1 - 20 of 28 Works by cweepa
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Hands reach out from the audience, grasping blindly as Gale walks the perimeter of the stage. Faintly, someone shouts out their undying adoration. Another screams their need to taste his sweat. Try as he might, Astarion simply cannot reconcile this man with the buttoned-up and bookish wizard he’s known for five centuries.
“Now, this next song is a personal favourite of mine.”
Gale tosses the barely-burnt stick to the ground, grinds it beneath a boot. His voice goes sinfully low as he presses his lips up against the mic.
“Worship,” he breathes out, lids fluttering. “With me.”
Five hundred years of freedom has prepared Astarion for anything. Except, as it turns out, his old friend Gale somehow ending up as one of Faerûn's hottest rockstars.
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“He saw me, where Mystra didn’t.”
It’s late now. Astarion sits with Gale beneath the starless night and watches him polish his sword. A slip of the blade draws blood; unfazed, Gale brings his finger to his lips, and tastes it with naked rapture. In the waning moonlight, the rot is more obvious than ever before. It snakes past his waistband, branches over his throat.
Astarion hums softly. “Bhaal?”
A nod. “He saved me.” Gale shuts his eyes. “He talks to me. Listens to me, understands me, believes in me, rewards and respects and adores me.”
A pause. Overhead, the wind is silent.
“He loves me. And in turn, I grant him my devotion.”
In search of a cure for the tadpole in his head, Astarion encounters Bhaal's newest Chosen, and finds himself biting off far more than he can chew.
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“Gods, I—” Astarion swallows visibly, throat bobbing. “I—”
“I know.” Gale bats his eyelids. Reties his scrunchie, rests his palms on Astarion’s trembling knees, then slips two sly fingers through a rip in his jeans. “Your turn?”
“Please.”
Astarion’s response comes without hesitation. Gale leans forward, catching his zipper between two teeth, before dragging it down, fishnet and denim.
“So many have used me,” Gale rasps. “But you’re all I’ve thought about tonight.”
A hitched breath.
“Darling,” Astarion murmurs, thumbing his lower lip. Gale whines, tongue darting out to lick his finger.
Darling. Oh, that’s a new one. Gale likes that.
Gale couldn't be happier with his friends, his little froyo shop, and his after-hours... ah, proclivities. That is, until a certain red-eyed elf shows up and throws a wrench in his carefully crafted plans.
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“And what does it take?” Astarion finds himself asking. “To sate you?”
“It depends.” A muscled shoulder goes up in an elegant shrug. “I like to be taken. And I’m very, very good at it.”
Astarion’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that it? You like to be… full?”
“In more ways than one.” Gale is drifting closer now, his pupils black as the turbulent storm raging within Astarion. “I like feeling open. Loose. There is a certain exhilaration to having the spend of many dripping out of you.” He pauses, eyes fluttering shut, a soft sigh escaping him.
“Quite nothing like getting your prostate pounded to incoherency, wouldn’t you agree?”
Astarion had anticipated many things on his upcoming semester exchange to Blackstaff Academy. Falling irrevocably for the resident campus bicycle was not one of them.
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The hand removed itself from his forehead. “Temperature is normal,” Gale announced, before using its fingers to gather some stray drool that had trailed down Astarion’s jaw. Before Astarion could register the pitiful jolt of arousal at the sudden skin contact or the sheer absurdity of what Gale was doing, Gale had stuck its fingers in its mouth.
“What the —”
“No new bacteria detected,” Gale went on, “Ruling out food poisoning.”
“Oh, Gods,” Astarion groaned. “And to think that these things are what’s sending our workforce into a tizzy. What next, 'droid? Are you about to give me a rectal examination too?”
“There is no need for one at the moment,” Gale said, confused. “Unless you are seeking prostate stimulation—”
“No!”
Amidst the softly thrumming melancholy of a dystopian, cyber-punk city, former corporate-rat Astarion Ancunín, who has long since lost the will to live, finds himself in possession of a G-413 or "Gale" - an amnesiac android who, strangely enough, enjoys living.
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“Is everything alright in here?”
Surprised, Astarion breaks away from the kiss, turning over his shoulder to see a second, identical Gale peering in from the balcony, wide-eyed as he watches.
Astarion looks at the Gale in his arms for a moment, still breathless from the kiss, before turning back to this unwitting voyeur with a mischievous grin.
Hm. Maybe that’s my Gale…
Astarion wakes to an empty bed. When he seeks his beloved out, he finds himself getting more Gale than he'd bargained for.
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so shut your mouth (and run me like a river) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
12 Mar 2025
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Wyll looks amused. “But to answer your question: I don’t see anything, I’m afraid. Save for impressive craftsmanship.”
“Exactly!” Astarion snaps his fingers, triumphant. “But here’s the thing – there’s no need for us to see Gale’s – ah, craftsmanship, it’s inappropriate, borderline obscene –”
“What?” Now, Wyll seems truly tickled. “Astarion, I was referring to the robe. Don’t you wonder where those scales came from?” He pauses. Tilts his head to the side, swirls his stupid wine in his stupid glass. “What were you talking about?”
In which one Wavemother’s robe helps Astarion discovers the true – hah – scale of the problem at hand. Specifically: the one in his pants.
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any beat from your heart (gets me through the night) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
25 Dec 2024
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“I’ve made my choice,” he says, perhaps a bit snappishly. “My affliction is an outcome of my own thoughtlessness – for the second time in my life, I might add. I may have been given a second chance, but the Gods will argue that I am not deserving of a third.”
“If there is one thing I have learnt about faith,” Lae’zel says. “It is that we mustn’t allow fervent belief to cloud our judgement.”
“I do not possess fervent belief.”
Lae’zel lifts up her chin. “A dangerous combination. You don’t believe in the Gods, neither do you believe in yourself.”
With the clock ticking down on the last month of his life, one Gale Dekarios sets out to bring some holiday cheer to the rest of his friends for the last time.
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“There are better ways to go about this if I wish to speak to someone anonymously,” Gale points out. Shadowheart shrugs, winking at him.
“Sure, but this is possibly the most satisfying one,” she says, and fine, Gale can’t argue with that. But still. Such conversations are surface level at best, and transactional at worst. Besides, it’s not in his nature to consume live internet pornography. He has no desire to share such an intimate act with a complete stranger.
“I would really rather see a therapist,” he says.
Fresh out of a messy divorce, disgraced academic Gale Dekarios finds himself biting off more than he can chew when a seemingly innocuous encounter with an enigmatic camboy, Star, leads him down a precarious path of lies, liberation and eventually—love.
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There’s always something with the shy ones, Astarion thinks, stroking himself a bit faster. The thought of this shy, demure man spreading himself open on that massive toy is near-dizzying – Astarion has to grip the base of his cock to prevent himself from coming prematurely.
Better yet, he doesn’t need to imagine. He’s about to see it for himself.
“I’m glad to see you all approve,” Gale comments. “While I have your attention though, do excuse me while I take the chance to impart some tips surrounding the use of silicone products.”
What, Astarion thinks.
Gale is quite possibly the worst camboy in all of Faerûn. To his chagrin, Astarion finds out that he's rather into it.
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Astarion holds his breath, fighting tears as Gale proceeds to take his pleasure, soft breathy moans spilling from his lips as his eyes squeeze shut in bliss. Behind him, Shadowheart bites down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to send a ripple of glorious pain up his spine.
“Don’t move,” Minthara commands. “Don’t you move.”
7000 souls, and all it took was a good fucking to bring him back to his knees again.
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well this is hell and i wanted it (but i'm an idiot) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
05 Apr 2024
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Like a switch, he feels something click into place inside him. The urge to control and rule, beating a steady taboo within his head. A hypnotic tune, the promise of power creating a new source of comfort that no one could ever take from him.
As the Netherbrain sinks in the horizon and his twisted reign rises in its stead, Astarion learns that all the power in the world is not enough to banish the demons in his head.
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In that very moment, Astarion is suddenly all too certain about three rather disheartening facts.
One - he is very, very far from home.
Two - it’s Gale’s fault that he’s had to contend with subpar plumbing and overt disdain towards his elven heritage.
And three? He’s almost certainly about to be slain by a glowing elf in dire need of a haircut.
Or; in which wandering fingers and a miscast spell lands Astarion squarely in the wonderful world of Thedas, with none other than the ever-delightful Fenris for company.
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kiss me, it will heal (but it won't forget) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
01 Mar 2024
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“No,” Astarion breathes raggedly, one hand coming up to tug at the wizard’s wrists from where they are gently cradling his hips. “Hit me. Choke me. Hurt me.”
And that’s when Gale knows he is utterly fucked, because Astarion is too messed up to know what’s good for him, but Gale is too weak to have any form of self-control.
Series
- Part 2 of heart-shaped glasses
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i don't mind you keeping me (on pins and needles) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
20 Dec 2023
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Besides, Gale loved cats, and a displacer beast was technically a cat, right?
Although ... he could hardly care for semantics, not anymore, given that the wizard is petting him in a curiously indulgent manner that proved equal parts hypnotizing and satisfying, one hand thumbing through another massive tome, the other tangled in his fur. The world around him begins to blur into a lazy haze, and Astarion wonders if his displacer form could fall asleep, even if his elven one couldn’t.
Amidst a dearth of control, Gale and Astarion make the best of a terrible situation.
Series
- Part 1 of heart-shaped glasses
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The ability to make his own decisions, while dizzyingly liberating, was also starting to become increasingly daunting, especially when he hasn’t had need to stand his ground in over two centuries.
Or; the five times someone had to help Astarion say no (and the one time he was able to do it himself)
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til death do us part (you were unholy right from the start) by cweepa
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
10 Nov 2023
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“I am the pure-blooded child of Bhaal,” she says, smiling widely. “I am murder incarnate. Did you really think you could in any way control me?”
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“You need to find somewhere safe,” he says, as though the kitten could understand him. “There is a grove nearby. Filled with annoying druids, I might add, but they are a semi-decent bunch."
The kitten peers at him curiously and scrambles into his arms.
“No,” he tries. “Down. Grove. Go.”
“Mrow.”
Astarion acquires a kitten. It goes exactly how you would imagine. -
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When one’s survival depends largely on their beauty, it stands to reason that losing control over his appearance was possibly one of the most terrifying things that could have ever happened to him.
Or; how Astarion falls ill, and learns that he is allowed to be less than perfect.
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Tav takes a deep breath. “Is there anyone who hasn’t decided to create offspring?”
Gale wrinkles his nose. “I believe … Scratch has yet to find a mate?”