#•°. *࿐ Odette | character study . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

petit-etoile · 1 year ago

Note

Oh oh I have an AU I haven't had the chance to write anything for. It's pre-vampirism magistrate Astarion and criminal tav who is incredibly well-versed in law. They keep committing crimes and getting caught in purpose just to see Astarion who fucking hates their guts because he can't ever convict them of anything bc they find loopholes and somehow manage to evade the law. It's an "at each other's throats" kinda romance and they kiss with teeth between cases

darling, if you love me say it back

pairing . ⊱ astarion x tav wordcount . ⊱ 3,604 content warnings . ⊱ canon compliant temporary character death, tav isn't a human but can be whatever else you like, astarion isn't a vampire yet, tav is gender neutral other tags . ⊱ canon compliant, canon temporary character death, introspection, p.orn without plot, oral s/ex, desk s.ex, inappropriate use of a cravat, c.reampie archiveofourown . ⊱ here.

taglist . ⊱ @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added . ⊱ here .

summary . ⊱ The Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin has a soft spot for you. You like to exploit that fact.

‘I need to see you in my office,’ Astarion hisses — and the tips of his ears are so red you think they might catch flame. He grabs you by the elbow roughly and tugs. ‘Now.’

‘Let’s do it, baby,’ you say smugly. ‘I know the law.’

Knowing the law might be an overstatement. You have studied the law for only one purpose, and that purpose you know like the back of your hand. So when Astarion presses you, you don’t argue. You do as the magistrate says and allow yourself to be dragged across the court. He admonishes you like one would get onto a dog who misbehaves. You can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t like Astarion isn’t a super serious magistrate with a focus on criminal prosecution. He wants to nail you for your sins, for your crimes. The only catch is that no matter how amazing Astarion is at his job, you’re simply better. If you’ve stolen something, you’re more than capable of hiding the evidence. If you’ve murdered someone, you know all the best ways to hide a body. It comes naturally.

Astarion is wearing that ever familiar frown as he marches through the elegant halls. It’s a frown that says you’re in trouble and there’s nothing that I can do. But that isn’t necessarily true. Astarion will do anything you ask so long as you ask nicely, and you’ve been getting good at asking nicely lately. He prides himself in training you even if it isn’t that simple. He calls it rehabilitation. You call it sex.

‘You can’t keep doing this, you know,’ Astarion snaps at you. ‘At some point you must give it up!’

He isn’t good at whispering when he’s riled up. He runs his free hand through his curls in anger, pushing them away from his face like his bangs being wild make it hard to think. It makes him more attractive.

‘You don’t mean that,’ you say with a shrug.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘very much mean that.’

You grin. ‘You would miss me,’ you tell him lasciviously, and he groans. ‘I know you would.’

He huffs. ‘The only thing that I would miss is the peace after the headache you’ve given me. It’s as though you aren’t even aware of how vexing you are.’

You laugh, and the fine line of Astarion’s temper snaps. He all but throws you in his office and locks it behind him. He’s annoyed with the way you stagger dramatically to one of the velvet couches before his desk. You lean over the arm and kick your feet up.

‘Does the idea of cuffs around my wrists excite you?’

You look over your shoulder. Astarion clenches his jaw. It must hurt to frown as hard as he is. You pull yourself onto the cushions and sit demurely. You study him. His rigid lines, tense gaze. He comes and sits on the edge of his desk, pressing his forehead into his hands as if that will relieve him of his headache. You’re determined to make it worse.

‘I apologize,’ you say sweetly. ‘I’ll behave from now on.’

‘We both know that you are not capable of behaving,’ Astarion says thinly.

He shouldn’t have said that. You can’t help yourself, but most of the time, Astarion makes it so easy for you to dig into his weaknesses and exploit them. You stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

‘You should teach me,’ you suggest.

Astarion’s patience snaps. ‘I beg your pardon? Have some decorum, please!’

‘Having decorum is so boring,’ you say, pouting. ‘Life is much more fun when you live freely.’

‘And committing crimes is your definition of living freely?’

‘What is the point of living if not to live?’ you ask. ‘Why confine myself to rules of good or bad when I can choose what makes me happy.’

‘What exactly makes a criminal like you happy?’ Astarion asks bitterly.

You’ve always been possessed by a sense of otherness. You rise from the couch and carefully twist your fingers in his cravat, tangling yourself in him as he has become entangled in you. The Silverymoon lace tickles your skin. You pull Astarion closer and he begrudgingly caves to your strength. Your lips barely brush against his and already you can sense it. The barely contained restraint. The hunger. Astarion longs for you. He’s carefully hidden it beneath the scent of bergamot.

Slowly, you slide him free of what pressures him most. The cravat slides from his neck easily. It excites Astarion. His eyes glitter like you’ve never seen before. Being a magistrate isn’t about caring about the laws he’s vowed to uphold. It’s about power. You give it to him. You hold your wrists together with a wicked grin.

You balance the fabric on your fingers. Astarion swallows. Being proper isn’t really his thing. It’s thrilling to watch as he changes his mind. You annoy him — he detests you, wishes you gone. You are the object of all his improper late night dreams.

But as if he’s moving through water, he takes his cravat from your hands. You almost think it’s going to be a rejection. Astarion bundles your wrists together with an expertise that suggests he’s done it before. The binding becomes tight but not too tight and you relish in the way it twists your wrists. He fastens the knot into a pretty bow.

And then he kisses you. He grabs you so roughly by the back of the neck that your teeth slam together, but Astarion sighs so prettily against your mouth you decide you could withstand anything.

It’s a passionate kiss made up of teeth and spit and tongue. Astarion is both pushing you and pulling you. He can’t make up his mind. Does he want you and the stain you’ll bring to his reputation? A magistrate with a weakness for a criminal is such an interesting dynamic, but Astarion is a proud man. You are almost certain he would throw you into harm’s way if a situation ever occurred that deemed it necessary. You would do the same given the chance. This is simply a tryst.

You like to pretend it is, at least. You hate coming across as a romantic. You chase a freedom so exquisite no one will ever understand it, but when Astarion pushes you towards the couch, you don’t complain. You fall across the cushions with ease and catch him as he falls between your thighs.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses hotly, ‘are an irrevocable annoyance I may never be cured of.’

‘You are so very frank in all the ways you despise me,’ you say, moaning softly as he kisses your neck. ‘I think you’re capable of being freed after all.’

‘I am glad to see you are finally aware that it is hate that drives me,’ Astarion murmurs thickly. ‘It repulses me that you think you could possibly be endearing.’

You laugh and Astarion sucks a bruise into your collarbone. He’ll pretend to be aloof and noncommittal to your very presence, but he’s invested. You can feel the weight of his pleasure against your thighs even as he denies his feelings for you. Astarion doesn’t bother with your shirt or his own. He clings to your waist as he finds the lace of your breeches and tugs you free.

Astarion pushes his hand inside of your smallclothes and touches your flushed skin, spreading his fingers so that he can touch every inch your body has to offer. The fervor of the motion is what causes you to gasp. He’s a man on a mission, and he touches you at your core so adoringly it makes the bite of his words all but disappear. He fondles you like he’s never touched your skin before. Your gasp turns to a sultry whine, and he bites your neck like a punishment. You almost think he’s going to admonish you, that he’ll say your silence is worth more. He doesn’t. If anything, the echo of your voice spurns him to go further.

Astarion presses two fingers inside of you and the laughter dies in your chest. He’s trying to rearrange you through a perverse method. If he fucks you good enough, crime’s appeal will turn to dust within your mind. It makes you wonder what it would be like to dote on a magistrate. Would it be enough? Could it be enough? Sinning feels just as sweet.

He curls his fingers against your core and your back arches prettily off the velvet cushions. You bite your bottom lip and try to quell the pining, but then you catch a glimpse of him from beneath your eyelashes. Astarion is watching your every move. His lips are parted. His pupils are dilated. His cheeks have colored at the sound of your voice. He is torn between watching your face for your reactions and glancing down at his hand underneath your breeches. You meet his gaze bravely, chin lifting, and smile.

He adds another just to watch you struggle. The angle, the curve of his wrist, and the situation are enough to make your thighs squeeze together, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He roughly throws himself between your legs so that you can’t, and it’s hot, too hot that you cry weakly. He grins at the sound like he always does, like he always will. It’s his victory this evening.

But as quickly as Astarion deigned to touch you, he releases you. He stands up and drags you by the wrists, turning his cheek the other way when you try to taste his skin.

‘The prosecutor is ineffectual — ’

You snort without meaning to, and Astarion digs his fingers into the swell of your hip. You allow him to maneuver you, bending at the waist while he presses you forward, chest against the chilled wood of his desk. You have to rise on your toes to stand comfortably.

‘Is that what you’re thinking about?’ you ask breathlessly.

‘I’m thinking about the necessary reform,’ Astarion snaps.

You press your cheek into the wood and stare at his door. The prosecutor, the defense. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Astarion is the only one who cares. You’re somewhat glad he does. It means he’s taken your case to interest, and when he presses himself to your lower back, you’re excited. He shoves your breeches to your ankles.

‘Are you going to take me here?’ you murmur. ‘On your desk. Where is your propriety?’

‘You dare speak to me of decency?’ Astarion snorts.

‘The weight of my sins will be forever embedded on your desk,’ you say. ‘You flatter me, your honor.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ Astarion asks. You can hear his patience snapping.

‘Well, you’re just so boring,’ you say, laughing. ‘Why don’t you do something that — ’

Astarion kneels down behind you and shoves his way between your legs. You shiver when he presses his lips against your core. He mouths at you hungrily. He grunts low in the back of his throat and digs his nails into your thighs. It steals your breath away. He’s so determined to change the very essence of your being that his tongue and mouth searching where his fingers first were makes you go weak in the knees. You whine.

You press your fingers into the dark, rich mahogany of his desk and try to keep focus. You want to taunt him. You want to tease him, but that wanton desire is almost forgotten entirely by the way Astarion feasts upon your flesh. He parts you with his thumbs and groans against your skin and you almost forget who you are. This is what he wanted. He wanted to pull your desires from you and replace them with his own.

You let him. He works you up as easily as anyone can be worked up, his fingers and his mouth exploring every inch of your skin that’s exposed. He goes to slide a finger in curiously, but you twist your hips away. Astarion is all work and no play. He will tease you relentlessly as it suits him, and he will do what interests him. You interest him more than he’s willing to confess. That’s why he works so hard for your pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he kisses the base of your spine soothingly. Your legs tremble beneath you. Astarion smooths his hand across your hip. You glance at him.

‘Perhaps I can fuck some sense into you now,’ Astarion mumbles.

He has the audacity to sound inquisitive. It’s not like it’s possible, but he seems determined enough to try it out regardless of his intuition. His hands are warm against your skin, and the excitement only builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel Astarion’s skin touch yours. You hear his clothes rustle and his breath catch in his throat. You hide a smile against your arm.

When Astarion slides into your core, it’s like a possession. The breath steals from your lungs. His touch is a familiar constant — you would recognize him anywhere by scent alone. You cry weakly. Your toes crunch from the angle, but there’s nothing you want more at this moment than to learn to be good.

Astarion hums behind you as well, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to steady himself. The desk crunches uncomfortably against your belly but it’s a welcome pain. It keeps you focused. You still have the energy to wiggle back against him as his cock slowly pushes in until there is no more room left to explore.

‘Be good,’ he whispers, ‘and I will give you what you deserve.’

What do you deserve exactly?

It’s hard to say. You enjoy your life of crime almost as much as you love the way Astarion bends you over his desk. You’re good at stealing, you’re good at killing, but you’re good at being soft and pliant as well, giving in to that sentimentality that keeps you coming back from more.

At first it was an elaborate game. What could you do to ensure that Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin looked your way? He was a noble elf, and your hands were covered in fresh dough from the baker you stole from. There was a curious glint in his eyes when he looked over you, yet somehow the gods had deemed the yeast and honey on your fingers was not honest enough to be proof.

You are smitten. You bounce taller on your toes with every aggressive thrust, arms struggling to support your weight. Astarion fists his fingers into your hair and pulls until your throat is exposed. He wants you to sing for him, so you do. You arch your back and moan loudly. The sounds of it bounce around his little office.

‘You wouldn’t shut up before,’ Astarion says breathlessly, a hoarse laugh.

‘Do something — worth talking about — ’

Astarions laughs incredulously, but he does fuck you harder for it. He releases your hair without much flourish and focuses on dragging your hips back onto his cock, punching forward so hard you see stars. It’s wonderful, it’s powerful. If Astarion’s entire goal was to make you forsake the world, he’s done a good job of turning your life around. The cravat rubs against your wrists as you try to seek purchase on the desk. Your fingers drag across the polished wood, and you shudder as you clench down around his cock.

You sound so breathless and silly, groaning while he fucks you against his desk. He fills you full until you’re certain you can take no more. You press a hot cheek against the wood and try to catch your breath. You hook a foot around his ankle for support, twisting on his desk. You tuck your arms beneath your chest. You feel as though you’re coming undone. All your years of villainy, and it comes undone by the consistency of Astarion’s presence.

Your arms are stiff from constantly being up, but you’re almost grateful when Astarion pauses. He helps you turn on top of his desk so you’re on your back instead, and even though the edge digs into your lower back, you prefer that to anything else.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He tells you he hates you, that he wishes you were out of his hair, that he despises you, but the gentleness of his eyes tells you otherwise. He slides back into you with a small moan, and you wrap your legs around his hips to guide him in further.

‘It’s good,’ you gasp. ‘It’s good, you’re good — ’

Astarion doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You can see it clear as day in his eyes. Astarion won’t say he loves you, that in his ardent fervor he seeks you out, but he knows that you know. Why else would fate lead you back together? You reach for his face with your hands, and his eyes flutter closed to avoid the wistfulness. He leans into your touch.

You cry softly as Astarion begins to grind into you again. He helps carry you as he does so. And it feels so good, feels so overwhelming that you briefly consider the fact that he has changed you for the better.

A spirit that slides into your very marrow. Astarion is hauntingly beautiful, and if he is a spider then you are a fly tangled in his web. He calls you a pretty thing and you give into the struggle. You press your wrists against your forehead and strain against his cock, unable to hide from the waves of crashing pleasure.

Astarion finishes inside of you with a low moan. He presses a rough hand against your belly to stabilize himself, and shyly, you touch his wrist with your bound hands just to feel his pulse. As soon as he’s caught his breath, he releases you from your bonds.

You almost miss him when he pulls away from you. He uses one of his hanging cassocks to clean himself with and is kind enough to do the same for you. You’re almost certain that your legs won’t work, so you sit up on his desk to rest and damn his paperwork to the hells. You kick off your breeches from around your ankles and sit, legs crossed, while Astarion tries to fix his reflection in the mirror.

‘You are truly an astute teacher,’ you say casually. ‘The art of lockpicking is all but gone from my mind. Thank you, your honor.’

Astarion snorts and shakes his head, torn between ignoring you and giving into your wiles. He curls his hair back into place and then walks back to you, leaning forward until you’re nose to nose.

You think he won’t kiss you, but then he does. His lips taste like summer oranges and you taste him until it’s the only thing you can think of. He hugs you tenderly. It isn’t the same as when he admonishes you. It makes your chest feel warm. You almost feel weaker for it. Your bite is being taken away.

‘I can’t keep protecting you,’ Astarion says softly against your cheek. ‘You torment me day and night. When I lie down in my sheets, I find myself consumed with worry.’

‘You think about me?’ you tease. ‘In your sprawling manse?’

‘Move in with me,’ he murmurs. ‘Then you can be inferior yet vain inside my sprawling manse.’

Astarion is not there that evening. You try to wait as long as you can without seeming suspicious. There are maids, family members, and their admirers who come inside and out throughout the evening — but not Astarion, never Astarion. You wait until the sun sets and fireflies light up the streets of the Upper City but eventually, the malaise of abandonment guides your feet away. You walk the streets aimlessly until a shiver runs down your spine. A chill so violent turns you away from the courthouse.

But in the morning, there’s a fuss. It draws you back into where you left and you can’t help but to lose yourself. Astarion is dead. His mother sobs. The members of the city watch who bear the bad news look equally as morose. Astarin’s father nearly falls to his knees in despair.

When you break into their manse that evening, you look for one thing. You steal a cravat from his wardrobe and tie it around your neck.

Then, you leave Baldur’s Gate.

You aren’t sure where your feet are going to take you.

Part of your yearns for the Underdark. Baldur’s Gate is a cursed city, you decide. You wander back to it after two hundred years of avoiding it like the plague, and not an hour within the city are you spirited away on an adventure you never longed for.

You have changed. You can’t really remember who you were all those years ago, or the hopefulness you might have felt in your chest once. You’re different now. A folk hero. You used to steal from the rich and give to the poor before the mindflayers fed you their parasite and stole that part of you. But you aren’t alone this time. You wander the beach for hours searching for anything that can be of use and pause over a love letter that makes you sob.

It isn’t all bad. You meet a half-elf who scowls as much as she mumbles to herself.

On the other side of the beach, you meet a ghost.

His eyes are different from what you remember. The warmth he once looked upon you with is gone and replaced by unfamiliar sanguine.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #hyliandreso #you know i hit the prompt square on & then threw in a plot twist #is it really a carcosa fic if there isn't a plot twist somewhere #* say what you want，even if it's bad

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misted-dream · 10 months ago

Text

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆

ACT III THE CURTAINS FALL. | to the programme

chapter info . . . content the smut chapter. a little bit of miscommunication? warnings oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, profanity, exhibitionism maybe w. count 10k

series synopsis . . . the first and last time you and doyoung danced together was 5 years ago. 5 years since the mishap that founded your mistrust of him, at least as a duet partner. with the annual swan lake showing rolling around, you think you finally stand a chance to audition for the leads: odette and odile. it's every ballerina's dream to play this role at least once in their career. little do you know, rumour has it that kim doyoung just so happens to be auditioning for the role of prince siegfried this year.

tags @00127am @beomgyusonlywife @bloomyroses

If you were to describe your relationship with Kim Doyoung… it’d be a difficult task. If the saying, ‘opposites attract’ were true, then you and Doyoung would be the same pole on a bar magnet. It felt like with every pull comes a stronger push. But all those speculations and theorisations come to a halt as an elbow nudges you in the stomach.

“Hello?” Karina pushes you slightly with her shoulder, knocking you a couple of steps back. “You’ve got to quit staring at him like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

With one raise of her eyebrows, Karina shuts you up. You take a few steps to close the slight distance between you and Karina again, your shoulders pressed up against each other’s. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” Karina replies brightly, “Zoning out just fantasising about our Prince over there, I bet,” her head nods towards Doyoung across the room.

Now, it’s your turn to give your friend a nudge in the side, wanting desperately for her to stop speaking before anyone else hears you. She can barely hold back her chuckle and all you can do is hope that everyone else is too preoccupied with trying to memorise the sequence to pay attention to your personal gossip.

You were starting to dread these Fridays. With everyone in the company being in the same room at once, you felt like there were too many eyes on you. And Doyoung as well, but they don’t seem to be watching him for every mistake he makes like they do with you. Karina makes you forget about all that for a little bit, though, with her merciless teasing.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just never thought that you two would—y’know,” Karina leans into your ear, about to whisper the next part of her sentence before you stop her.

“Shh! What if someone hears?” You scan the massive stage as dancers line up row by row at the back.

Karina expels a shallow sigh, “Who cares! You two are grown adults, and it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong by kissing him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, watching as another lineup of ballerinas dance across the platform.

You try your best to ignore the acceleration in your chest at the mention of that. You’re not one to regret many things, but you do regret telling Karina about that night; she won’t stop questioning you like she’s some PI.

You run a hand up your opposite arm, giving yourself a slight squeeze on the shoulder. “We still haven’t talked about it,” you mumble.

Karina turns her head towards you and narrows her eyes. You flash a quick glance at her, then another, somewhat uncomfortable with how closely she’s studying you.

After a few moments of what felt more like hours of Karina intently just staring at you, it seems she has come to a conclusion.

She gasps a small breath, “Do you have feelings for him? God, you’re getting into character.”

“What?” You give her a light smack on the arm, “No! I don’t— I’m just bothered that we haven’t spoken in weeks. That’s all.” The words come out of you slowly and articulately, trying your best not to fall into the hole you’ve dug for yourself. One look at Karina’s face tells you that it’s not working as well as you’d hoped it would, though.

She turns her gaze back onto the stage in front of the two of you. Her eyes never leave Doyoung, now in centre stage, as she tilts her head sideways towards yours. “I believe you’ve fallen to what the professionals call, ‘method acting.’”

It was at this moment, that you knew you should never open your mouth about how your night-time practices are going nowadays to Karina if you still want to maintain some shred of dignity.

It’s another one of your customary late nights again. Thanks to this role, you’ve gotten a lot more familiar with each and every crevice of this practice room in the past month than you have in all your years working here.

Dejection seems to be a recurring theme during your OT hours lately. Not that you can help it. Colette’s still on you for not making your turns, though she has toned it down several notches, which is more than you can ask of her. And confronting failure face-to-face continually doesn’t necessarily boost the morale, especially when it’s 10pm and you’ve spent the last few hours by yourself, in silence. Just occasionally cussing yourself; your pointe shoes for giving out; or the wall that you spin into, out.

You sigh as you sit with your legs out in front of you in the middle of the studio, fingers squeezing the tops of your knees. For the first time tonight, you felt tired. You hadn’t paused to even breathe during this session, and now that you have, the weariness you’d built up is catching up to you. Still, there’s a tiny spark of determination within you that refuses to be extinguished—the only thing that’s stopping you from ending it here tonight and going home.

As a last-ditch effort, you pull your knees up to your chest and push yourself off the ground. One last try, for tonight at least, or you’ll end up causing more damage to your feet than you care to admit.

You don’t bother with the music, you haven’t bothered for a while now. Hearing the same build-up over and over again started to feel passionless. And something about it stirs a visceral reaction within you that you really wanted to avoid as much as you possibly can.

So, you position yourself in the very centre of the room. Eyes fixed on the ones staring back at you in the mirror. You spread your weight evenly between your two feet, one in front of you and the other behind. One of your arms round out in a semi-circle out in front parallel to your chest as the other stretches out to the side. You lean your weight slightly onto your back foot.

The room echoes with silence. A deep breath fills your lungs. Your eyes burn holes into the mirror, paying no mind to the stray strands of hair that splay out messily. You roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine. With one last breath, you sink into the heel of your back foot, and with all the remaining strength you can muster up, you push off into the starting turn.

You manage a double on the starting turn before coming back down on your heel to propel yourself up again. Your eyes never leave the spot you’ve marked on the mirror as you make your rounds. Mostly singles, some doubles, and some rare triples. In your head, you’re trying to keep count, but it’s not the easiest when you have multiple other things requiring your full attention.

12, 13, 14. Your heel lands again as you whip your other leg out to the side of you, forcing momentum when you draw it through into passé.

You’re nearly halfway there, and that’s when you remind yourself to not lose the strength in your core. You straighten back up as much as you can between turns, and you keep counting.

You’re starting to feel the inevitable stabbing of your nail against your own toe as you’re making your way through the 20’s. Your breathing is also getting heavier and heavier.

Expectations were low. You often get to this point, but fall short of just the 32 fouettés you need.

26, 27, 28.

You have to admit, there is a certain adrenaline that runs through you whenever you get this close. However, that’s the trap. You get excited, lose focus, and you don’t make it. So, as you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you try to steel the excitement threatening to boil over inside you. 29.

This time, as you come down, you push off again onto your toes with more force than ever, your other leg providing as much assistance as possible.

You spin once, meeting your eyes in the mirror. But you have enough momentum to not have to come down again. 30.

And again. Your gaze lingers as long as it possibly can before you have to whip your head around. 31.

The last, final turn you need. Friction is stretching your force thin. You’re on the finishing turn, and with the last bit of exertion from you, you manage to make a full spin. 32.

You land on your back foot, exhilarated at this small triumph that you shared with yourself tonight. Breath after breath, your chest rises and falls rapidly as you’re trying to blink away the dizziness.

Your arms fall to your sides, planting themselves onto your hips. An overwhelming sense of relief crashes over you as you watch your own reflection. A gentle smile starts to break onto your lips.

Then, something in the corner catches your attention.

Your eye darts over to the door. And what do you know—if this was any other setting, the very thought of being watched would be unsettling, but you should be used to it by now, you suppose.

“That was good.”

You hear it before you can clearly see anything. Perhaps your habit of not turning the lights on late on night does have its cons. But you don’t have to see for yourself to picture who it was in your head: Him and his devilishly handsome face.

On any other given night, you’d put up more of a rejection to his simple compliment and argue that you deserved a rating better than ‘good.’ But tonight, the urge just wasn’t there.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

He walks in through the doorframe, more of him coming into light as he draws closer to you. With every step that he takes, it’s like your heart threatens more and more to jump out of your chest. Why am I feeling like this? It is the first time you’ve spoken in person since you kissed, yes, but that doesn’t change anything, right?

As he walks closer and closer towards you, the urge to have that sturdy wall of sarcasm you normally put up around you returns.

He stops a few steps short of being in reach of you. The planes of his cheeks highlighted by the glow of city lights outside. The man you’ve tolerated for as long as you can remember, Kim Doyoung, now standing in front of you, and it’s your knees that feel weak.

The thumping of your heart resonates in your ears—it’s so loud that you’re afraid even he can hear it. Trying to push all that down and stuff it into some locked up part of you, you try to think about how to navigate this conversation. Just two colleagues talking after ignoring each other after kissing each other; nothing to worry about.

“So. No lunchbox for me tonight?” You’re hoping that the cheek in your tone distracts from your undoubtedly rosying cheeks. But maybe acknowledging that was the wrong move—too late now.

“Actually, I was just about to leave it outside. But I saw you, instead.” He lifts his hand up and that’s the first time you spot the small, rectangular box in his grip.

You drag your eyes from the box back up to meet Doyoung’s. A beat passes.

Then, you muster up the courage. “Why… are you doing that for me?” You’ve asked yourself this question more times than you can count. Why is he being nice to you? That is strictly out of character for him, if you were to judge.

Doyoung crinkles his eyebrows, as if he’s offended that you’d asked him that question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you bringing me…? Every night we’re here. I haven’t asked you to.” You speak slowly, as if you’re carefully treading through a minefield that is Kim Doyoung’s mind and reasoning.

“Skipping dinner’s bad,” he extends his arm out with the box in his hand, signalling for you to take it off of him. You’re reluctant, but he persists. “What? I’m… taking care of my costars.”

Your eyebrows quirk up at his choice of words. He holds it out a few more seconds before his patience wears thin.

“My arm is getting tired.”

And as his last push is met with nothing from you, he drops his hand to his side. Without a word, he scoffs and makes his way over back to where the door is.

“Fine, I’ll just put it in your bag.”

Subconsciously, you follow him as he walks over to the edge of the room, a bit dazed at the man in front of you.

He kneels down, shoving the box through the opening of your bag. When he stands up again, he seems a bit surprised that you’re literally right there behind him. Serves him right for all those other times he’s snuck up on you.

You stare at him and he stares back at you, his eyes widening at your silence, as if to say, “What?” in his typical bratty, condescending way.

“You’re overcompensating.” You shoot out.

“What?” His slight annoyance is replaced by confusion.

“Don’t worry,” your cadence loosens up as does your posture. In a more lax manner, you take a few steps towards the barre on the wall, next to Doyoung. “I’m not some charity case you’re condemned to because you feel bad for whatever.” You place your palms behind you on the barre, feeling somewhat pleased with yourself for having figured out Doyoung’s motivations.

Doyoung himself is slightly amused at your deduction. He leans backwards with his elbows on the barre, his legs stretching out in front of him. He turns his head, eyes looking down at you. “Believe it or not, I don’t see you as ‘charity work.’”

You take a second to still your heartbeat that seems dead set on betraying you with how you felt his breath fan faintly against your shoulder as he spoke. You turn to look him in the eyes, either to prove something to yourself, or to him—you couldn’t be sure.

“Then, why all this?”

Doyoung returns your gaze intently. You hadn’t planned for it, and now there’s no way you’re letting yourself back down. The way he looks at you—into you—hitches your breath. The last time he looked at you like this… You’re not sure you can stop history from repeating itself if he doesn’t stop now.

For a moment, you can swear his irises swirled like liquid pools of obsidian, the sheen in them barely visible under the dimness.

Before Doyoung even tries to come up with a way to talk his way out of this, he gives in. Into you.

In an instant, his lips envelopes yours. You wish you could say you were surprised, but deep down you were screaming at him to kiss you first.

You melt into the softness of his lips. The depth at which he takes you in makes the peck from last time seem like child’s play.

As both of you ease into each other’s touch, Doyoung’s eagerness becomes more and more apparent. One hand cups your jaw and the other settles on your nape, pulling you in as much as he can. Your lips fitted together like they were sculpted for each other. The way his mouth moved over yours as if they were connected to one mind.

Doyoung steps in between your legs, positioning himself in front of you with your back pressed against the wall. He never breaks his lips from yours, not even to take a breath. The hand that he previously had on your neck runs itself down to your waist, grabbing hold of it like he has so many times before. He pulls your torso closer to his, your chests pressed up together, your back slightly arched.

In all honesty, you would’ve expected Doyoung to be more the passive type, but you were gladly proven wrong. The way he presses his lips onto yours is with a force so strong that you’re sure it’s bound to leave your lips swollen and bruised. You don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but a groan rumbles in Doyoung’s throat, and you can feel it with a slight vibration. Your lips can’t help but draw themselves into a small smirk that he assuredly has to have felt.

It is only now that Doyoung pulls himself away from you, or more so pry himself away. In a way, you’re grateful because you don’t know how much longer you could’ve lasted before you completely lose yourself to his touch.

His face parts from yours with both of you trying to catch your breaths as quietly as you can.

With those eyes of his again, he switches between looking at your (only slightly swollen) lips and your eyes. He gently brushes the side of his thumb up your cheek, sliding under the hair that framed that part of your face.

His eyes follow the movement of his thumb, before glancing back at you. Breathily, he whispers, “Does that answer your question?”

It’s your lucky day. Karina had plans for lunch hour today, leaving you sitting alone in the middle of the canteen poking and prodding at your food. At first, you didn’t consider it entirely ‘lucky,’ but the more and more you thought about it, maybe it truly is. After all, if you tell Karina what happened two nights ago, she will no doubt hold it over you ’til the day you die. And not telling her isn’t exactly an option if she asks—she always has a way of getting inside your brain. And even if she doesn’t ask, she could definitely tell something’s up especially with how you’re having to bite back your own smile at random given moments of the day. So all in all, maybe you are lucky, at least for today.

That very sliver of luck lasted only moments, though.

Your eyes are down, staring somewhat blankly at your phone screen in an attempt to seem preoccupied. However, someone sees through your act—or maybe he just doesn’t care for it.

Doyoung slides his tray onto your table, swiftly taking a seat opposite you. You look up at him, watching his very nonchalant actions as if this happens every day.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, perhaps involuntarily. Some part of you is taken aback, another part is confused. Every single time—every one of your encounters with Kim Doyoung felt like a chess game. When you think you’ve seen through his tactics, he reveals that he already has several other countermoves calculated.

Doyoung does what he does best: ignore you. He places his hands on the table, eyes scanning over your tray and his briefly. Then, he lifts his gaze up onto you. “Are you free this weekend?” He asks with an expression on his face that’s a little hard to read. It’s a strange combination of politeness and formality that you’re not used to from him, at least not when directed at you.

“What?” Your response almost comes out as a chuckle. What is he up to?

“Well, if you are, I have two tickets to a show.” He ends his sentence with a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Is he…? Now, you’re almost certain that today is your lucky day because thank God, Karina isn’t here to witness this.

Back to the situation at hand… what are you supposed to make of this? Is this a date? Or maybe you’re jumping to conclusions for even assuming he’s asking you out on a date. Yes, you two kissed, twice. But does that equal a date now?

God.

Does he like you?—Why does that matter?

Stop thinking.

You open your mouth to start saying something, and Doyoung looks at you expectantly. You suck in a quick breath, then your lips purse together. But you have to say something.

“If this is because of the other night, you don’t have to—” You cut yourself off as Doyoung raises his brows, prompting you to go on. “What are you up to?”

Doyoung leans in closer, planting both elbows on the tabletop. He tilts his head slowly to the side, gaze fixed pointedly at you, “You keep thinking I have ulterior motives.”

The urge to push his head back with your finger entertains you for a second, before you shoo it away. “Because this is unlike you. 5 years, and I’ve never seen you speak to someone if you’re not forced to.” You lean back into your chair, folding your arms across your stomach. “You’ve always had a kinda cold, and mysterious aura to you,” you mumble, maybe more to yourself than to him.

That seems to pique his intrigue. “You think I’m mysterious?” His eyebrows lift, exposing his amusement.

“That’s not what I meant,” you refute bluntly. “I just thought you were keeping up an image. The whole, ‘I’m a loner, but I’m still cool’ thing, you know?”

If this whole encounter was a chess game, then you just found checkmate. Doyoung looks at you a bit in disbelief, and maybe slightly insulted.

“You think I—Okay, no,” he shuts you down firmly. He places his hands onto the table again, “Now, the tickets.”

Truth be told, you’ve been thinking about him ever since that night, but you would probably die before ever admitting that.

“I mean, sure. But you’re not denying that you have an image problem.”

At the first sound of your acceptance, Doyoung slides his fingers underneath his tray and is preparing to get up out of his seat. He stands up and tucks his chair in with his free hand. Once again, doing what he does best, he ignores the latter half of your sentence, “Saturday night, 7pm.”

With that, he’s set off in some direction to wherever he’s going. He’s just taken a few steps away and before he’s out of earshot, you follow up, “And what if people talk?”

He doesn’t stop walking away from you with his back turned, countering, “Sounds like you’re the one with an image problem.”

Saturday night, 6:55pm.

Shit.

Apparently, the entire population of Paris decided to get on this very subway all at the same time. The doors slide open but you’re having to budge and shove through row after row of people just to get off the car and onto the platform.

It’s a 10 minute walk and you have 5 minutes. If you don’t run to the theatre, Doyoung will inevitably be complaining about how you’re late for the whole night.

Running is a bit difficult though (and not to mention embarrassing) especially in the heels that you’re in.

You walk as fast as you possibly can out of the station and onto the city streets. The sun is just barely peeking out from the horizon and the lampposts begin to turn on as you weave your way through the avenues.

You’re just a crossing away from the theatre when you spot a particular silhouette. Their back is turned towards you, but you recognise that person as Doyoung. It’s in the way he stands, and the positioning of his feet. It’s undoubtedly him.

His head is down, presumably on his phone. The light turns green and you begin to cross. Just as you’re about to reach the other side of the street, you feel a buzz in your hand. You face the screen towards you. 7:02pm. And as you predicted, Doyoung is already starting his carping. A message pops up on the bottom of your screen, “Are you here yet?”

For whatever reason unbeknownst to you, your lips curve into a tiny smile that you have to force away, ignoring his message at the same time. You walk the couple of steps that separate you and Doyoung.

His back is still turned towards you, completely unaware of your being there behind him. He dons a long, black wool coat that amplifies his already broad shoulders, making him look and feel larger than life. To your surprise, the outfit you’re wearing coincidentally somewhat matches his—a long black dress with a coat over top. If people didn’t know better, they’d probably assume the two of you matched on purpose..

You hesitate before tapping his shoulder lightly with two fingers. His head turns around swiftly. And before you even get the chance to say anything—

“You’re late.”

You can’t resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh. “By 2 minutes! And look,” You glance downwards at your shoes, Doyoung following your gaze. “You should be grateful I even made it here with two intact ankles.”

Doyoung eyes your heels, chuckling lightly to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he looks at you with a satisfied smile on his face. “We should go in before we’re too late,” he suggests with a dip of his head towards the entrance of the theatre.

You mumble a quiet, “Whatever,” under your breath before you start heading towards the theatre ingress, Doyoung closely following behind you.

The theatre stands majestically. Every single element of it meticulously ornate, as is the rest of the architecture in the city, but this truly was something else. Its facade is adorned with intricate columns and statues sculpted to perfection. The golden lights illuminate the archways between the sculptures, leading to the interior. Every detail of the design echoed a timeless charm and glamour.

You’ve passed by this theatre more than a handful of times, but it’s your first time actually going inside.

“What are we watching, anyway?” You turn your head around to voice, being cautious as you climb the steps leading to the open doors.

“You’ll see,” is all Doyoung responds back with.

It’s your turn to follow behind Doyoung as he hands the tickets to the man standing next to the entrance doors. You glance down at the tickets as the doorman studies them briefly before welcoming the both of you inside.

You give him a polite smile as you pass by, still following Doyoung. You make up the couple of steps between you and Doyoung so that you’re walking parallel to him.

“Swan Lake? Really?”

Doyoung smiles at you gently, “It’s a classic for a reason.”

Three beautifully devastating hours later, the ballet finishes. And Doyoung was right, it is a classic for a reason. No matter how many times you watch Swan Lake, it still manages to completely beguile you. The ballerina they casted for the main role was incredible, undeniably so. It’s then that you begin to question if you should’ve came here tonight. All that it seemed to do was make you doubt whether or not you can give a performance half as enchanting as hers.

You and Doyoung are walking silently next to each other in streets illuminated by nothing but the warm glow of the lampposts. He insisted on walking you home, though he lives in the other direction.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Doyoung utters after a prolonged silence. He steps under the gleam of one of the lamps, highlighting the sharpness of his features as he looks back at you.

The mellow breeze of the night blows softly against you. “They were good.”

“We can do better,” he follows, resulting in you cracking a small smile.

“Cocky.”

“No—Just confident.”

“Fine, overconfident then.”

He takes a big step ahead, balancing on one foot as he tilts his head to catch a glimpse of your face, forcing you to look at him. “And what’s wrong with that? I believe in us.”

Soon enough, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment complex. The chill in the night lingers in the air between the two of you. You mumble a quiet, “So,” under your breath, disguised as a sigh.

Stuffing your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, you rock forwards onto your toes. You suck in a long breath. “Thanks for the date,” you make it a point to highlight the sarcasm in your tone, but really, you were just trying to see his reaction.

Doyoung, however, doesn’t buy your facade. His eyebrows tick up and his eyes glisten with a hint of amusement. “A date, huh?”

“That was a little something called a joke,” you quickly follow.

“Well,” he leans forward an inch or so closer to your face. “Joking or not, we can’t end the perfect date without a kiss,” he mutters lowly as he looks into your eyes.

You stare back at him, frozen. Your heart beats faster and faster with every second that he has his eyes on you. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sign from you.

Inching ever so slowly towards him, you drop your gaze onto his lips. Softly, you press a gentle peck onto him. When you lean back and open your eyes again, he’s wearing the faintest trace of a smile on his face that you’re sure has already burned its image into your mind.

“You should really find funnier things to joke about,” Doyoung utters. “Good night,” he whispers as he’s about to take a step back from you.

“Wait,” you reach out and grab ahold of his wrist. There’s an eagerness in your voice that you regret as soon as you spoke aloud. Doyoung looks at your hand wrapped around him, then up at you, causing you to loosen your grip. You know you’re probably going to regret this but—“It’s still early. Do you want to stay for a drink?” Your head and your heart has never worked against each other like this. You regretted it as soon as you made the offer, but your heart was just a beat faster than your mind tonight.

There’s a brief moment of quiet where you’re sure he would say ‘no.’ But instead, he looks down at the ground, biting back his bottom lip before nodding along. “Sure,” Doyoung agrees with an easy shrug.

You lead him into the lobby of your complex silently. The air only seems to thicken with every second that you spend with him by your side, and it doesn’t help that the lift takes forever to arrive. You step inside, your heels clicking against the marble floor, and Doyoung follows along.

He watches your every movement, from your pressing of the elevator buttons to you leaning back against the banister along the walls. You catch his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to hide his observing you.

A chuckle catches in your throat, “What?”

“What?” He echoes you with a certain smugness in his expression.

The lift stops right in time and the doors slide open. You let your eyes linger on Doyoung’s as you walk past him to exit into the hallway. Pulling out your keys from your pockets, you instinctually unlock your door in one swift motion and let yourself and Doyoung in.

Your arm reaches out to the side to flick the kitchen lights on. Stepping out of your heels, you slip off your jacket at the same time, throwing it onto the chair by the door. “Red or white?” You ask Doyoung, who’s slowly taking his own jacket off and setting it down on top of yours.

You open the cupboard to where you store all your wines, scanning through your options. Doyoung sidles up to you, looking up at the cupboard himself. Then, you make the mistake of turning your head.

He reaches his hand onto the handle of the cabinet, boxing you in between him and the wall. His gaze is fixed on the bottles, as if he’s really studying through each of them right now. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the collar slightly crooked. A hum sounds from him, reverberating in the close distance between your bodies. His neck catches a sheen from the city lights filtering through your balcony doors behind you. And it’s only then you realise you’d just about made the biggest mistake of your life.

He angles his head downwards to look at you, an oh-so-innocent expression scrawled all over his face. “What do you think?” He asks with a feigned cluelessness in the lift of his brows.

You catch a subtle hint of his cologne—which was probably more effective than any other bottle that you had up in that cupboard in making you drunk. “What do I think?” you breathe out. Doyoung tilts his head towards the cabinet, but the look in his eyes told you he had no intention of opening up any of the bottles.

Doyoung drops his hand from the handle onto the edge of the countertop as he takes a step closer towards you. One step. And he’s cornered you between himself and the glass doors to the balcony.

“That’s what I asked, wasn’t it?” His voice is low and sultry as his eyes study each and every detail of your face.

For the last time tonight, you try to still the pounding in your chest, but it was clear that your attempts proved futile. “I think…” you start slowly, lightly tracing the tips of your fingers from up his hips to his collarbone. “Fuck the wine.”

Your fingers grab onto the silky fabric of his collar, pulling him close. His lips crash onto yours in an instant. Once you’ve given him the green light, there’s nothing holding him back.

Doyoung’s hands roams every inch of your body as he kisses you as if you are the very air he needs to breathe. One of his hands grip tightly onto the flesh of your thigh, fingertips digging into the sides of it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding and keeping him close to you. For a moment, it felt like deja vu with the way he’s kissing you. So deeply and fervently. You throw your head back to catch a quick breath, but Doyoung doesn’t let even the tiniest fraction of a second slip away from him.

He attaches his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of his kisses down onto your collarbones. His hand covers the small of your back, arching it into him as he sucks on your skin.

You move your arms down behind your back, hands searching blindly for something. Then, a noise clicks in between your panting and the sound of Doyoung leaving desperate kisses on your skin. Doyoung pulls back slightly with a darkness in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what you just did. A smirk overtakes his lips, quickly taking yours into his again.

“You want everyone to know what we’re doing up here?” He mutters breathily in between quick kisses. God. You can feel his smirk against your lips when he envelopes you, twisting your stomach in ways you never thought possible. “I don’t mind.”

The click was the sound of you unlocking the handles. He takes a step backwards, pulling you along with him as he swings both doors to your balcony open. Immediately, a breeze brushes against your skin that only adds to the butterflies in your stomach.

Doyoung presses you up against the cold, iron railing of the balcony, prompting a quiet ‘shit’ from you. The contrast of his warm palms on your thighs and the icy metal on your back sends chills down your spine.

His hands inch higher and higher up your legs, slipping under the chiffon of your dress. Meanwhile, his lips are never parted from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You open your arms, hands each gripping the top rail of the banister so tightly that your knuckles are beginning to change colours.

Doyoung moves your leg up, wrapping it around his waist. He trails his lips again over the delicate skin of your neck and chest. When the neckline of your dress gets in the way, he simply had no choice but to move onto the next part of you that’s uncovered by fabric.

Doyoung kneels down onto his knees. As he does so, his grip on your leg remained steady as he lapped it over his shoulder. He presses gentle pecks onto your inner thigh as he continues to lift the hem of your dress up, unveiling more of you bit by bit at a time.

Patience was never your strong suit. Doyoung, however, seemed to be the complete opposite. He takes his time peppering kisses all over the skin of your thigh as anticipation builds up within you. For a moment, you forget that you’re out on the balcony, but you’re reeled back into the present as another subtle gust of wind catches itself in your hair.

You bite down on your lip as Doyoung’s mouth inches closer and closer to the hem of your underwear. The anticipation practically pooling in between your legs. He lifts the dress up slightly above your waist, holding it in place as he grabs onto your hips with his big palms.

He leans in closer, moving excruciatingly slowly. You can feel the warmth of his breath so, so painfully close to you. He traces a finger along the lace trim, then softly presses his lips onto it—half of it touching fabric, the other half touching your bare skin. You wrap the leg you have thrown over his shoulder tighter around him at the sensation, or the lack thereof.

Doyoung slides two fingers under the hem. He’s a tease. He runs the tips of his fingers downwards along the edge. Doyoung looks up at you watching him expectantly, smirking at the sight of you, breathing so heavily. He bunches the fabric together, pushing it to the side, and immediately, the chill in the night jolts you.

This is remedied by the presence of Doyoung’s lips on your clit. He first plants a gentle kiss, then, doing what he did on your neck and your chest, he swirls his tongue over it. His humming adding to the pressure building steadily within you.

You purse your lips together, desperate to not make a noise, and your leg tries to clamp itself shut.

Doyoung pulls away, licking his lips before tutting his tongue. “You wanted everyone to hear, didn’t you? That’s why you opened these doors?” He presses the tip of his middle finger up onto your folds, drawing ovals as he spreads the wetness all over your cunt. “Don’t get shy now.”

He latches his lips onto your clit again, and without notice, pushes that very finger up into you. The surprise of his movements forces a moan out of you, one that you couldn’t suppress.

Steadily, he slides in another finger, continuing to go deeper and deeper, —threatening more and more noises from you.

You let go of the rail with one of your hands, unable to hold back from the aching neediness you feel between you. Your fingers find themselves entangled in Doyoung’s hair, drawing him closer to you as you begin to move your hips against the friction of his touch.

He mumbles contently against you, “That’s it, princess.” Humming approvingly as you continue to grind yourself down into him. The entire length of his fingers disappear inside you and gradually, he pulls them out before picking up his pace.

Still, you’re straining your whines and whimpers, as if you’re embarrassed for him to hear them. You throw your head back as he begins to slide his fingers in and out of you at an increasing pace, a strangled moan catching in your breath.

He mumbles again, “Don’t hold back for me.”

The next morning, you wake up in your bed. Pillows scattered over the floor, sheets sprawled out on top of you. You turn, facing the other side of the bed only to find it empty. A haze covers your memory of the night before, as if the events have been frosted over, sealing last night to the you in those moments only.

A sudden pounding plagues your head and you begin to feel the ache all over your body. You shut your eyelids tightly, trying to will away the pain searing through your muscles, but it doesn’t work.

Sliding on your slippers, you shuffle your way out of your bedroom only to find your entire apartment empty. There’s a sinking feeling in your chest for a brief moment before your eye catches something on your kitchen countertop. A note.

You sidle over, and immediately you can recognise the paper that the note’s written on. The neat handwriting on it read, “I’m off to practice. I made some breakfast for you with what you had, hope that’s alright,” with a small smiley face on the bottom corner.

You glance back at where the note was, and sure enough, there’s a plate of pancakes sitting on your countertop.

Taking a deep breath, you put the note back down. The sudden need to decipher and ascertain what last night means overtakes you, and you know just what you need to do.

You head back into your bedroom, throwing sheets and pillows all over the place to look for your phone. After scouring around for 5 solid minutes, you find it tucked into your bed frame.

Somewhat half-awake, you scroll through your contacts to find Karina’s name. The tone dials three times before she picks up.

There was no way that you wouldn’t tell her what happened between you and Doyoung—you could only keep things from her for so long. After Doyoung had left you that day in the canteen, it took you a little over 24 hours to spill everything to Karina. She was neither surprised or impressed.

“How’d it go?” She answers the phone, no greetings or anything.

You take in a deep breath, certain that Karina can probably hear you. “I don’t know,” you blurt out truthfully.

“Good-you-don’t-know, or bad-you-don’t-know?”

“Good? I guess? Karina…” You sigh, for probably the dozenth time since you’ve woken up this morning.

Karina waits a few seconds before she speaks again, “Tell me everything.”

You recap how the night went, leaving some details out when it got to the later part of things. Though you can’t see her, you can visualise her reactions just from her squealing over the phone.

“This method acting thing is really working, huh?” She chuckles to herself.

“No!” You rub your palm over your forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he likes me or if I like him. It’s… weird.”

“Be so serious right now,” Karina says bluntly, “You’re kidding me.”

“What if it’s just physical?”

“Is it just physical for you?

“No,” you’re quick to answer that, “I don’t think so.” Karina stays silent for a moment or two, and you can picture her eyebrows shooting up in that familiar way when she’s trying to prove you wrong.

“Listen,” Karina sighs, “Friends who fuck for fun don’t cook each other breakfast. And go out on dates. I’m sure it’s a thrill to have anyone’s hands on you,” The sarcasm heavily blanketed her last sentence.

“It wasn’t a date,” you weakly try to object while thinking over her words.

“Yeah, just two people hanging out casually ending in a hook-up. Not a date. Just saying, that’s never happened to us before.”

Karina spends some more time trying to open your eyes to the truth that you were so repellent to, to no avail.

By the end of the phone call, you let yourself fall onto your bed, mind more muddled up than before. Not exactly what you hoped for in this situation.

It’s been exactly 4 days since that fateful night. The date, as Karina kept referring to it as. You haven’t had the opportunity to see Doyoung this week, yet, which, thanks to partner practice, will change today. As soon as you step through the door to the studio, to be specific.

The moment you do, you hear a voice squealing out your name. Jerking your head upwards, you catch the eyes of Colette who’s making a beeline towards you.

“So, how was it?” She asks excitedly, catching you off guard for multiple reasons. 1, she’s never that cheery in the mornings. 2, you have no idea what ‘it’ is.

“How was…?” You trail off, letting her fill in the blanks of her query.

“The date!” Colette exclaims. And in the corner of your eye, you can see a head snap sharply in the direction of the two of you in the front of the room. You look over, and Doyoung’s standing there, in the middle of rolling up his long sleeves. Your gaze locks with his for a second or two, and a sudden embarrassment burns within your eyes that you’re not sure if you need to hide from him. You look back at Colette, her anticipation evident in her features.

“It was delightful,” Doyoung answers from across the room, rolling up the other sleeve. “Is that enough gossip for you today?” He says pointedly.

Colette widens her eyes at you. She leans in to your right side, putting her hand on your elbow as she mutters quietly into your ear, “I asked him earlier before you got here and he wouldn’t say anything.” She pulls away from you, “Did you have a nice time?”

You give her a polite nod with a small smile and she seems satisfied enough with that answer, mirroring your grin. Colette drops her hand from your elbow, letting you settle your stuff down.

Doyoung makes his way up to the centre, where Colette stands facing him. You shoot a quick glance back at them, a slight nervousness bubbling up inside you as they mumble among themselves, too quiet for you to make out anything they’re saying. As you’re pulling your pointe shoes out of your bag, Colette suddenly remarks again, “And to think you wanted to drop the role because you didn’t think you’d have chemistry with him, Y/N.”

You look back again at the two of them. Doyoung is facing away from you, stretching his ankles on the floor. You flash a tight-lipped smile at Colette before standing up and joining them.

Practice ended earlier than usual today—you’re not complaining about it though. Despite you never going home until later into the night, you’re still thankful that at least you have a slightly longer break today before you start your individual sessions again.

You dig through your bag for your purse, wanting to maybe get a snack or two at the canteen. You’re fishing around, and instead of your purse, you find your box of cigarettes. Your arms freeze momentarily. Flipping over the tab, you see that there’s only one left, having not touched them since the last time Doyoung caught you smoking and being his usual irritating self, chided you for it.

A small curve forcibly tugs on the corners of your mouth. You fold the tab back over, burying the box into a pocket inside the bag.

That evening, Doyoung freely waltzes into your practice room whilst you’re in the middle of practicing your turns. You haven’t been able to execute them as well as you had that one time, and you’re determined to perfect it.

Leisurely, as if he owned the place, Doyoung coasts through the door. He leans against the barre in front of the mirror as he takes a sip of his water from his bottle, eyes fixed on you in midst of a set of pirouettes.

“I thought you got those down last time,” Doyoung speaks right as you land, appearing to be perfectly balanced despite the blur over your vision. He continues, “You can’t work yourself to the bone.”

“Once is a fluke,” you take a deep breath in.

“You’re plenty skilled.” He treads lightly towards you.

You look up at him coming closer, leaning your torso over to even your breathing again. “What? You’re done with practice so you’re here to distract me?”

Doyoung joins you in the middle of the room, taking a swig of his water. “I mean, nothing better to do.”

You plant your hands on the sides of your hips, eyes still locked on his. A beat passes by.

You drop your eyes from him, “Thanks for breakfast the other day, by the way.” You lift your foot from the ground slightly, pretending to be stretching it just so you don’t have to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” his tone is indecipherable.

The silence between the two of you quickly becomes awkward for you, desperate for some way to escape it.

“About the other night…” Doyoung’s voice softly begins as he sets the bottle in his hand on the floor.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you reply trying to sound as nonchalant as you can, leaning your back into the wall of the pillar in the middle of the room. Truth be told, you were the furthest thing from nonchalant, but you couldn’t afford for him to know that.

Doyoung closes the gap between the two of you. He looks down at you, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” he repeats. He turns around so that his back is up against the pillar as well. “But we should do something about it.”

You glance over at him looking into the reflections of the two of you. In that moment, you’re not entirely sure what he’s hinting at. Then, you catch a glimpse of his hand, and suddenly your breath hitches. Without him even needing to say another word, your chest begins to burn, thanks to your sudden recollection that kicks in right at this moment. “Something like…?”

Doyoung pulls his eyes away from the mirror and onto you, watching as you take step and step closer, until you’re positioned in front of him between his legs. His gaze grows more intense as he continues to watch you, his smirk too. “That’s not quite what I meant, but I’m not complaining.” He finds himself putting his hand onto your hips without even thinking about it, as if it comes naturally to him. To be fair, he has already done so multiple times earlier in the day during your session, and it took all the will in you to focus on the choreography instead of his hands on you.

Your palms travel up against his chest, fingers clasping together at the back of his neck. You tilt your head slightly, “Really? This wasn’t what you had in mind?”

He purses his lips together briefly, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he gulped. “You're right. Let’s not talk.”

In a split second, your lips were pressed against each others. By now, the feeling of his lips on yours felt familiar enough that you’re sure your features have been moulded to fit his own. The softness of his lips contrasted by the pure desire driving his eagerness is a deadly combination.

Your fingers inch their way into his hair, and his pulling on your waist. His palms slide downwards, and effortlessly, Doyoung hoists you up into his arms with your legs wrapping tight around him.

The sudden movement catches you by surprise, making your lips part as you gasped gently. Doyoung settles his hands in the nook of your knees, and with you around him, he walks the two of you to the wall nearby, setting you down on top of the wooden barre.

His fingers push the strands of your hair back as he slides them up along your jawline. Your entire body pressed firmly against the wall, Doyoung buries himself in the crook of your neck. His hand caresses your cheek as he laid down kiss after kiss on your skin.

The whole time, you’re letting stifled hums and whines out, and every time you did, you can feel Doyoung smirking against you. You can’t help but to pull his hips closer to you with every second that goes by, desperate to have something. Your fingertips work their way around to the front of his waistband, hooking a thumb inside. If he didn’t sense your agitation before, he certainly did now.

Doyoung pulls himself away from your neck. The visual of the low lighting combined with his disheveled hair, courtesy to you, was enough to drive you insane.

“You’re not very patient, are you?” He mutters as he runs a hand up and down your thigh tauntingly.

Can he blame you? Your mind has been driven to a place where you can’t even think straight anymore, only wanting to have your way in that instant. You bite down on your bottom lip, and slowly, with your eyes locked, you pull back the waistband of Doyoung’s sweatpants.

His eyes are filled with a deep carnal desire. Placed under his astute observation, you unhook your thumb from his sweats and instead, begin to peel off your leotard one strap at a time. He follows the movement of your hand as it slides the thin straps off of your shoulders, revealing your chest to him.

He hangs his head back, eyes closed, almost like he’s trying to not look at you. A quiet ‘fuck’ slips out from under his breath. You continue to strip off the rest of your leotard along with the thin, chiffon skirt that you had wrapped tightly around your waist.

Doyoung brings himself to look at you again, now with your entire torso bare. “Fuck, okay.” He sucks in the hollows of his cheeks as he brusquely pulls on the bunched up fabric and slides them off of you entirely.

You shoot him a quick look and he immediately pulls his shirt off with one of his hands. He takes your lips into his fervently as the tip of his thumb grazes against the underside of your breast repeatedly.

Your hand travel down to the front of his trousers and not as discreetly as you’d thought. Doyoung groans lightly as you palm his bulge, even biting down on your lip when you apply more pressure.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers breathily, grabbing your wrist to direct it away before pushing down his sweats.

You try to keep your eyes on him but even in the bottom of your eyeline, you can see it spring up, hard and red. Doyoung wraps his long fingers around his cock, giving it a quick couple of strokes as he grunts lowly.

The aching desire within you increases tenfold. And you couldn’t resist looking down, watching his hand travelling all the way up and down his length. A spark of frustration ignites within you, wanting desperately for him to just be inside of you right this second.

Doyoung watches you watching him. He tries to stifle a chuckle, which catches your attention. “If you’re just going to jerk off, don’t waste my time here.” The movement of his arm slows down slightly, but his smirk grows wider.

“I would never want to waste your time,” he mutters tantalisingly.

Doyoung holds a firm grip around the base of his length. He looks down, having to stop himself drooling from the sight in front of him. He taps the head of his cock on your cunt, catching you by surprise and making you clench your thighs around him harder, which does nothing but elicit a chuckle from him.

Doyoung tightens the grip he has around himself, trying to still his shaking hand. And not being able to hold himself back any longer, he gently pushes himself into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your nails find themselves dug into the skin of his back as he drives further and further in.

Your lips are parted, but you’re holding your breath. Doyoung’s gaze falls upon your face, watching every slight movement in your features as he pushes the last of himself into you. And though he hasn’t even done anything, yet, just the sheer size of him inside exhausts you. You rest your forehead against his bare shoulder, needing him to hold you steady with his arms.

He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your head, “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

And when you think your body couldn’t feel any weaker, your thighs tense up at the sound of his words.

Doyoung lays his fingers on the nape of your neck, gently lifting your head and forcing you to look at him just inches away from your face. “You okay?” he mouths, earning an eager nod from you. You’re met with a small, pleasant smile from him at your response.

He slowly drags himself against the tightness of your walls, groans catching in his throat.

Doyoung begins to thrust his hips forwards and back, filling you up with his cock again and again. You let yourself wholly collapse into his chest standing up tall against you. The friction very quickly proves to be not enough for you, causing you to move your hips in unison with his.

A string of curses and moans falls from Doyoung’s lips as he picks up the pace. His hands also tighten around you, to steady himself or to steady you, it’s hard to say. He, once again, buries himself into your neck, panting into your skin and leaving subtle bite marks on it.

You snake a hand around to your clit, rubbing in synchrony to the rhythm of his hips. The stimulation overwhelms you, your mind solely focused on the desire to cum. Your head is propped up on Doyoung’s shoulder, and every time you moan into his ears, his heart skips a beat and he thrusts harder into you.

He mumbles your name over and over again, followed by a series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s. His breathing, as well as yours, become rugged and uneven.

You can feel the pressure steadily building up within you, the circling of your fingertips becoming more violent by the second.

The bubbling of anticipation inside of you brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your body threatens to tremble, even when propped up by the strength of Doyoung's arms.

“I’m so close,” you manage to whimper next to Doyoung’s ear. And unbeknownst to you, that completely unravels him. Desperation taking over, he plunges himself deeper and harder into you.

The sudden change in tempo almost urges you to sink your teeth down into his shoulder. Your fingers are beginning to cramp but you’re so close to your orgasm, it’s basically within reach.

You lean your forehead onto Doyoung’s shoulder as weariness begins to take over your muscles. You just needed a little bit more to push you over the edge, and the sight of him ramming his cock inside of you made you fall apart.

Your walls clench so tightly around Doyoung that it’s physically hard for him to continue thrusting into you. Even if you tried to quiet yourself down, the overwhelming pleasure takes over any logical mind and you’re practically screaming out his name. Preoccupied with your own pleasure, you hardly noticed the stiffening of Doyoung’s arms around you, until you felt the warm ropes of his cum threatening to spill out.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to go quiet. Time stopped for a minute or two as your body slowly comes down from such a high. Your chests rise and fall in unison, both desperately panting to collect your breaths again.

You lean your head back against the wall, your half-lidded eyes meeting Doyoung’s. Your lips hang slightly ajar as the thumping of your chest increasingly gets louder and louder in your ears. You rest your forearms on his shoulders, weakly interlocking your fingers together.

You pant. “Do you fuck all your costars like that?” Lazily teasing him with half of a smirk.

Doyoung leans in, still inside of you, unthinkingly pecking the side of your lips.

He whispers into your ear, “Just the one I like.”

END OF ACT III

#📂 - nct #nct fanfic #nct #nct 127 #doyoung imagines #doyoung nct #nct doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung #nct smut #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #doyoung smut #nct scenarios #doyoung scenarios #nct 127 imagines

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blakeswritingimagines · 1 year ago

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The Devil Doesn't Bargain

Summary: Nearly having you at his fingertips only for news from each side of the families causes distress to everyone, Having to find new ways to win you over and make you his and finally get Nerissa away from him does it finally click what Aemond is meant to do.

Word count: 5.1k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

“We need to tell Nerissa about us.”

During the trip back home you couldn't get his words out of your mind of telling Nerissa to only ask for some time to think, even when settling back into the family house and still listening to Nerissa continue on about how happy she and Aemond were or how quickly she'd give him heirs as you nodded along. Still not wanting to believe you might just ruin your own sister's happiness about such a topic or the fact that Aemond made it more than crystal clear it was you he loved, everyone unaware of the glances or hushed whispers between your mother Odette and Aemond's father Viserys about things of the past only to keep up the act as if nothing had happened with fake plastered smiles about the engagement toward Aemond and Nerissa.

Aemond had spent his time doing his absolute best to keep up the charade of planning for his wedding to Nerissa. He wanted everyone to believe that he was happy to be marrying your sister, even though he was only thinking about you and what felt like a magical moment that the gods blessed him with. He felt like he was doing a horrible job at hiding his true feelings from everyone, but he tried to put on a brave face. He was happy with his arrangement with you, but he still felt terrible for how unhappy he was going to make Nerissa. The next few weeks went by slowly as Aemond tried sending more letters to you only to have them ignored, feeling lost and like you no longer enjoyed the same things after the big dinner only keeping more to yourself than usual as you shrugged off any questions and concerns about the behavior. Then your family had to attend a royal ball the Targaryen house was holding for Aegon and Helena's latest child which you found adorable as Nerissa made it clear she didn't see the cuteness but after some time you had wandered off as Nerissa held on tightly to Aemond's arm keeping him beside her as she spoke with ladies about the up-coming wedding and what life would be like.

As the guests kept arriving at the dance floor for a ball that was being held for Helena and Aegon’s newborn, your body was physically there. Your soul was elsewhere. Aemond’s words still echo in your ears. In the weeks that had passed since the big confession, you couldn't stop thinking about what had been said. You could not focus on anything but the thoughts of Aemond. And you were also scared at the idea of losing your family if you two decided to take the matter further. Would it really be worth the risk? You sighed softly to yourself as you walked into what looked like a study and started looking through different books that looked interesting. Aemond knew that he had to be patient, but the weeks were going by so slowly that his anxiety was almost unbearable at this point. He had written so many letters to you without receiving any sort of reply that he started to wonder if he had done something to upset you. He knew that he would have to see you again to speak to you once more and he hoped that your arrangement wasn’t something that was off-limits, he tried his best to keep up appearances with Nerissa as the wedding drew closer.

Aemond couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand the pain of seeing your distant and sad attitude towards this delicate situation. He decided that he was going to speak with you to clear the air. He found you in the study and he approached you from behind especially after having made sure Nerissa was too distracted to notice where he had gone, “Y/n? What are you doing here?” Aemond asked, with a sense of curiosity in his voice. But didn't give you much room to answer him as he spoke again. “Would you mind if I spoke with you?” Aemond said as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, he had thought that the ball would be a nice distraction for you. He saw the way you had looked around in the room as if you were trying to distract yourself from his words. Before you could respond to his question, he asked another one. “Have you had any time to think about what we talked about the other night?” You were standing in the middle of the large study room, looking at an ancient Valyrian book with an expressionless face. It was not that you hadn’t thought about Aemond’s confession, of course, you had thought about it. Your mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour, but you had made the decision to keep your feelings to yourself to protect your family more so Nerissa and her happiness. "You know I can’t marry you." You finally responded and turned to look at Aemond not noticing the slip of paper that fell out from the book in your hands. It hurt to say those words, but they had to be said, the decision had been made.

Aemond’s face fell when you told him that you wouldn’t marry him. He had hoped that the weeks of silence would make you think about what had been said, and he feared that you would be too afraid of the consequences to proceed with this relationship. “Why can’t we?” Aemond couldn’t help but ask this question. “Nerissa will be disappointed, but it isn’t the end of the world. I promise.” Aemond felt his heart sink as you made it clear that you were sticking with the decision. He knew that was a decision that you had to make, but it hurt to hear that you were just giving up on this love. He saw the slip of paper fall to the floor as you were talking and noticed that you didn’t see it. What could this paper be? He thought as he picked up the folded paper “Why can’t you marry me?” He asked once more, hoping that maybe he could change your mind. "I just… I can’t do it. I promised my parents that I would not cause any trouble for them. And I feel bad to be the reason my sister’s heart to be broken." There was a hint of anger as your voice started to shake. With every word you uttered, your voice became stronger and a fire burned inside you, as you were becoming more and more determined to stand up for yourself.

You tried to remain focused on the conversation, but your eyes kept falling on the folded piece of paper Aemond had in his hand. You sighed and looked down slightly "Because I don't want to hurt my family." You said softly as a tear rolled down your cheek. It felt like the entire weight of the world had just been put on your shoulders no matter how calm you tried to stay the anger and sadness seemed to take over. You kept your head down, as you couldn't look into his eyes into that moment. Aemond could feel his emotions rising as he saw you become determined to stick to your decision. He felt the anger simmering within him as he tried to control himself. “I don’t care about your family. I only care about you.” He said, losing any sense of control that he had. “Why does their happiness matter more than mine and yours? Why does everyone get to have a choice except for us?” He said, with a hint of desperation in his voice. Aemond felt a sense of frustration as you refused to give into your love, he wanted to argue with you, as he felt like you belonged together. He knew that you were right about not wanting to hurt your families, but it was hard for Aemond to be rational when he was in love. He could see the anger and sadness in your eye and he felt even more desperate to get you to see his side of the story. “Please, Y/n. We don’t need anyone else’s approval to be together.” He placed the piece of paper in his hand down on a table and approached you.

"We do, Aemond." You didn’t dare to lift your eyes to look at him. You felt your chest tighten as if every breath was now difficult to take in due to your heartache. "We need our parents. We need our siblings. The kingdom is fragile and we cannot go against what our family has planned for us." You kept your head low but you felt his hands gently grasp the sides of your face and lift your head up. You finally had to look at him, as you did you looked hurt and terrified. Your eyes widened as you saw his reaction. You were not expecting Aemond to be so angry. Of course, you understood why he felt like that, but you felt like you could not break the promise you had made to your parents. "Please, Aemond, you must understand. The consequences of our relationship would be disastrous." Your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, you still could not believe what you were saying to Aemond not wanting to believe it yourself. And you knew that he thought your words were foolish and they had no meaning in front of love. Aemond felt the anger build up inside of him as he heard you insist that you couldn’t be together. He couldn’t believe that he was finally speaking his mind to you, only for you to say the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. “But our love means more than anything else.” He said desperately. “How can you say otherwise?” He tried to keep his voice level, but the anger was evident in his tone.

Aemond was fuming as he heard you talk about following your parents’ wishes and trying to keep the peace with the rest of your families. He felt that your parents were completely wrong about forcing him to marry Nerissa and not you. He felt like you were giving up on this love too soon, he tried to remain as calm as possible, even though he had every right to be angry. “What if I’m willing to risk it?” He asked softly. He felt his body shake with anger as he heard your words replay loudly in his head. He couldn’t believe that you were choosing duty over love. But he knew that you had your reasons. “Fine…” Aemond said finally, as he had to hold back the urge to argue with you. He looked away as he couldn’t bear looking into your eyes. Aemond didn’t say anything else. He knew there was nothing else he could say to convince you to change your mind. For a moment you thought that a miracle was about to happen from the gods. Maybe, just maybe, you and Aemond were meant to be together and you two would not have to hide your love from anyone. But then reality set in, and you realized that it was not going to happen. Your decision was made the moment you told him the truth about your feelings. You felt your heart break even more as Aemond turned away from you. Was this a punishment for being so cowardly? Or maybe this was the price you had to pay for the decision that you had to make.

Feeling your heartbreak as you saw Aemond’s reaction to your decision. You felt like he hated you for what you did, despite yourself. However, you were aware that your decision was the right thing to do, you could not go against your parents’ wishes. You stayed silent while Aemond expressed his feelings of anger and frustration. "There is nothing more we can say to each other, is there?" You asked softly with a sad expression on your face. Your mind kept thinking about that mysterious piece of paper that rested on the desk. Aemond sighed loudly as he was unable to talk you out of this stupid decision. He still couldn’t believe that your families were keeping you apart. All he wanted to do was hold you close and tell you that it would work out. He felt his heart ache for you, as he could see that you were hurting as well. “No, I suppose there isn’t,” he said, looking down at the ground, feeling defeated. “I’m sorry for what my family has planned for you.” You stepped closer to Aemond and placed your hand on his shoulder.

"If there is another life, you will be my husband." You said quietly, yet full of feeling. Your head was held high even as you watched Aemond start to walk away, despite your sadness. You made your decision and there was nothing that could change it now. You could only hope that your parents would be happy with what you had chosen to do. You sat down once Aemond left and let your tears fall tired of holding them in, feeling as if it was the best thing to do even if it hurt you both this much but couldn't imagine hurting Nerissa who seemed so happy about marrying Aemond. Sighing softly as you wiped at your cheeks and stood up trying to calm yourself before joining the party once more even as you walked passed the table where Aemond had put the piece of folded paper. And with a deep breath figuring there was no harm in taking longer to compose yourself, you started to slowly open it. Your curiosity killed you at that moment you just wanted to know what could be written there. Letting your eyes travel over the written words almost as if it was some kind of deep passionate poem to a loved one of a heavily detailed night spent together which seemed fine even if it made you think of doing such things with Aemond until you gasped and covered your mouth seeing your mother's name written along the lines.

What could this possibly mean? You thought to yourself but folded the paper again as you held it tightly in between your fingers, you felt your heart start beating quickly as you tried to make sense of it all. Making your way out of the study and back toward the busy party as if nobody had noticed you or Aemond were gone for a while but scanned the room looking for the tall blonde. Seeing him standing by Nerissa as you started making your way over to him gently taking hold of his arm and asking for a moment of his time making up a small lie to Nerissa that it was about the wedding, pulling him away and slowly looking up at Aemond again, as you tried to figure out what this meant and what it could possibly have to do with you and him. “Aemond… Who's study were we in?” You asked as easily as you could, as your voice was barely above a whisper. Aemond felt a sense of panic rush over him as you pulled him away from Nerissa. He knew that the lie you told Nerissa was a way for him and you to spend some time alone. His voice and entire demeanor changed, and he could feel his heart beating quickly. He wondered what you suddenly wanted to talk to him about, as it felt strange that you wanted to take him away from everyone. Then you asked him whose study you were in. He thought for a moment, as he tried to figure out why that would be important. “It’s my father’s study,” Aemond finally said. His voice was still soft, as he too was trying to keep his questions about this matter on the down low.

Nodding your head as Aemond told you whose study you were just currently in before leaving. He could see the curiosity in your eyes, as you tried to gather the courage to ask him something, so you took a deep breath and cleared your throat for some reason. "May I ask you something?" Feeling as if you couldn't help but fidget with the letter in between your fingers as you looked to Aemond for his answer but were unaware of Nerissa watching and noticing the letter as her jaw dropped thinking she had been had and found out even though it was King Viserys letter to your mother Odette. Aemond watched as you cleared your throat and fidgeted with the letter between your fingers and a sense of curiosity washed over him. Why were you so nervous about asking him a question? especially about this certain letter of all things? He looked at you for a few moments before giving you a nod and saying: “Of course, you may ask me anything.” He hoped that this wouldn’t be something that would upset him as it was clear you were a bit nervous about whatever it was you wanted to ask him.

You looked Aemond in the eyes but you could not say the words out loud. Instead, you simply showed him the letter you were holding. It was a very detailed letter with what normally most would look at as beautiful words, but it was clear the contents weren't meant to be seen. “Is… this true?” You asked in a low voice, with an empty expression but a lot of hurt behind your eyes. Aemond looked down at the letter and his heart dropped when he saw the words written on it in his father’s handwriting. “Did… my father write this?” He asked with a tone of disbelief in his voice, as he looked up at you with a look of confusion and a bit of anger. He couldn’t believe that his own father would do something like this and try to keep him apart from you. “Where did this take place?” His voice carried an edge to it as he asked his question. Aemond looked at the letter in his hand, as he kept reading the words written there. He felt his heart sank as he read the words. “Yes, it must be true.” He said with a sense of sadness in his voice. It seemed like both of your parents were to blame for this mess in your love story. “I had no idea that this was even a possibility.” He said. Aemond could not stop the anger from seeping into his voice as he spoke.

"I had no idea either…" Y/n spoke quietly as you kept your eyes firmly fixed on Aemond. You felt the world was falling apart in front of you. The whole reason you and Aemond couldn’t have a romantic relationship was based on a lie that seemed to unravel more than met the eye. And what was worse was that your parents knew about it. You were at a loss for words, you had so many questions but didn’t know what to say first? "Why, Aemond?" You asked. You could barely keep yourself from crying. Aemond’s eyes narrowed as he saw your expression. He was angry about the whole situation, and he felt that he should have known about this letter earlier. There was no use thinking about that now, he thought to himself as you asked him a question. “Why what, Y/n?” He tried to keep his face stern and unemotional, but he could feel the anger and hurt boiling inside him. Aemond saw your world fall apart before his very eyes, as you realized that your parents had lied to you about your entire life it seemed. When you asked Aemond why his father would do something so cruel and unfair, all he could do was stare in disbelief. “I have no idea, darling,” Aemond said with a hint of anger in his voice, as he was clearly upset with the situation. “Don’t cry. I’m going to do everything I can to make this right.”

Your bottom lip was trembling as your eyes started tearing up. You wanted to say a thousand words but none of them were coming out of your mouth. You were completely lost for words and could only stare down at the letter with a completely blank face, the meaning of the words not registering to you still. You could not think clearly, all you could think about was the lie your parents told you and your mind was racing, thinking about everything you had been through recently. You held the letter firmly and sat down on a chair. As Aemond saw you were about to start to cry, his heart broke for you. He saw the hurt in your eyes and he knew that he had to do whatever he could to fix this situation as he started thinking. “I’m going to make things right,” he whispered to you, as he saw your lower lip start to tremble. He put a comforting hand on your back. “I’m going to find a way to make my father reconsider so that we can be together.” He said with confidence before gently kissing your head and stalking off to go find his father with the letter still in hand. Hours passed by until the was finally ball was over Aemond had demanded to sit down with everyone from your family to his, letting the silence linger on as everyone waited to hear what this was all about even as Nerissa tried giving Aemond a hard time as she harshly whispered to him still thinking you had found out about what she had done until the tall blonde stood up throwing the letter toward his father and your mother Odette "Y/n and myself wish for an explanation upon what this means." Watching the shocked faces of the two as his mother Alicent reached over grabbing the parchment before she started reading it.

The letter felt like a hundred pounds in your hands. You were scared to know how your parents would react to the news and were extremely anxious to know what this meant for your and Aemond’s relationship. You had a feeling your parents’ would not react well, but you tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Your heart was pounding like never before. You stayed silent, trying to take in everything in the room. Viserys let out a heavy sigh but started to explain as even Alicent questioned him on this giving more information and details from when he met Odette in passing at some point before they had slept together, how Odette had met her now husband married him claiming the child was his and didn't want any blowback of a singular night of passion especially since you looked nothing like a proper Targaryen. Aemond listened closely but grinned as he could feel the same twitch of his obsession with you now with the knowledge that you were in fact born from the same house he could in fact marry you now "Then I shall marry her and not lady Nerissa, it will help keep the bloodline pure as always." Even as some still tried to deny him this. Your eyes widened as you heard Viserys’ words that explained everything. You had wished that the love between you and Aemond had not been a crime, but you had never expected that you would be able to get married. You looked at Aemond, waiting for him to realize what was just said, your entire future was changing in front of your eyes for better and worse. You could not believe that it was this easy to get what you both wanted. It almost felt too good to be true, but the look on Aemond's face said that he felt the same.

Aemond could see the look of shock on your face as you heard his father’s words. He felt ecstatic as he realized that this meant he could marry you, as marrying each other would no longer be breaking any laws especially now knowing you had Targaryen blood in your veins. Aemond and you could now be together the way he had planned all along. He started to smile and then he hugged you, as he was overjoyed that you would finally be able to be together and he wouldn’t have to hide his love any longer. Nerissa watched on as her jaw dropped before she let out an ear-piercing scream as she pushed Aemond no longer caring about the eyes on you both or her as she hit his chest and yelled at him "What do you think you are doing? you stupid prick, you think you can just walk away for her of all people? that over this?" She spoke angrily even going as far as to slap Aemond before turning to you "And you think you can just take over and have him? I don't care if you want him or if those original letters were for you he's mine," getting stopped before she could lay a hand on you even as your parents watched in shock until they stood up from their seats quickly also trying to stop her as the man you thought was your father Ellington gently grabbed Nerissa and left the room with her struggling against him still screaming and wanting her way.

Viserys shook his head not knowing what to think of what just happened but leaned back in his seat, knowing this couldn't get out even as Odette now tried to make reason with him that you didn't look like any of them and you were of age to be married no matter how many other suitors tried to have your hand. Alicent sat in shock after it seemed like everything had settled but quietly watched between her husband and your mother then over to her son and you not knowing what to think or how to feel but cleared her throat as she attempted to speak confidently "These matters will be discussed in a timely matter, however in the meantime I believe it's best for everyone to get some rest." She spoke as she stood up leaving the room with Viserys following her shortly after while Aemond guided you to a temporary bed chamber kissing your hands and then your forehead as he whispered goodnight to you watching the door fully close thinking to himself that now you could and would fully be his.

Over the next couple of days, Ellington took Nerissa back home along with Odette who didn't want to leave you behind but had no choice as Viserys said he would take care of things and Aemond made it clear you wouldn't be leaving his side again. As the days passed, Aemond was filled with happiness and joy. He couldn’t wait to marry you and he was glad that his father had finally come to his senses. He spent each day at your side almost as if he had become a shadow to you and loved having the opportunity to spend time with you more and more. Viserys was correct that the marriage would be a way of keeping the House pure and Aemond was glad that he had finally allowed you both to marry, especially after making it clear he would take you away instead. He couldn’t wait for the wedding, as he was filled with excitement. Having helped you even get ready for the day as his mother requested you for an afternoon of tea and talking.

"Yes, dear Alicent, he is indeed. Aemond does spend a majority of his time with me. There have been moments where he hasn’t left my side." Y/n looked at Aemond, who stayed silent but had a small smile on his face. He was still trying to process what happened during the last couple of hours. He suddenly wrapped his arms around Y/n's waist, pulling her to him and gently kissing her forehead. It was a sweet gesture. Alicent looked shocked even as she tried to keep it together. Her son and you… A romantic relationship between the two? She didn’t know what this meant. But her son seemed happy, so that was enough. She tried to keep her composure as best she could. “How interesting, my dear…” Alicent whispered still hurt after learning everything. “It seems your friendship has blossomed into something else?” Alicent smiles at the embrace Aemond gives you. Her smile is warm and inviting. It’s a rare thing for her to see her son, the crown prince, show any public displays of affection. But it seems that he’s very much in love with you, and who can blame him? Alicent can’t blame him. She finds herself smiling in silence at his gentle actions.

You could not believe that Alicent was approving this relationship. It felt unreal to you, you didn’t know what to think at that moment. Alicent was the last person you expected would approve, or at least like, your relationship with Aemond. You wrapped your arms around Aemond’s neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. "It certainly has, my lady." You replied to Alicent, trying to hold back a smile. You then looked back to Aemond, who was visibly delighted to see his mother’s approval. Alicent watches you both in a state of quiet approval. She is satisfied to know that Aemond, the crown prince, is happy. And she is happy to know that you, whoever you may be, are making him happy. Alicent can’t help but feel a sense of warmth growing within her, despite her usually cool demeanor. She smiles again at the embrace, and this time, she cannot hold back her words even as she tries to be gentle about it "It doesn't faze you how my son acts around or about you?". You chuckled at the question. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were enjoying your time with Aemond. You had never met a boy or a man as kind, protective, and loving as him. "Oh, no it actually makes me very pleased to know he has found someone who makes him so happy even if it's no longer my sister, my lady." You gave Alicent a reassuring smile. You turned around and leaned close to Aemond, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. You leaned on his chest and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Alicent smiles as she watches you affectionately kiss her son’s cheek. “You care for each other very much, don’t you?” There’s a tinge of sadness in her voice, knowing that her children are growing up and finding love elsewhere. But at least you both seem happy, Alicent thinks. That in itself is a win for Alicent as a mother even if you were related. “I’m pleased to know he has someone as… compassionate… as you to care for him,” Alicent says to you.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd imagine

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bilightningwhumper · 7 months ago

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Mangst 2024- TNEI Edition Masterlist

TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

My part in the Mangst 2024 event (not all finished in May, but finished anyway). Ao3 link on the bottom.

* placed next to any 18+ links

Key for Spoilers:

Spoilers- minimal to no changes planned when appearing in fic

Partial spoilers- several changes planned, but will still be similar in fic (if not exact scene, then variation of it)

No spoilers- changes to be made will make it very different and/or no longer planned to be used (for that specific story, anyway); they're now more character studies than actual story fragments

Day 1- I never wanted this.

Forever Prey (Red Riding Hood) - Spoilers POV: Rae - Huntsman Summary: Rae wakes up after Sienna has a nightmare

Day 2- If you can't trust yourself right now, trust me.*

Forever Prey (Red Riding Hood) - Partial Spoilers POV: Sienna - Red Riding Hood Summary: Sienna's going into heat and Rae's there to help

Day 3- You don't remember, do you?

Picture Perfect (Rapunzel + Hansel and Gretel) - Partial Spoilers POV: Leslie - Rapunzel Summary: Leslie learns more about her family

Day 4- Don't look, you shouldn't have to see this.

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Partial Spoilers POV: Hannah - Prince's fiance/bride Summary: Hannah sees Sam's scars for the first time

Day 5- Can't you see that there are people who love you?

Missed Shot (Robin Hood) - Partial Spoilers POV: Marianne - Maid Marian Summary: Robin receives a terminal diagnosis and refuses treatment. Marianne finds out and is furious about Robin's decision.

Day 6- You've done so well. Let me take it from here.

Ashen Spell (Cinderella+Beauty and the Beast) - Partial Spoilers POV: Issac - Beast {to be replaced with Nerissa} Summary: Isaac gets the group successfully into asylum at the Evergreen Heart Medical Center

Day 7- You don't act like yourself anymore.*

Picture Perfect (Rapunzel + Hansel and Gretel) - Spoilers POV: Leslie - Rapunzel Summary: Mama finds out about Leslie mating with her soulmate

Day 8- I wish I could go back to when things made sense.

Ashen Spell (Cinderella+Beauty and the Beast) - Partial Spoilers POV: Cinder - Cinderella Summary: Cinder tells Isaac how he was sent to the Institution

Day 9- I kept imagining that you'd come back, but you never did.

Forever Prey (Red Riding Hood) - Partial Spoilers POV: Rae - Huntsman Summary: Sienna's ex-girlfriend from high school finds her unexpectedly at her father's bakery cafe [Epilogue Piece]

Day 10- I can do whatever I want to you, and no one can stop me.*

Forever Prey (Red Riding Hood) - Spoilers POV: Sienna - Red Riding Hood Summary: Director Wolf isn't happy about when Sienna was in heat

Day 11- You've only ever been a disappointment.

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Spoilers POV: Sam - Little Mermaid Summary: After the public post was made outing Sam, his parents corner him after dinner to talk

Day 12- How could you believe them? Over me?

Ashen Spell (Cinderella+Beauty and the Beast) - Partial Spoilers POV: Cinder - Cinderella Summary: Cinder makes a hard decision to make when talking to his best friend

Day 13- I know it hurts, I'm here, you're doing so well.*

Caged Bird (Swan Lake) - Spoilers POV: Rosalin - Odette Summary: Rudolf preparing Rosalin for the day she births pups

Day 14- I crossed a line, and I can never go back.

Missed Shot (Robin Hood) - Spoilers POV: Robin - Robin Hood Summary: Robin telling Isaac how she was sent to the Institution

Day 15- We'll get through this together.

Caged Bird (Swan Lake) - Partial Spoilers POV: Rosalin - Odette Summary: Rosalin comes to comfort Leslie after the DNA results

Day 16- Don't you see? I never had a choice.*

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Partial Spoilers POV: Sam - Little Mermaid Summary: Sam reunites with an old... friend at the Institution

Day 17- I love you. I wish I didn't.

Caged Bird (Swan Lake) - No Spoilers POV: Teddie - Odile Summary: Teddie visits Rosalin at the medical center after her rescue

Day 18- It doesn't matter if they die; all that matters is you.*

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Spoilers POV: Hannah - Prince's fiance/bride Summary: Vanessa takes Hannah home when she suddenly goes into a heat at Derrick's workplace

Day 19- Please, let me try to fix this.

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Spoilers POV: Derrick - Prince Summary: Derrick takes Sam into the scrap fabric room at work to give him a break from his "job"

Day 20- You shouldn't trust me.

Missed Shot (Robin Hood) - Partial Spoilers POV: Robin - Robin Hood Summary: In the midst of her rut, Robin gets a visitor

Day 21- You're all I have left.

Ashen Spell (Cinderella + Beauty and the Beast) - Spoilers POV: Crystal - Beauty Summary: Crystal learns some bad news from Rae

Day 22- Who would ever choose you?*

Ashen Spell (Cinderella+Beauty and the Beast) - Spoilers POV: Cinder - Cinderella Summary: Cinder goes into heat for the first time with only his step-family there to take "care" of him

Day 23- You're nothing to me but a bad memory.

Caged Bird (Swan Lake) - Partial Spoilers POV: Teddie - Odile Summary: Teddie visits her father in prison

Day 24- It was all for nothing.

Ashen Spell (Cinderella+Beauty and the Beast) - Partial Spoilers POV: Issac - Beast {to be replaced with Nerissa} Summary: Isaac wakes up at the Evergreen Heart Medical Center

Day 25- They've been dead from the start.

Caged Bird (Swan Lake) - No Spoilers POV: Rosalin - Odette Summary: Rosalin gets some unhappy news

Day 26- You're not really here, are you?

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) - Spoilers POV: Derrick - Prince Summary: Derrick makes a discovery (with Hannah's help, of course)

Day 27- I can't believe I thought you loved me.

Royal Makeover (Frog Prince) - Spoilers POV: Max - Princess Summary: Max has a hard decision to make

Day 28- Everything I've given up is worth nothing to you.

Picture Perfect (Rapunzel + Hansel and Gretel) - Spoilers POV: Leslie - Rapunzel Summary: Leslie is scared to go to her first "adult" party

Day 29- I'm sorry. You're not worth the risk.*

Weary Rest (Sleeping Beauty) - Spoilers POV: Petal - Sleeping Beauty Summary: Petal makes a disturbing discovery in Sir's private study

Day 30- When they find out what we've done, they'll kill me.

Dead End (Bluebeard) - Spoilers POV: Ruben - Bluebeard's last wife Summary: Ruben calls Henry with new information

Day 31- I can't breathe.

Picture Perfect (Rapunzel + Hansel and Gretel) - Spoilers POV: Amalia - Gretel+Prince's wife Summary: Josh comes home from the Evergreen Heart Medical Center to tell Amalia what happened

Kudos/likes, comments, and feedback welcome!

#the new eden institution #whump writing #mangst2024 #masterlist #whumblr #fairy tale retelling #masterpost #whump community #whumpblr #creative writing #mangst 2024 #ao3 link #whump scenes #whump things #whump scenarios #whump stuff #whump scenario

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emira-addams · 10 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - Juliet and Juliet in Hell

Interlude: Ink-Stained Slumbers

Rosie sighed sorrowfully. Again and again, her restless gaze fled from the pages of her book and strayed across the lonely living room to the face of the grandfather clock. Its hands displayed an ungodly time well past midnight, while its heavy ticktocking reverberated unbearably through the darkness that reigned over the house.

The only other sound against the oppressive silence was the turning of the pages of the book, with only the characters from the story to keep Rosie company as she sat alone in the armchair in the living room, waiting for Carmilla to return home. Again, Carmilla hadn't been back home from work for dinner. This was the third time her dinner had gone cold in the fridge, Rosie kept count.

Rosie stifled an insistent yawn. Her patience was about to surrender to her desperate need for sleep.

A week ago, Odette had climbed through the living room window and for the past week, the Carmine house had been in a state of war. Every day for the past seven days, Clara had started setting her alarm clock two hours earlier so that she wouldn't accidentally get caught in the crossfire of the verbal battle between mother and daughter at breakfast. Even Zestial didn't want to voluntarily get caught in between the fronts and had canceled his and Carmilla's weekly tradition for leisurely tea parties. In the presence of Carmilla, Rosie avoided the word Velvette and any subject of the three Vees at all costs. For the last seven days now Odette was not allowed to leave the four walls of her room, except for food, and Carmilla spent long days at work, returning home late every time in the middle of the dark night and locking herself in her study with a pile of paperwork.

Rosie missed Carmilla's warmth under their shared sheets.

Her vision blurred again and again, Rosie blinked hard. Her eyelids threatened to fall shut as she desperately tried to refocus on the plot of her book, but the many words seemed empty to her fogged mind. Eventually the sentence structures disintegrated and the letters melted into a black mass, none of the original lines legible. The black splotches of ink slipped from the pages.

Exhausted from the effort of waiting, Rosie succumbed to her sleepiness. She closed her eyes a second too long and fell asleep sitting in the armchair.

The sound of the front door being opened with a squeak and falling shut with a thud startled Rosie out of her slumber. Drowsy, she heard Carmilla's quick footsteps in the hallway, the sharp clink of angelic steel on cold tiles bouncing back from the high walls. Before Rosie could fully regain her consciousness, she heard the opening and closing of the next door in the distance, the door to Carmilla's study.

"Oh, Milly..." Rosie sighed, her voice thick with sleep. She quickly placed a bookmark between the pages, closed her book and got up from the armchair. This time she would not allow Carmilla to bury herself and her feelings in tears and amidst thousands of towers of paperwork in the darkness of her study. Her beloved Carmilla had an awful habit of abusing her work as an escape in stressful situations, the fight with her daughter surely being one. Then she would spend all her waking hours working, the bleached pages her refuge until exhaustion will finally catch up with her. She would either fall asleep at her desk over her work or try to suppress the fatigue with copious amounts of caffeine until the next morning, when she would again leave the protective solitude of her study at dawn to disappear back to work, a vicious circle.

Rosie knocked gently on the hard wood of the door to Carmilla's study and waited.

No answer.

"Milly?" Rosie whispered worriedly, opening the door. "Oh, my poor Milly..." she gasped as she carefully entered the room. Her heart ached at the sight she found. With her head on her desk, Carmilla slept hunched over ink and paper. Her face was twisted into a grimace and she winced, nightmares evidently plaguing her sleep.

Rosie circled the maze of piles of paper. "Wake up, Milly..." she whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. "My love, are you awake?" Rosie asked softly as Carmilla stirred and raised her head in surprise.

"R-Rosie? Where am I?" Voice hoarse with confusion, Carmilla looked around. Stray and sweaty strands of her snow-white hair hung in her pale face. Groaning, she rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

"At home in your study... You fell asleep over your paperwork," Rosie mumbled. She brushed the irritating strands of hair from her face. Carmilla looked so exhausted, so broken. Her sheer sight made her heart ache.

"Oh..." Carmilla looked at Rosie in surprise, then suddenly stood up from her desk. Her balance wavered precariously. "I really need some coffee..." She massaged her aching head, her whole body trembling.

"You really need some sleep," Rosie objected. "When was the last time you slept in a real bed?" Rosie knew the answer from Carmilla's silence, her lover could barely stand up straight. "Let's get you into bed, okay?"

Carmilla mutely agreed. Rosie gently wrapped her arm around Carmilla's waist and supported her stance. Without any resistance, her lover allowed herself to be dragged into the bedroom by Rosie.

"Sit down," Rosie ordered sternly. Carmilla dutifully perched on the edge of the bed while Rosie fished a fresh pair of pyjamas out of their closet for her. She quickly helped Carmilla change before gently pushing her onto the mattress and covering her up. "Please stay put... I'll be right back," Rosie promised. "I'll quickly make us a cup of tea to calm the nerves..." She pressed a gentle kiss on Carmilla's forehead, then disappeared towards the kitchen, humming some unnamed song.

The smell of freshly brewed chamomile tea filled the bedroom as Rosie entered the room and placed a tray on the bedside table. She quickly slipped under the covers with Carmilla. The cannibal pulled her lover into her arms and handed her her cup of tea as they leaned together against the headboard.

"Thank you." Carmilla kissed Rosie on the cheek. She slowly sipped her hot tea. The warmth crept into her bones, draining the tension from her whole body as Rosie's soft hand crept under her clothes and traced their gentle circles on her back.

Carmilla blinked sleepily, eyeing Rosie up and down skeptically. "Tell me, are you wearing one of my pyjamas?" Carmilla wondered in her utterly weary state.

"Can you blame me?" Rosie shrugged her shoulders. "I've missed your warmth under the sheets all week, your embrace and your sweet scent. You've been too busy with your work to come into bed with me..."

Carmilla cleared her throat. Her ashamed gaze fled into her cup, trying in vain to drown itself in the chamomile tea, avoiding Rosie's. "I'm really sorry..." she whispered.

"I know, Milly..." Rosie cupped her cheeks and locked their eyes into a soft stare. "But there's nothing to apologize for. I'm here, with you, and we'll deal with everything else together when you feel better. All I want is for you to talk to me. Please talk to me, Milly, will you?"

"Yes…" Silent drops of tears crept down Carmilla's cheeks as Rosie's tender fingertips ran gently over her cheekbones and she wiped away her tears again and again. Her hand drew caressing circles over Carmilla's back. Up and down her spine and back and forth between her shoulder blades. "I love you so much," Carmilla murmured half-asleep as Rosie pulled her further into her arms.

"I love you too, Milly, but now you need to try to get some sleep," Rosie whispered as she took the empty cup from Carmilla and placed it back on the tray.

Carmilla stifled a yawn. Exhaustion causing her eyelids to flutter and the last sight before sleep overtook her and she succumbed to a sound slumber was Rosie's loving smile.

"Please," Carmilla begged. Her shallow voice nothing the less than a soft whisper. "Don't let me go."

Rosie shook her head. She brushed strands of Carmilla's snow-white hair from her face affectionately. "I'll stay awake and by your side until the end of the night. Now get some rest, my love."

Chapter 06:

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star-on-a-beach · 7 months ago

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✨️RANDOM FACTS ABOUT MY CHARACTERS & WORLD BC WELL IM BORED✨️

Reblog this with some interesting facts about YOUR characters/worlds, if you want! This is your chance to put out that one random thing you always wanted to mention abt your creations but it's so out there that you never get to.

During Ramiro's reign, any and all minors who arrived in the Kingdom (aka Dunite, Vaga, and Nova) were highly encouraged to continue basic educational studies under a 'mentor', or multiple. The twins' mentor was Odette, while Dunite studied under both Achilles and Icia. These studies consisted of economics, english, and math, while also letting the kids focus on whatever they wanted to study the most. Once Hexe took over, the studies quickly ended and it was, for the most part, up to the kids to learn- however, Vaga was the only one who attempted to keep up.

Going with what I said above, when Mirobelle arrived (12-13), she did want to try and keep up with education and still occasionally does. Out of all the 'Kingdom Kids', she's the most educated, all on her own terms. Nova is the least educated, as he never really cared to pay attention in classes- not for the core studies at least.

Starro's original least favorite food was nuts, and he had a nut allergy. However after a recent, awful experience at work, his least favorite food is anything blue raspberry, especially candies covered in sour powder.

Icia's body type can best be described as a sleeper build. And she has hip dips!

An original concept for Citrina is that her 'hair' was like a wig, and she'd take it off and set it aside to sleep.

Out of all my current characters in RP, Mirobelle is the youngest at 19. Achilles is the oldest, and I'm currently going for 45 being his age BUT it's not certain yet. It might be lowered to just 40.

Despite both being 20, the twins are both closer to 16-18 mentally.

Achilles and Dunite were closer than I've made them out to be.

Gaia's hair in real life is quite curly.

Viv and Tonio's mother's name is Mia after a 'Mamma Mia' joke in VC one night.

Ice anon's very first concept was a short haired, chubby, 'goth' kind of person. A 'big tiddy goth gf' kinda character.

If anyone, ANYONE remembers Ice anon's first days, she spoke with less of a formal tone and more of a 'cool' vibe, just a bit shyer. Lore-wise, that was Icia attempting to mimic Starro's way of speaking to try and break away from her old self.

Nova is actually the more feminine one out of the twins.

Samuel occasionally eats pieces of shark and fish straight from the sea, but not often. Dunite's the only one who has seen him do it.

Callista enjoyed collecting and selling shells as a kid.

Vaga's least favorite subject is math. It makes him drowsy. His favorite is history, specifically old pieces of text and historical records.

#oc facts #idk man im bored #character stuff

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izloveshorses · 1 year ago

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your anastasia art is incredible! i'm so curious, what are your favourite outfits from the show? (any production)

oooh great question!!

so the thing about me is i am a blue dress truther first and foremost, seeing christy walk out on stage on broadway literally took my breath away. pictures and videos don't do it justice. nothing could've prepared me for the way i'd feel watching it move and sparkle in person. she also has a lovely hair piece that i'd never seen before, and the train/cape was so shimmery and lovely and it all was just. stunning. and it's always such an honor to paint, i'll never get tired of it <3

and then for.,,,,, certain reasons,,,, this look is at the top as well:

as for anya's other looks, the pink dress she wears in phtk from hartford is also a favorite of mine. it's just so soft and it matches the cherry blossom trees <333 if the pink hartford dress has a million fans i am one of them, if the pink dress from hartford has one fan i am one of them, etc etc etc

and then honestly?? her act i blouse/skirt is such an iconic look too. a lot of act i costumes overall don't get much attention compared to the lovely and colorful act ii stuff, but damn. idk it's just what i always picture her wearing <3 and when i doodle anya it's anya in her little blouse <33

but i've also enjoyed the ballet dancers' costumes as well, specifically odette and siegfried. and the romanov family's costumes are gorgeous too. they're just really haunting, you know?? and then i read that linda cho designed the dresses at the top of the ballet scene to look like they're in a gustav klimt painting, so?? stunning inspired gorgeous never been seen before etc etc etc!!!!!

(sorry i know this is a long list and i keep going, i just love this show so much and god linda cho needed that tony i'm never gonna let that go) honorable mentions include the surprise pink dress she wore at the macy's thanksgiving parade?? bc hello?? and these two things constantine/the tsar track wears:

i could keep going bc, honestly, sitting and studying some of these costumes more closely makes me appreciate all of them more and more. everything is so intricate and serves the characters so well, and miss cho spared no expense when it came to detail. but i'll stop here :)

do you have any particular favorites??

#asks #snowrassa #anastasia broadway #thank you for asking!!!!#will always take any excuse to talk about this show and specifically this collection of masterpiece costumes <33 #and thank you for the compliment!!

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askfallenroyalty · 2 years ago

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Raine throughout the comic (sketches)

their character arc goes as follows:

Chapter 3 and onward. Raine, newly resurrected, wants revenge on Asgore for their (and the other kids) murders. They don't wish war against monsterkind, only for Asgore to receive punishment.

After coming to a compromise, Raine is now a Dreemurr by being adopted by Toriel. They wish to become the next Monster ruler after Asriel... but no one trusts them, nor believes in them. They wish to prove themselves.

Settling into their family, Raine is now certain that Asriel will help them with their goal. They study hard, confident that they'll succeed. They have a rocky relationship with Franky. Trouble is brewing.

Darkworld. Raine works with Ruler in order to live out their fantasy of being the one in charge. They're based on Odette, the swan lake princess. They must realize being a ruler is a lot harder than they expected, and that they'll need to fight the system itself to keep their integrity. (They also finally confront Franky over their underground baggage.)

Epilogue: They've got their plan and are finally fulfilled. Sure, they have squabbles with Asriel, and they're rapidly turning more and more into a monster, but hey! They got the life they've always dreamed of.

Now Ruler, Raine works to keep monsters safe and humanity satisfied enough not to cause international conflict. Things are difficult, but they're up for the challenge. They don't rule for a sense of control but rather to uplift those who aren't in power.

#doodles #raine #they're my favorite they have a simple storyline but it makes me happy #color ref #ref

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seramilla · 8 months ago

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So when Carmilla starts dating Sera the girls are against it at first and hostile to Sera entering their lives but Sera quickly wins over Odette because they are similar personality wise. (Traitor) Clara takes longer to win over but eventually after spending more time with her does get Clara to accept her as part of the family. Also Emily accepts her new Sister in law/maternal figure immediately no questions asked. (Carmilla makes Sera happy and gives Emily a mom what's not to love.)

The hostility lasts a few months. Their mother has never talked about Sera; never once brought her up in conversation, and suddenly, Carmilla's true love shows up on their doorstep with her sister, and they're just supposed to accept that??

Odette is the first to take Sera's olive branch. She's a genuinely good judge of character, and after seeing Sera struggle to warm up to her sister, she agrees when Sera offers to hang out for an afternoon. Odette finds that, just like her, Sera loves math, reading, musical theatre, and going to museums. She's quite knowledgeable about human history on Earth, which is one of Odette's guilty pleasure subjects to study. She warms up to Sera pretty quickly after that.

Clara is a tougher nut to crack. It takes her a good 6 months to warm up to Sera, and almost a year to say that she trusts her. It isn't until Sera starts taking on more responsibility at Carmine Industries, really showing she's dedicated to Carmilla's cause and wanting to contribute to her household, that she trusts her. One day, Sera offers to help Clara test some weapons that Odette had been working on. Sera casually mentions she had helped Odette with her design, offering some pointers, because as a Seraphim, she's an expert on knowing angelic weaknesses. Clara gives her mad respect after that.

Emily just loves everyone the moment she meets them. Carmilla is officially "Mama" after about 3 days of holding herself back from saying it, purely out of respect. Carmilla doesn't care, so it sticks from then on. Emily is also not shy about doling out the hugs and kisses, which Odette is very put off by in the beginning. Clara, less so. She also loves hugs.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #sera hazbin hotel #odette hazbin hotel #clara hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #seramilla #sera x carmilla #carmilla x sera #ask #anon #fan theories

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petit-etoile · 1 year ago

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i need you when i'm falling apart

pairing . ⊱ astarion x tav wordcount . ⊱ 3,489 part one . ⊱ here . content warnings . ⊱ mentions of canon compliant temporary character death, spoilers for act iii endgame other tags . ⊱ canon compliant, character study, introspection, p.orn with plot, pwp, vignette, re-establishing relationship, blood drinking, m.issionary position, tav is gender neutral archiveofourown . ⊱ here .

summary . ⊱ You have learned to be good. It's time Astarion learns to be forgiven.

During the heart of spring, Astarion spends more time trying to avoid you than he does trying to catch up with you. You’re not even sure why he agreed to travel alongside you — but you do not ask. You press your lips together and push on anyway.

His eyes are cold, and red.

The first night when you set up camp in an abandoned temple, Astarion moves his tent to the other side of the sanctuary as if he cannot bear to be around you. Like you smell. You’ve never cared much for the thoughts or opinions of others, but an inkling of self-doubt creeps back into the depths of your mind. What is the cost of being good if no one treats you kindly?

Every interaction you have with him is like pulling teeth. You want to fight for the tieflings, and Astarion wants to leave them behind. You want to help Wyll find his father, and Astarion snorts. Any good deed you suggest, he finds the need to punish.

When the cambion Raphael reaches and touches your cheek with a promise of opulence and salubrity, you're reminded of a night two hundred years ago. You stumble out of the House of Hope as fast as you can.

You don’t stop walking until daybreak. One night, you explode on Astarion. Your feelings bubble up like bile in your throat.

‘I tried to look for you!’ you snap at him. ‘You can sit here, and you can be bitter, but if I had known, I would have looked for you! But I didn’t know — I didn’t know and it isn’t a crime!’

Astarion’s look of surprise is one thing. He furrows his eyebrows as if properly scandalized, and his frustrated scowl turns to ash when you throw his old cravat at him. You had kept it tied around your neck for two hundred years. You wouldn’t keep it a day longer.

It’s a horrifying mistake to go wandering off in the Underdark by yourself with nothing but a hunting knife at your side, but you never really gave much thought to how you would cope with the gravity of the situation. The fact that you knew Cazador only made matters worse. You stumble past the ruins of the Selûnite Outpost in hopes of running away from your past.

You don’t run into your past in the dark, but you do run into a Spectator.

You’re immediately thrown into darkness and narrowly avoid being petrified, but you have no idea what you’re going to do about this situation besides hide beyond some poor stoned soul. You might should have considered thinking it through. You might should have thought anything through but you didn’t, and that’s the only crime you’ve committed in quite some time. It isn’t a crime is something you’ve begun to repeat to yourself often.

You manage to defend yourself for quite a while in the darkness, but by the end, you’re nursing a nasty wound and bite from the Spectator that will take some time to heal. You’re tucked under some petrified Drow bastard when you hear Karlac’s battle cry and see Gale’s ice spell come from the cliffs. The one that catches you off-guard, the one that will always catch you off-guard, is Astarion flipping through the air with nothing but an elven bow like a prince from your dreams.

Defeating the Spectator is easier with allies, and even the Drow protecting it goes down without much of a fight. You nurse your wounds as best you can, sitting against the cliffs with a bleeding thigh, and try not to frown when Astarion approaches.

‘Give me that,’ he says quietly, snatching one of Halsin’s potions from your fingers. ‘Even after all these years, it seems like you still need protecting.’

You frown and pick at your torn breeches. ‘I know how much you hate that, your honor.’

Astarion looks at you for the first time in several tendays, eyes rimmed with red. ‘I never hated it,’ he says. He dresses your wound like it pains him to see it. ‘I don’t hate it even now.’ Astarion crashes into you full force the night you arrive at the Last Light Inn after you’ve talked to Jaheira but before you’ve talked to anyone else. You’re in your room, and the next thing you know, you’re not alone.

Two hundred years of loneliness are erased at that moment.

His teeth clack painfully against yours as he shoves you into the wall, too uncaring or too pent up to care about the force. He cradles the back of your head to keep you from cracking it on the wall, but other than that, Astarion doesn’t care about hiding the full force of his strength. He kisses you until your mouth is swollen and then he’s tearing your night shirt open with both hands like he can’t get enough.

‘Astarion — ’ you try to say, startled.

But you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him too. You let Astarion push you around, until you’re both stripped of your clothes and he’s lying flat on his back on the hard wooden floor with you pulled into his lap, his cock pushed deep inside you, and his hands unable to stop wandering the planes of your body. Astarion all but sobs into your mouth as he fucks you. He holds your cheeks in his hands like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

When you’re both finished, no one moves from the wood floor despite there being a bed. You lie on your side next to him, memorizing the slope of his nose while you still shiver with little twinges of pleasure still racing up your spine and between your legs. Astarion’s eyes are closed. He’s pretending to sleep, or pretending to be dead so you don’t have to talk about what’s happened, but you’re curious anyway.

You reach across the distance and touch his chest. You know there’s no heartbeat beneath his ribs, but you like to pretend. You close your eyes and dream it has been nothing but two hundred years of happiness and bliss in Astarion’s home.

‘When I first saw you,’ you say quietly, ‘I thought you were a ghost come back to haunt me.’

‘Are you often haunted by ghosts?’ Astarion asks. He still doesn’t look.

‘I’ve been properly reformed while you were away,’ you tell him. You stare at his neck. ‘There was only one ghost I was running from.’

He smiles. ‘And now you’ve found him. What do you think about this haunting?’

‘I am happily haunted,’ you say honestly. He opens his eyes then and turns toward you, lips pressed into a firm line. ‘But you are not happily haunting.’

Astarion sits up then and you follow him, legs sticky and wet. You reach for his hands and pull them into your lap. You watch as he struggles to accept a kind touch. In a way, you understand that. You remember how kindly he treated you when you didn’t deserve it. You hold his hands even when he tries to run away.

‘I was ashamed for you to see me like this,’ Astarion explains. He looks away, hesitant. ‘My condition isn’t one that I’m proud of. It isn’t fair to say I was tricked, but — ’

‘Wanting to live doesn’t make you a bad person,’ you say.

‘Perhaps not,’ he says. ‘But I became what I often chastised you for. I am greedy. I am prone to lying and bouts of theatrics. I’ve killed. It was embarrassing to fall so low.’

‘And now you rescue orphans,’ you say, shrugging. ‘You helped the gnomes. You helped the tieflings. You’re going to help the gnomes and tieflings again. There’s still good in you, your honor, beneath all that vampiric avarice you despair over.’

Astarion laughs and turns away from you. He’s looking for his clothes, and your heart squeezes so tightly in your chest that you move before you can stop yourself. You drape yourself over Astarion’s back and pull his arms away from his smallclothes. You can tell by the musculature of his arms that you only succeed because he lets you.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again,’ you whisper against his shoulder. Your wet eyelashes tickle the nape of his neck. ‘I waited for you that night and… I don’t want to be alone anymore.’

Astarion stays that night.

He stays every night after that too. For what it’s worth, your third visit to Baldur’s Gate is hardly better than the first two.

Between fighting cultists, saving children, and trying to convince most of your party that they’re not going to become mindflayers, you’re beginning to run a little thin. You feel like you’re going to shrivel up and die. You feel like the world is spinning and falling apart. You’ve killed Gortash and you’ve killed Orin and you killed Ketheric ages ago, but now you’re trying to keep the Emperor from betraying you and sacrificing Orpheus, and Cazador’s invitation is sitting pretty in your hands, and —

Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Cazador’s invitation is in your hands, and you don’t have the heart to show Astarion. You’re afraid of showing Astarion. You know that as soon as you show him the invitation, he’ll lose his mind. You’ve only just recovered him and you’re already worried about losing him again.

You bury the invitation in the garden behind the inn like you’re a dog with a bone. You shovel the dirt with your hands until they’re cracked and raw and bleeding and the invitation is buried six feet in the ground. It should scare you that Cazador knows who you are, but it doesn’t. You aren’t stupid enough to run headfirst into his trap. And Astarion isn’t stupid either, but he’s scared, and being scared makes you do stupid things. Astarion almost does a very stupid thing like you predicted he would.

The Rite of Ascension was right there in his hands, and he had almost consumed it. You aren’t sure what changed his mind at the last minute but you’re thankful. Astarion crawls into your arms that night and sobs for hours. ‘What are we going to do about tomorrow?’ Astarion asks you softly.

He’s been tracing patterns into your spine all evening. If he moves his hands now, you’d still feel his fingertips against your skin. You’re hiding your face in your arms so you don’t have to think about it. You can’t stop thinking about it.

‘We’re going to fight the Absolute,’ you say.

‘Like it’s that simple?’

‘I am going to look another god in the face,’ you say, ‘and I am going to tell it to fuck off back to Avernus.’

‘Do Netherbrains come from Avernus?’

You don’t know. You’re too worried to think too hard about the simplest details. So far, you’re every plan has been to go in, stab whoever is the loudest, and then leave before things get worse. It’s hard to keep your head above the waves as they keep crashing down on you.

You don’t want to talk about tomorrow. If things don’t go well, you’re all going to die anyway and all that planning will have been for nothing. You turn on your side and appraise Astarion’s expression. He’s looking at you with muted disbelief. You choose to ignore it.

‘What are we going to do after tomorrow?’ you ask.

Astarion opens his mouth to chastise you for changing the subject, but he closes it almost immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about it either. It’s a scary thing to walk into the end of the world with a sword and a dagger. At least Dame Aylin will be there. You hope she can just stomp the Netherbrain to death and then it’ll all be over.

‘I could always go back to being a magistrate,’ Astarion says conversationally.

He picks at a thread coming loose on his blanket.

‘If you go back to that, I’ll go back to being a criminal,’ you muse. ‘We can have nasty sex on your desk again. You always did look damn good in a cassock.’

Astarion laughs. He laughs like the sunlight that peeks through the window on a sunny morning. He laughs like the moonlight that splays on the cobblestone of Baldur’s Gate long after everyone else has already gone to bed. It’s hideous — it’s melodic and intoxicating, and you reach across the distance and touch his cheek without thinking.

You slide your finger across to his nose. You press your finger against the wrinkle between his brow, and Astarion starts laughing again so you do too. You kiss him while he laughs, and then he holds you and you both laugh together. He will never be a judge again. Your connections with the Zhentarim will die out.

Astarion brushes his fingers against your hip bone. He rolls out of bed like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, and you miss him. Already without him, the bed is much colder. You dramatically crawl across to his side and press your nose into his pillowcase to smell the faint traces of whiskey that are left.

When he returns, he presents you with his old cravat which has been neatly restored almost to perfection. He had sewn it back together himself. You had worn it for two hundred years as a good luck charm against evil, and the wear and tear had nearly torn it to shreds. You’d never had the heart to try to tailor it yourself. Sewing wasn’t your strong suit, and you had never cried over Astarion’s death until the day you thought you had lost it.

Astarion neatly ties the cravat around your wrist like a promise. He kisses your skin and inhales as though in a dream, nose brushing against the fabric, like the touch of a ghost against your veins. Your throat tightens.

‘Wherever this takes us,’ Astarion says, eyes burning. ‘I want to be there with you in the end.’

You tuck inside your bed with Astarion that night and watch the moon disappear through the window. It’s barely daylight when you’re finally too exhausted to stay awake, and Astarion almost lets you both miss the final showdown. Lae’zel, however, doesn’t. ‘I don’t mind what we do,’ Astarion is saying, ‘once we get to the — ’

You watch with muted horror as Astarion’s skin begins to glimmer in the sunlight. The fire begins cracking under his skin, brimming against his cheekbones and nose and throat and hair much like Karlach when she overheats. You watch as the tips of his ears ignite, and then he’s searching for you frantically between all of your friends.

‘I have to go,’ he chokes out. ‘I have to — ’

There is a world where you let Astarion run alone, where you both get separated on the docks and never find one another again. He runs from the sun as he bursts with radiant energy and as stars pour from his skin, you forget what Wyll is saying, and you run after him.

Astarion finds sanctuary in melting shade beneath a set of boxes. He’s curled up into himself when you arrive, and you drop next to him, pulling your cloak over your heads. He looks up at you, bewildered.

But you have lived through losing Astarion once, and it has haunted you for two hundred years. You had known loneliness and fear and anger, and the thought of surviving it for even a day more makes your stomach roll. You press your forehead to Astarion’s and stand as tall as you can so the sun can’t touch him ever again.

‘Won’t your arms get tired?’ Astarion asks you faintly.

He watches you with a sense of wonder. His skin slowly returns to normal, no more flickering stardust and ash, and you grin. He slowly smiles too, nervous but you shake your head and keep your cloaked raised.

‘Never,’ you say. ‘Not when it’s you.’

‘My reform worked, then?’ he says.

‘I’ve learned about your stuck-up decorum,’ you say. ‘It’s true. I can confirm.’

‘A sense of propriety?’ Astarion asks, and if his voice goes any softer, you’ll melt too.

‘Let me carry the weight of your sins,’ you tell him sincerely, laughing a little. ‘And if we need to find another desk then we will. But I’ll be your knight in shining armor, your honor, and carry a parasol above your head as a proper chamberlain would.’

Astarion snorts. ‘That isn’t quite the job of a chamberlain.’

You hold the cloak up for two hours at least while Astarion recovers from the damage. You can’t help but notice that he looks happy and content even in the shadows. It must be because you’re there, although you’re hesitant to take credit for all his happiness. When you let down the cloak, the sun has set. When Astarion rises, he kisses your cheek sweetly. ‘The silence stretches on — I’m all alone,’ you muse, ‘Please, can I hold your hands, just for a while?’

Bernard’s arms wrap around you gently, and you wrap your arms around his steel ribs. You’ve taken up residence in the old Arcane Tower in the Underdark. You appreciate the permanent nighttime, and if you admitted you only did it because Astarion wanted to be close to his family, it wouldn’t be entirely true. With a bit of help from Gale, you’ve managed to turn the tower into a comfortable fortress. Sometimes Omeluum comes to visit you. Occasionally, there’s word from Shadowheart from the Selûnite Outpost. She’s hoping to restore it. She wants you to come visit.

‘Are you still playing with that dusty old thing, my love?’ Astarion hums from the doorway.

‘You be kind to Bernard,’ you warn him. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Astarion says, holding his hands up. ‘I’ll be kind to the scrap metal.’

You roll your eyes and step away, touching Bernard’s chest briefly. Astarion has just arrived back from a trip. There are spawn all over the Underdark now, and they treat Astarion as though he’s some sort of prince. They heed your word too, but none so much as his. Their eldest brother, their favorite. They tolerate you if it means getting to see Astarion.

You’re a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none now. You leave your handiwork for the day or night or whatever it is to go down to your bedroom and recline in bed. Astarion lights each candle one by one until the room is illuminated. You smile and watch as he works.

‘Having responsibility suits you well,’ you say, resting your cheek on your palm. ‘Although it’s funny how our positions have changed somewhat.’

‘I’m the contracted killer,’ Astarion says with a laugh. ‘Are you a magistrate now?’

‘I have at least four hundred years of life left,’ you snort. ‘I, Magistrate Judge Stick-Up-My-Ass, sentence thee to fifty years of community service!’

Astarion rolls his eyes at you dramatically and throws himself into bed, kicking off his boots as he does so. He smells of fresh oils and mist. You bury your nose in his hair. You practically burrow yourself into him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a mindflayer. You squeeze him tightly in your arms.

‘We have a sprawling manse and all you can think of to do all day is mock me for a position I have not occupied in two hundred years?’ Astarion pouts.

You kiss his hair. ‘What else should I do?’

‘Well,’ Astarion says, tone turning conspiratorial. ‘There are a certain amount of fuckable places here. Several desks, I’ve counted them all, and couches.’

You contemplate it, but after several tendays on the road and a wiggling visitor in your head, you think the bed is the best place. You pull Astarion up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck so he can’t leave you. You never want him to go again. You bump your nose against his and hide a smile in his coiffed hair when he melts against your chest.

You sigh prettily when Astarion takes you in your velvet sheets that you float as though in a dream. Your troubles are long over, and that person you thought you lost — your immortal soul — has returned to you as beautiful as the day you lost him. When you shudder, Astarion brushes hair out of your eyes adoringly and tastes your pulse at your jaw. You dig your fingers into the small of his back.

It’s like you’ve found a family. A very bitey, very competitive family. Still, you wouldn’t change any of it for the world. You hold Astarion’s face in your hands and see the man you knew and the man he’s become. Slowly, you pull his mouth towards your neck and feel your heartbeat jump in your chest.

He bites you for the first time that night.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #YOU GUYS CAN STOP MANIFESTING SNAKES IN MY HOUSE NOW #I LAID DOWN TO SLEEP & ALL I COULD DREAM ABOUT WAS CRAVATS #honestly patch 5 inspired a lot too #learning about astarion becoming A Dad to a bunch of vampire spawn really like........................... fired up the brain

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