not because they're small rooms.

One morning you're sleeping, peaceful, arms wrapped around him tight. He wakes up before you, calm at first. When he realizes his discomfort at feeling trapped in your arms, he gently tries to move you off of him, but you grab back in your slumber, not knowing what's going on beyond the barrier of sleep. That first wave of panic sets in as you wrap yourself tighter than before, and he freezes up, remembering the smell of musty dirt and bones. He tries to scoot away, and you unknowingly pull him in again. That second time is enough for him to feel fully trapped, and without thinking he bites down hard on your arm.

"GODS!"

You bolt up out of your sleep, holding your arm, realizing it was Astarion who caused the sudden alarm. He sits at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, still trying to ground himself. You try to ask him things, why the hell he'd do that to you, but he can't hear your questions. The worms, the beetles, at some point you become accustomed to the tiniest sounds. He wondered if they'd start to eat away at him, if vampires were like corpses, if he would slowly decompose in the ground. You go to touch his hand and he yanks it away, standing up.

"Astarion!"

And he finally turns to see you on the bed, your arm bleeding badly, how concerned you look. He can't speak though. Footsteps, people passing by, unable to scream because of how tightly packed the sediment is. You try anyways.

"Aster, listen to me. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

You're panicking. You haven't seen him this bad in a while. He's not there, at least not truly there. To be knocked out, only to wake up in pitch black, what a horror.

"I think you're having a panic attack my love, can you try to focus on one thing in the room?"

A painting, a landscape of a graveyard. He was put in a graveyard, some kind of cruel joke. His eyes wander to the frame, golden, like thread. He remembers stitching little phrases and stories into his clothes, he remembers the first time he did such a craft for you. The breathing starts to settle, still shaking, he sits back down next to you, and just starts sobbing. You go to hug him and he flinches.

"No!"

You are almost taken aback, but you remember that it's not your fault.

"Okay, that's okay. I'll just sit here with you."

He just cries for a while, and you let him. Clearly something startled him badly, badly enough that he bit you. You forgot until now that you were bleeding. Not only did his fangs pierce, but many of the rest of his teeth got through the skin. As you're analyzing your wound, you take part of the blanket and press it into your arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Astarion notices the movement, and you see guilt overcome his face immediately. You interrupt before he can speak.

"It's okay darling, I know you didn't mean it."

He wipes at his tears, finally coming back to reality, truly grounding himself.

"I... I'm sorry."

"I know, it's okay."

He stares at a crack in the floorboards.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He nods, mainly because he hates it when you're confused.

"So... a long time ago, Cazador decided it would be fun to bury me alive."

He almost laughs at how ridiculous it is, how someone could even think to do that. You just listen.

"And I stayed there for an entire year. And I don't know how it happened, but you tried to hug me tighter while you were asleep, and I- I just panicked, I felt so trapped and it just reminded me so much of-"

He can't even bring himself to say it again.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

He scoffs.

"Yeah, you were asleep, and I freaked out like a monster and bit you."

He gazes down at the wound, wincing at what he's done.

"Hey, look at me. Wounds heal, I'll be okay. What matters is that you're okay."

"I... I think I'm okay now. Just, feel miserable."

"That's okay, you're allowed to feel however you want."

"I know. Thank you my sweet."

He picks your hand up off the bed, holding it to his face. It takes weeks after for him to be hugged again, especially being the little spoon, but you don't mind. You'll go through every phase of his, good and bad. This one just happens to be bad, and that's okay. He'll be okay. You'll both be okay.

I was wondering if you would be up for writing an Astarion x reader where the reader is fiercly protective of him.

The idea is that it takes place during the scene where Araj tries to pressure him into biting her and the reader just goes off on her, like to the point Astarion has to hold them back. Basically the reader is like "HOW DARE YOU TRY AND PRESSURE HIM TO DO THAT HE SAID NO!!"

Sorry if its all over the place I'm tired at the time of sending this request

ooh, i have such a soft spot for characters being protective and using that premise in relation to the scene with araj? brilliant! hope you enjoy!

also, i've decided to gather all of my prompt fills in an ao3 collection, which you can find here.

all the blood that i would spill (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur's gate 3)

Considering her proclivities, the drow’s request shouldn’t come as much of a shock, and yet Astarion’s lip curls in disgusted shock, anyway. He isn’t much of a fan of the way she’s looking at him, either, heavy-lidded with desire while her noxious-smelling blood races through her veins.  

“I assume he belongs to you?” Araj questions, turning her lusting gaze to you. Astarion nearly bares his fangs in offense; he belongs to no one. 

You’re standing close enough that it’s impossible not to notice when your shoulders stiffen. He shoots you a glance and finds your face frozen in confusion, brows high and lips parted in surprise - apparently the drow’s outlandish request has thrown you off your guard as well. 

“Excuse me?” Your words ring with patent disbelief. At your side, your fingers twitch alongside the pommel to your weapon, and Astarion blinks in surprise. You were usually the last in your group to be quick to anger, and yet he can feel the first stirrings of rage beginning to spill through your blood. Interesting. “He’s his own person.”

Astarion’s taken aback by your words, despite having never been treated as anything less in your presence. Still, some part of him had expected you to urge him to fulfill the drow’s request, his own comfort be damned. 

More fool he. 

The drow scoffs, amused. Your fingers edge closer to your blade. “Oh, I’m sure he really believes that,” she murmurs, a contemptuous curl to her lips. Astarion’s skin crawls as she gazes upon him once more, contemplative and sharp, as though studying a bug beneath glass. “How utterly adorable.”

Karlach and Gale exchange glances. They can feel the rising tension in the air as well as Astarion can. The drow seems oblivious to your agitation, however, or ignorant to it. Neither option bodes well for her. 

“Do you have a name, spawn?” 

Astarion narrows his eyes at the drow, nearly spits his answer, “Astarion, but hold on - “

The drow speaks over him, waxing poetic about her desire to be bitten by a vampire, to dance on the edge between life and death. 

“I’ll even compensate you,” she continues, as if she were doing him a favor. 

“I will have to decline,” he returns cheerily, even as his innards bubble with rage. As if he could be bought with a mere potion, of all things. As if he could be bought at all!

The drow’s brows climb. “Excuse me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” Astarion bites out, darkly satisfied when her expression sours. 

Araj huffs, looking to you. “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” she queries, and before Astarion can interject - in the form of a dagger to her gut, whatever potions she could provide you be damned - you’re stepping closer, your fingers wound tightly around the pommel of your blade. 

“He said no.” Your voice is low, measured. Utterly pleasant, were it not for the rage bubbling underneath. 

Karlach and Gale crowd closer, though whether they’re preparing to halt the incoming fight or aid in it, Astarion can’t be certain. He can only watch, driven to some sort of silent awe as you proceed to stare the impertinent drow down. 

Judging by the shifting expression on her face, Araj has finally begun to sense the faux pas she’s committed, though she doesn’t seem completely resigned yet to the thought of allowing Astarion to slip through her fingers. 

“If you have no need of the potion,” she begins. “Surely there must be some other boon you’d desire. Some price - “

“Enough.” Araj is not the only one to stiffen at the sound of your voice; firm with finality and carrying the faintest hint of a growl within its depths, even Astarion feels his spine straightening at the sound of it. At his back, Karlach gives a low whistle, impressed. “You’ve asked and we’ve answered; let that be the end of it.”

Araj falters. “But - “

The sheen of your blade catches Astarion’s eye. He darts forward before you can unsheath it fully, pale fingers wrapping around yours and mutely shoving the blade back within its sheath.

You catch his gaze, your brows furrowed, but allow him to draw you away from the drow, tossing a deceptively cheery, “We appreciate your help but we really must be going now. Farewell!” over his shoulder.

You’re silent as you match them towards camp, the line of your shoulders tight with tension. Karlach and Gale attempt to clear the air with pointless banter, but Astarion watches you, his anger at the drow’s impertinence leeching away in favor of something far more pleasant. Something sweeter. 

He had never seen someone grow so angry on his behalf. You were seconds away from cleaving that drow in two! And why? Simply because she had insulted him, regarding him as though he were nothing but an object meant to be used? 

It was a novel sensation, to have one’s honor defended so stridently, and by the savior of Faerun, no less! You could have asked him to drink from her - gods help him, he would have felt compelled to - and yet you hadn’t. You had deferred to him, accepted his refusal, and nearly drew blood when the drow had continued to infringe upon his comfort.

Were you truly that valiant? Oh, he was certain you would have defended any of your motley brood if they had been the subject of the drow’s fascination, but would you have grown this angry? This fierce? 

The group disperses as soon as it reaches camp, and yet Astarion continues to keep you under his watchful eye, following you as you divest yourself of your armor and head straight to one of the training dummies set up on the outskirts of camp. 

He takes his time ridding himself of his own armor, a lightness to his steps when he eventually approaches you. You’ve yet to tire from your relentless pummeling of the poor training dummy, and Astarion wonders if what you’re seeing isn’t an amalgamation of wood and straw, but a drow with a loose tongue and contemptuous eyes instead. 

“Give it a rest, darling,” he cajoles you, a curl to his lips as your shoulders jump in surprise. “She’s dead.” 

You give him a look, sweat beading on your brow and the fire in your eyes burning hotter than ever. “I don’t know what you mean,” you mutter, your blade arching through the air and sinking into the dummy with a muted thunk.

Astarion huffs. “Tell me, pet. Would you have skewered her if I hadn’t stopped you?” 

You sigh through your nose, rising from your fighting stance with a conflicted expression upon your face. “I don’t know,” you mutter, before the fire within your eyes blazes to life once more. “She was just so - so arrogant and intrusive and she wouldn’t listen to you - “

“Darling - “ he raises his hands, the gesture enough to calm you from your rising ire. You’re really quite precious when you’re riled up like this. “She wasn’t the first to do so, you know. Nor will she be the last. You needn’t grow so angry on my behalf.”

You shake your head, running a hand across your sweaty brow. “I’m sorry for trying to speak for you. I know you can take care of yourself. I was just - “

“Angry,” Astarion offers, and you huff, a reluctant smile upon your lips.

“Yes. Angry.”

He smiles, then, reaching over to wrest the pommel from your hand. You allow him to do so without protest. You allow him many more liberties than that, he’s starting to realize. “The drow’s words mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. I can’t imagine she’ll feel brave enough to ask again, not with the lasting memory you left her with.”

Your eyes grow dark, a thunderous expression stealing over your face. Despite himself, Astarion feels a spark of satisfaction warm his belly at the sight. 

“Good,” you mutter, and the spark ignites. 

Next time, he muses - if there were such a thing - he would keep his hands to himself, just to see how far you’d go, how precious his honor was to you. 

Truth be told? He’s looking forward to it.