I recently read some Wyll/Astarion content that focused in on the angle of Astarion starting out as very hostile to Wyll and some of that shit opened my third eye and now I can't stop thinking about this pairing I'm obsessed I'm crazy I'm CRAZY
I still like Gale/Astarion but the dramatic potential of Wyllstarion is unfuckingreal are you KIDDING me
Astarion being contemptuous of Wyll because he thinks he must be full of shit (dude can literally not imagine anyone being good for goodness sake), Astarion disliking Wyll because he went through a ton of shit and came out the other side as kind and outwardly stable instead of selfish and scared like him, Astarion HATING Wyll because he's the kind of man he would have dreamed about marrying when he was thirteen but now that childhood innocence and that version of himself is gone, are you guys hearing meeee
Eventually he comes around to thinking, fine, Wyll does actually believe all the heroic sanctimonious drivel he spouts, but he must be very naive and ridiculous then and that reality will surely come crashing down around him at any time! Any day now . . .
All I'm saying is imagine a canon where Astarion is stupidly in love with Wyll but also hates his guts for half the game until they come to really understand each other and Astarion realizes he was wrong about him
BECAUSE if he's wrong about Wyll, his whole worldview is wrong, people aren't inherently bad and the world isn't inherently hostile. And then he has to reckon with that and change as a person. Do you see what I'm sayinggggg
Ideal dynamic:
Wyll, moping after the tiefling party: "What? Come to see the fiend of frontiers finally put down a peg? I guess your wish has been granted."
Astarion: "I was actually going to say the horns really aren't a bad look on you, but now because you presumed I was going to be mean I'm going to be a HUGE bitch about this actually, yes"
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SHARED DESIRES
This short (spicy-ish in a very vague, very gender-neutral (i hope) way) story was inspired by Newmann fanart I saw of Hermann and Newt sharing a dream of them kissing. The artist is @/dad-dumpster.
As always this is unedited and vaguely proofread, so any mistakes are my own. I’m pretty sure the tense changes like 8x but whatever.
Your lips crash against theirs, knocking the breath from their lungs.
That’s not unusual, although it’s usually because of your mere presence rather than your lips.
They kiss you back with a fierce hunger, with a need to wreck you, to consume you, to make you crave them as much as they crave you.
Your hands slide up their stomach and push, and they’re powerless to do anything but fall.
They hit their bed and you’re on them. Your teeth nipping at the skin of their neck and soothing the sting with your tongue. All they can do is pant and tip their head back for you. Their hands latch onto your hips and dig in. They’ll probably leave bruises, and that thought thrills them even more.
Your lips have reached their jaw, but it’s too much and not enough all at once, and they delight in your surprised yelp as they flip you onto your back.
They immediately latch onto your neck, paying you back with a love bite that you’ll struggle to cover up.
Your hands fumble with their trousers, pushing them down just enough to gain access to what you want. Your fingers explore and they moan, their voice echoing across the space.
You laugh, triumphantly, even as your pupils swallow the colour of your pretty eyes. It drives them crazy to see how affected you are by them.
They decide to return the favour, pulling your hands away from them, so they can tug your own trousers down and lay between your thighs. The only thought in their head is that they’d die here quite happily.
Their mouth descends onto you, and your hips jerk as your snarky words are cut off by a choked out moan. A bit of information to file away for later.
They want to make you feel good. Want to taste your desire on their tongue. Want to be the one you pleasure yourself to thoughts of. Want to be the only one you turn to when the need gets too much.
They’ll ingrain themselves on your soul if they have to.
You scream, your thighs tightening around their head and your hands yanking at their hair.
They’re in heaven.
It’s the only explanation.
-
Ciaran jolts awake, their heart thundering in their chest and their breathes coming out in harsh pants.
They wipe the sweat from their brow.
A dream.
The only explanation that actually makes sense.
They take a few gulps of their water from the glass they had left on night stand, and attempt to do what they always do when it comes to you.
They shove their feelings down into an abyss and pray that they never come crawling out.
Once they calm down enough to get back to sleep, they place their water back on their night stand, and flop onto their mattress. They hit their pillow a few times and force their eyes to close.
Ciaran is a master of burying their head in the sand by now. This is no different.
At least, it isn’t until the next morning when they spot you and you can’t look them in the eyes.
Ciaran raises an eyebrow at your behaviour as they sit opposite you.
“What’s up with you?” They ask, curious. “You dream about me or something?”
They don’t know why they asked you that, but your reaction makes them freeze up.
Did they send you their dream through the connection between your minds? Did you send them yours?
Or…did you share the dream? Your subconscious coming together with theirs in a mess of both of your desires.
They shake the thought away.
Breakfast, surrounded by some of the sharpest minds in the world, was not the place to be thinking about such things.
“Idiot, just eat your breakfast and stop being weird.”
That snaps you out of it.
Good.
Your nonsense should hopefully be able to stop them from launching over the table and kissing you senseless in front of everyone.
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