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hairmetal666 · 1 year ago

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The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

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axiina · 1 year ago

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I saw your post about writing for Coriolanus Snow Andi was thinking classic enemies to lovers nsfw I’ll give you free liberty with everything else 💕

'I hate you' is new 'I love you'

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x capitol!reader (gender neutral afab)

Summary: When your professor tells you to come to an agreement with your enemy, and you take 'come' too literally.

Words: 3.2k

Themes: smut, nsfw

Warnings: using of 'you' to reader, set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, more like academic rivals to lovers but they want to fight at some point so I guess it counts, NSFW | public sex (or more semi-public), unprotected sex (wrap it before tap it), p in v sex, kinda toxic but it's enemies to lovers, more like enemies who fuck, Coryo is pretty rough and possessive, marking, making out, idiots in love but they prefer fighting with each other

Author's note: I found some free time between studying, so I decided that I can no longer delay. English is not my first language so i hope that i didn't do too much mistakes. It is possible that a single "she" or "her" will appear here because I changed the concept during writing and I do not know if I got rid of everything. Let me know whether to stay with the use of 'you' or maybe replace it with personal pronouns or 'y/n'. I hope it's not written very awkwardly and you will like it!!

Coriolanus Snow is a peculiar person. Most people love him. Nice, classy, handsome and rich from a wealthy family. What more could one want? However, one of Coriolanus' traits that everyone seems to turn a blind eye to is his two-facedness. Some say this is merely a symptom of his cunning and wits. He knows when and how to behave to make his counterpart happy. You are not one of those people. Saying that you and Coriolanus Snow don't like each other is a huge understatement. You guys hate each other. From the very beginning when you both met at the academy it was known that you would cause a lot of problems. Too much of a character difference, or perhaps too much of a similarity between the two. However, this is not what is crucial. Whatever it is, it makes you two most likely to kill each other if you could. Every move you make you do to screw each other up. To prove who is better.

Professor Satyria's pleas for you to finally come to an agreement are of little use. The conflict must go on, and neither of you has any intention of giving up.

You like the way things are working out. At first, Snow was annoying and you didn't understand how people couldn't see him for what he really was. Fake. Now he is still annoying, but getting under his skin has become a sort of routine. Quite a pleasant one.

"You have to get along with each other and set a good example as rightful citizens of the Capitol, otherwise the Academy will draw out the consequences."

Professor Satyria's words continue to ring in your ears as you get ready to go home after finishing classes and doing punishment work. On the one hand, you don't want something as silly as arguing to weigh on your future, but on the other hand, reaching out to agree is like admitting you were wrong. Failure.

"Wherever I am you must also appear. Are you obsessed with me?" Behind your back, you heard a familiar, annoyingly kind voice, in which you could sense some arrogance. You groaned turning around to see no one else but Coriolanus.

"Don't you have anything better to do? People are finally getting tired of your idiocy?" Your words, however, did not budge the blond. His expression remained unchanged. One that might make most people think he is a nice person. You, however, have known him long enough to see right through it. Perfect. Too perfect.

"We need to talk. A positive outcome for both sides. It will interest you." Well, the threat of Satyria. He is the first one to extend his hand for agreement. Where is the trick? You look at him suspiciously without saying a word, and so Snow takes it as a sign that you are thinking about the proposition. "Do you have free time? Maybe we could go out somewhere together?"

The suggestion makes you burst into laughter. "With you? No thanks, I'll pass on this pleasure."

Coriolanus is not surprised by your answer. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. Accepting rejection, however, is not his strong point. He is annoyed by your behaviour, but he bites his tongue to avoid responding in the same spiteful way. Instead, he doesn't give up.

"I know we were never on good terms, but I want this war between us to end. I hope we can put behind us all the bad things that happened between us and start fresh. What do you think about this?" he says, sounding quite sincere.

"Let me think." You say and sigh, pondering the answer, which is obvious, but you can't let go of a little malice. "No."

The expression on Snow's face became more serious. It seems that your refusal offended his pride. But he doesn't show it in his tone of voice.

"Why not?" he asks and you notice how he clenches his jaw and his gaze becomes unpleasant.

You enjoy the view and it fills you with satisfaction. "Because you think that with a pretty face and fake politeness, you can get anything. Maybe it works with others, but I'm not that stupid. Additionally, you are damn annoying. That's why."

The expression on Snow's face becomes dark. Typical when he fails to get what he wants. His usual tone is completely gone. His face is twisted with anger. He still tries to maintain a polite voice. The attempt fails.

"Do you want to repeat it?" he asks through his teeth. It's obvious that you've hit one of his sensitive points. That was the plan.

"Exhausting, isn't it? Hiding behind the mask of a nice and put-together boy from a highly placed family who is a veritable ideal is tiring, isn't it?" A mockery can be heard in your voice. Coriolanus is very sensitive to it.

"What do you think you know about me?" He asks through clenched teeth, his tone no longer artificially polite, it is filled with rage. Your mockery has really gotten to him. He tries to calm down, but it's all in vain. Coriolanus has never had problems with self-control, but something about you makes him ready to abandon everything. You manage to get him off balance with ease. In his head, he has one plan. To destroy you.

"Do you think you pretend so well?" You burst out laughing and shake your head. You know you shouldn't say such things. The academy is practically empty, and Coriolanus's angry enough can be unpredictable. However, you can't help but point out everything that annoys you about him. "It's actually quite easy to see what kind of person you are. You look at people with disgust, but when they look in your direction, you suddenly change dramatically. how fake you are to everyone. I wonder how they don't see it. How empty and shallow you are."

"You don't know anything about me!" Snow shouts at you, his face twisted with rage. He is barely able to control himself. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore. He stares at you with hatred in his eyes.

"Don't you dare assume that you know everything about me. You don't know me one bit. You don't know what my life is like. Don't think so highly of yourself. You aren't better than me." He continues, his voice getting louder with every word he says. You really hit his sensitive spot.

"I don't know everything and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. For me, the most important thing is acts, and in your case, they are fake and two-faced. You despise people, and you yourself are at the bottom." Irritation takes over. You know that at any moment you can say one word too many if you haven't already. However, someone has to talk it all out for him. Adrenaline makes you take a step closer to the upset boy without considering the possible consequences.

Snow seems to be on the verge of a breakdown. His fists are clenched and his eyes are wide open with rage. He is breathing hard, trying to control himself. He's not used to being treated this way by anyone. He has come this far over the years, solely because of himself and what role he has taken in society. You really succeeded in hurting his pride. "I warn you right now. Don't mock me any further."

"Why? What will you do? hit me? do it, I dare you. Then everyone will see how "perfect" you really are." You know the situation is starting to get dangerous. However, you come closer. It's stupid, you know it, and yet you do it. Maybe it's the way his reactions give you satisfaction, or maybe it's the way he looks at you.

You can see the hatred oozing from his eyes when they are locked on yours. His face is full of rage, his breathing heavy and his muscles tense.

He takes a step toward you with a clenched fist. You can see his knuckles turning white. He grabs you and presses you against the wall, his body against yours.

A second later, you feel him pressing you against the wall tighter than before, and his hand grips your throat.

You feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. Your heart is pounding as if it wants to jump out of your chest. You feel a strange sensation in your lower abdomen. His eyes are cold, yet they make a pleasant shiver run through your body. His face is right next to yours, flesh pressing against yours. It was a matter of split seconds as you two pressed your lips to each other in an aggressive and hungry kiss.

He returns the kiss, wrapping his free hand around you. He seems to enjoy the kiss as much as you do.

You can feel his body trembling as he still tries to keep control of his overwhelming emotions, or maybe it's because of the situation you're in.

The two of you kiss aggressively. Snow's body shakes as he fights between his desire and how much you get on his nerves. You feel how rough but passionate his kiss is.

He draws you closer and your bodies press against each other. The friction of your bodies makes you uncontrollable over the muffled whimpers you make. You feel the bulge forming in his pants rubbing against your body.

The situation seems hazy, and only fragments register in your mind. How you both enter the bathroom without stopping your hungry and clumsy kisses, and your hands work to get rid of clothes that only makes it difficult. How Coriolanus presses your body against the wall slamming his hips against yours.

All this is to express yourself and give vent to all the negative emotions you have been holding for years.

Snow's body is now almost completely controlled by his emotions. His movements seem full of hatred and at the same time passion. He just wants to express himself using his flesh to claim you as his own.

You feel as if you are on fire, your body moves and reacts according to your desires. The tension that has built up between you for years is finally released, and it all comes out as raw passion.

His fast and aggressive movements make the place where your bodies meet burn in a pleasant way, and you think to yourself that it will be a miracle if you walk normally tomorrow. His dick stretches you nicely and his movements make your inside sting slightly. It's not a problem for now. Not now when your legs are wrapped around his waist and the only sounds you can make right now are moaning and repeating his name like a mantra.

Your body trembles at how rough his movements are, but you don't care now. The most important thing for you now is to show him how much you hate him. A broken moan leaves your lips when he reaches deeper.

Coriolanus feels your legs tighten around him. He moves slower now but is more passionate and rough. He holds your hips tightly, not caring if it is uncomfortable for you. His lips move to your neck, where he bites as if he is trying to unload all the emotions you are causing you this way.

His hips buck firmly against you. Each thrust makes your body more tired and aching but at the same time, it makes the whole experience even more pleasurable. If someone told you that you would end up having sex with your biggest rival in the academy bathroom, you would laugh in that person's face. There you are, panting, with your arms around his neck when Coriolanus Snow is abusing your cunt sensitive from too much friction.

Coriolanus brings his lips closer to your ear. His warm and irregular breathing makes a shiver go through your body. "Do you like it when I claim you as mine?" He purrs, his voice still filled with desire.

"I hate you, I hate you so much," You exhale in a trembling voice that takes a lot of trouble to keep from cracking. You bite and suck at the smooth skin of his neck, leaving there dark marks. "I hate you, Coriolanus Snow."

"I hate you too," Snow says with a low growl as he continues to hold you. He bites your shoulder, leaving marks on your skin. His moans are muffled by your skin, which he touches constantly, as if afraid that at any moment you might escape and leave behind only a faint memory.

You hate him, but you enjoy him. You are pleased when he takes you as his own. You are excited when he uses your body. You feel his passion and desire through his body. You feel his raw passion and it's hard to hate him now.

"oh go to hell" You hiss and bite your lower lip to stop your moans, feeling him moving faster.

He doesn't care if he hurts you or not. All he cares about is that you belong to him right now. His hips slam against yours in an aggressive peace. The bathroom is filled with sinful noises because you don't even think about the fact that someone might come in and hear them.

"you may have already fallen in love, but with me, it's not so easy" A trembling laugh leaves your lips. You feel your head getting foggier and foggier. It's hard for you to put together a meaningful sentence, "but you're doing a good job" a loud moan leaves your mouth. you close your eyes and throw your head back "mmm my sweet toy."

He hears your moans of pleasure, and his eyes close with a smile. He has won and he knows it. Snow always lands on top. He presses you against the wall with his body even tighter. His movements become more sloppy and deeper as if he wants to bury himself inside you. His body trembles as his lips leave broken moans and whimpers.

Passion is so strong that you can almost forget about hatred. You can almost fall in love with Coriolanus Snow. Almost. But you know that what you feel now is only lust, and you know that it's all temporary.

Not him. Not the arrogant boy whose whole life is based on lies. Not that boy who doesn't care about anyone. Not that boy with a beautiful face and mesmerizing blue eyes. Not him.

You press closer to his body, almost clinging to him as a wave of pleasure sweeps over your body.

Coriolanus lets out a raspy throaty moan feeling your walls pulsate around him. His voice is low and shaky. He doesn't seem to notice anything except the way you cling to his body. He moves faster and harder, making sure he satisfies you completely.

Snow is fully immersed in feelings. He can't think clearly or rationally. He only knows that he has to claim you, that he has to satisfy his needs. He wants to feel you and make the most of the situation. All his thoughts and desires are focused on you. His hip movements speed up as he reaches the climax. He hides his face in your neck to muffle his moans. His body stiffs as he comes inside you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, while his wrapped around your waist. you cling to each other, still not making contact with the real world as your breathing slowly calms down.

What happened in that bathroom is over, they both return to reality. Snow steps back slightly and helps you stand on your own two feet. He looks at you with heavy eyes. All the emotions he had been hiding inside him had finally been released.

He has won and he knows it. He has succeeded. But what now? Was it really worth it? This is not a question for now. Coriolanus does not look far into that future with his thoughts.

You look at each other in silence. Slowly you begin to realize what you have done and now you look at each other awkwardly and somewhat panicked.

Coriolanus is the first to break the silence. His cheeks are flushed and his breathing is faster. The passion he felt a minute ago still lingers in his heart, something he tries to hide from you. He looks at you with a somewhat absent and uncertain gaze

"Do you think we should forget what just happened?" He tries to make his voice sound normal as if nothing had happened.

"Definitely." The words leave your lips before you have time to think. You stare at each other in silence for a few more moments and begin to quickly put on your clothes.

Snow is surprised at how quickly you agree with him. He needs to make sure this is the end of what just happened between the two of you, so he adds.

"If anyone asks, it never happened." He now looks at you with a somewhat panicked expression on his face.

"You don't have to tell me," you scoff, buttoning your shirt, "if you tell even one soul, I'll kill you, I swear."

Coriolanus looks at you with small amusement while fixing his jacket. "I hope you won't become obsessed with me after this."

"Maybe in your dreams," you say with a slight smile fixing the collar of his shirt. " you better be careful that you are the one who will be lost in memories of me." Before you leave the bathroom you stop in front of the mirror and fix your uniform and hair. Coriolanus smiles for a moment but then quickly clears his throat and tries to look cold.

You both come out of the bathroom, look at each other and part your lips, as if to say something to each other, but you look at each other in silence "Now everything is back to normal. We can still hate each other," you say, but this does not improve your mood at all.

"It never happened," Snow says trying to look you in the eyes, wondering if you're thinking about it too. He wonders if what he feels is real, or if it's just a moment of passion.

"Never" You agree by nodding your head. Your gaze goes down to his mouth. As you look into his eyes again without a moment's thought you move closer to him and press your lips to his in-hungry kiss. He kisses you back wrapping his arms around you to bring your body closer.

You parts away after some time and you both catch your breath for a moment after this passionate kiss. Coriolanus is completely consumed with passion and there is nothing in his mind but you.

You move away and nod to each other as if you have just made a deal and each is walking in your own direction in a much better mood.

Maybe that's not exactly what Professor Satyria meant when she said you two should come to an agreement, but it certainly worked.

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mayghosts · 6 months ago

Text

Little Gold Top: (4) Kate Martin x Reader

Summary: You and Kates twisted past. (Previous) (TOC)

Warnings: Underage and unhealthy drinking/drug use, references to sex/drunk hookups, toxic relationships (Kate and reader)

AN: buckle up y'all. I REALLY hope you guys get this its so late 😭

Halloween Sophmore Year

Messy. You and Kate have always been messy in your head. The two of you seemed to only exist together when the both of you were black out or high out of your minds. You couldn't exactly recall the number of times her hands had dropped below your shoulders and into your pants, or the ammount of times you had hungrily kissed her. Or the ammount of times you would wake up alone and find some article of her clothing forgotten on your floor.

This would mark one year since the first time you had woken up in her dorm. Maybe you were silly for remembering this. The thought lingered in the back of your head as you got ready. Maybe it was basic of you to go as a black cat, but your only goal tonight was to get drunk enough to forget your latest fling. Another masc, indie, art major with bleach blonde hair. You had ended it last night. You took another shot before drawing your whiskers on with eyeliner. "You need to slow down, you're gonna get drunk before you even get to the party." Gabbie looked at you disapprovingly. She truly was your other half, but right now you didn't want a voice of reason you wanted Kate you wanted to be drunk. You rolled your eyes at her as you walked out of the bathroom, pulling on your shoes.

"God finally you guys are ready, can we leave now?" Caitlin immediately shot out of her chair, walking towards the door in her cowboy boots. You could feel Kates eyes glued to your exposed thighs as she complemented you and Gabbie on your contrasting costumes. Just a reminder of how you knew this night was going to end. Jada walked up to you with a big smile on her face "well don't you look cute!" You giggled at her enthusiasum and her little mouse ears, everything is funny when you're a little drunk, "we need some hot pics tonight for my insta!" You guys had dressed up as a cat and mouse for the second year in a row. You grinned back at her, "Yesss of course!"

As the five of you made your way down the dorm halls and out towards the frats, you found your eyes drifting towards Kate. You continued this action throughout the night, constantly finding her dumb unicorn horn above the crowd. She fucked you in the back of her car that night. You think that was the last time it truly meant nothing. You were both hammered, neither of you really remebered anything from that night. Atleast you didn't. Just the fog on the windows and the pop song blasting through her crappy toyota corolla speakers.

New Years Sophmore Year

After Halloweekend, and multiple more blackout party weekends with Kate, you decided to go sober. No more blackout weekends, no more greening out in random basements, no more Kate. Emphasis on no more Kate. Over a year of useless hookups, it was time to move on. Find something serious. Maybe a brunette, short, fem with brown eyes and a vowl at the beginning of her name. No more blondes.

You repeated this like an oath in your head as you knocked on the apartement door. Kate and Caitlin had moved into an off campus apartement together over break. Their first "to do" was to host new years. Clad in a black mini skirt and a gold croptop you shivered in the hall. The door swung back, revealing the one and only Kate Martin. "Hey..." You stared up at her. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, the purple lights from inside the apartement cast an odd glow into the badly lit hallway. "You cold?..." She reached a hand out to graze over your arm, shamelessly staring at your boobs sequined shirt. The air felt thick, not in a sexual tension way. You felt like you could see the longing through her eyes, the need for something more. Maybe you were just projecting but suddenly in her eyes you saw children and a big old farmhouse with a pickett fence.

"So are you gonna let her in or are you just gonna let her freeze out there?" As Caitlin poked her head around the corner Kate snatched her hand back as if she had been burned. She stepped to the side, letting you shuffle into the warm apartement.

You remeber that night clear as day. You succeded with 2/3 of your goals. However, you made one critical mistake. You let Kate walk you back to your dorm. Alone. She wrapped her thick coat over your shoulders as you two walked silently. The random hookups had really put a twist on your relationship, but it gave you a weird sense of safety. You were fine with the silence, you were fine with her holding your hand, you were fine with her eyes constantly drifiting towards your shirt. You looked up at her "I think I owe you an apology." she glanced over at you, pressing her lips between her teeth before looking back at the ground. "What do you mean?" You were silent for a minute before looking up at the sky. "Well you know... this last year... I haven't really been a great friend." You stopped walking and stared expectantly at her face, admiring the slope of her nose and the deep blue in her eyes. She hesitated again, you could see something brewing behind her eyes as you felt your gut sink "Wanna make it up to me?" You stared up at her as she stepped closed, gently wrapping her arms around your waist as she pulled you in for a kiss.

You two took it up stairs, tripping over your dorm carpet as she pushed you back towards your bed. That night wasn't messy. Well i mean... You remebered every moment, her sweet hands, every "I love you" you murmered against her neck, all of it.

When you opened your eyes the next morning you expected to feel a warm Kate in bed with you. However, you woke up to an empty bed. You could feel your heart crack as it hit you that you would never truly have Kate. At least not how you wanted.

After this, you decided to limit your interactions. This quicky backfired. You would go to the bars with your friends and watch from afar as Kate would have a few and take some random girl home. You were always convinced they looked a little like you, maybe you were just desperate for a sign. They deffinately looked like you. During practice Kate would overcompensate to try and distract from your terrible attitude towards her. You would refuse to pass the ball to her or even look at her, and she would just laugh it off, until she couldn't find it funny anymore. After a while, the team just came around to the idea that you and Kate just weren't friends anymore. You both played pretty terribly. The season ended pretty quickly after that, and you didn't see her until next fall.

Junior Year First Team Dinner

The deja vu as she walked you back to your apartement was intense. The silence wasn't comforting, instead it seemed to loom over the two if you. She didn't hold your hand or wrap her jacket around your shoulders. She didn't even look at you as she spoke, "For the well being of the team..." She looked up towards your apartement door, "I think its best we start fresh." Kate stopped walking and turned to face you, face blank. Internally, you wanted to rip her head off. Yell at her and blame her for the fact that you two got this bad. You knew it wasn't solely her fault, but for your mental well being it was 100% her fault. You reached the front door of your apartement and she stared at you expectantly. You didn't bother meeting her eyes as you spat back "Whatever you want Kate, just leave me alone." You walked into the lobby, leaving her outside in the cold.

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misshoneyimhome · 6 months ago

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500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“So you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" I Andrei Svechnikov

Summary; Andrei is keen on asking you out, but considering the typical traits of famous hockey players, you've made a mental note never to be swept off your feet by any of them.

Tropes & warnings; No warnings; reader's working for the Carolina Hurricanes; sort of friends-to-lovers; just fluff really

Other notes; Alrighty babes, so next up for the 500 followers celebration we've got none other than #37 Andrei S. 💓 Truth be told, I wanted to do something like an enemies-to-lovers thing, but I just couldn't with this sweetheart 😉 Still, I hope you like it

Word count; 1.9K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny@justwanderingbutneverlost @cixrosie

➼｡ﾟ

Another night. Another home game. Another round of work.

You had been working with the Carolina Hurricanes for a few years, and even though you were just an assistant helping with game preparations and clean-up, you felt like nothing less than a part of the hockey family. The players were always friendly, treating you like one of their own, and you simply enjoyed the camaraderie, the playful teasing, and the way they appreciated your hard work.

Some players had even grown closer to you than others, and one in particular stood out: Andrei Svechnikov. It wasn't just his skills on the ice but also how he seemed genuinely interested in you.

From the moment Andrei had seen your sweet smile, he’d been captivated. He admired how you handled your tasks with efficiency and grace, always ready with a kind word or a quick joke. And over time, his crush only grew stronger, yet he didn’t know how to make a move. So he just watched you from the corner of his eye, noticing all the little things: the way you bit your lip when you were focused, the way you laughed with your whole body, and the way your eyes sparkled when you were amused. All these small details only intensified his feelings.

And while not entirely knowing how to handle his own feelings, he, like many young guys on the team, resorted to occasional flirting, trying to get your attention without coming on too strong. He’d make sure to catch your eye during practice, offering a wink or a smile, and he’d find excuses to talk to you, asking for your help with something trivial just to hear your voice. Sometimes, he’d even leave small gifts in your work area – a protein bar, a coffee, a note with a silly drawing – always signed with a simple "A."

You, however, weren’t easily impressed. You knew the reputation hockey players had and had no intention of becoming another story in their dating history. You’d heard the tales of their exploits and the endless parade of girls vying for their attention, and you simply didn’t need to be another notch on anyone’s bedpost, least of all a professional athlete’s. Besides, you liked your job and didn’t want to complicate things with a messy romance.

Yet, despite your resolve, there was something about Andrei that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed genuinely kind and respectful, never pushing boundaries. Or perhaps it was how he listened when you talked, giving you his full attention as if you were the only person in the room. There were even moments when you caught yourself watching him, appreciating the way he moved, the determination in his eyes, the easy grace with which he handled himself both on and off the ice.

But sill, you kept your guard up, distancing yourself with playful banter and cheeky remarks. Whenever he tried to flirt, you’d respond with a teasing comment, deflecting his advances with a laugh, as it was just easier that way, safer. You didn’t want to risk getting hurt, and you certainly didn’t want to become just another girl on his life.

Andrei, on the other hand, was determined to show you he wasn’t like the rest. He was so much more, and his feelings for you meant something to him. He respected your boundaries, never pushing too hard, and always making sure you were comfortable. His patience was unwavering, and his interest in you was steadfast, so he wanted to prove that he was different and that he cared for you in a way that went beyond superficial attraction.

And the challenge only made him more determined, as he found himself thinking about you more and more. How could he show you that he was serious, that he was genuinely interested in who you were, not just what you looked like? It was a question that kept him up at night, but one he was determined to answer. So, he continued his quiet pursuit, hoping that one day, you’d see him for who he truly was.

However, your defence mechanism didn’t make it easier for him. Your playful banter and cheeky remarks were a strategy that allowed you to maintain a comfortable distance. So when Andrei commented your work, it only made it more difficult for him to get past your walls. Every time he approached you with a compliment, you’d respond with a teasing, “Careful, Svechnikov, flattery may help with ladies out there, but in here, it will get you nowhere.” Even if he simply asked about your day, you’d throw in a cheeky, “Why, planning to steal my job?”

It wasn’t easy for Andrei to make a proper move on you, but as time went on, he kept his hopes high. He even practised a few English phrases that might help when the day finally came for him to ask you out.

And fortunately, that day wasn’t too far away.

One evening, as you were packing up equipment after a game, Andrei lingered nearby, as he’d often done before. The locker room was mostly empty, with the other players having already left or showered, and that’s when he gathered the courage to approach you, his usual confidence mingling with a hint of nervousness.

"Hey, need any help with that?" he offered, his accent colouring his words charmingly.

You looked up, slightly surprised that he hadn’t left like everyone else. "Oh, Andrei, you don’t have to do that. I’m almost done anyway." You flashed him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but smile in return, leaning against the doorway. "I don’t mind. Besides, I wanted to talk to you."

And that made you raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "Oh? What about?"

Andrei hesitated for a moment before gently stepping closer to you, leaving only about a metre and a half between you. "I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Just us. Maybe dinner?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly. "Why?"

It wasn’t an immediate no, he thought to himself, though he felt a slight disappointment when you questioned his intentions.

"So we could spend some time alone together," he emphasised, trying to flash a confident smirk, hiding any hints of nervousness.

However, that only made you think one thing.

"What... is this a bet or something? You ask me out on a date, and you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" You grinned slightly, convinced that the other boys had set him up to it or something.

Andrei's face immediately turned bright red, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. "No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I just... I really like you y/n, and I want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players. I promise."

You studied his face for a moment, trying to see any hints of falseness or sincerity in his eyes. And so, for a moment, you let your guard down, sensing he might actually be different. "Hmm… Alright, Andrei. One dinner. But if you try anything, you’ll be back to carrying your own gear. Got it?"

He couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over him. "Got it. I’ll be on my best behaviour."

And as you finished packing up, Andrei helped, and the two of you exchanged playful banter. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth giving a chance.

---

The next day, you found yourself thinking about the upcoming dinner more than you’d like to admit. You replayed the conversation in your mind: the way his eyes lit up when you agreed, the genuine relief in his smile. And it was enough to make you wonder if perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

And when the evening finally arrived, Andrei gallantly picked you up, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him.

“Wow, you look… krasivaya…” he muttered under his breath as his English failed him.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you felt your cheeks blush slightly at his compliment. “You look quite good yourself.”

Standing there in the outfit you’d chosen for the night, it seemed that everything was suddenly changing, feeling more soft and romantic compared to the friendly banter you’d been playing at for months, if not years. Similarly, Andrei had chosen to dress up, trading his usual team gear for a smart, casual outfit that suited him well.

And aware of your fondness for casual dinners, the restaurant he had chosen was a cosy Italian place, far from the glitzy spots the players usually frequented. It was intimate, with soft lighting and a warm atmosphere that quickly put you both at ease.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected. The conversation flowed easily, and you discovered sides of Andrei you hadn’t seen before. And as the night went on, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you had been too quick to judge. Andrei was different from the image you had of a typical hockey player, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope that this could actually be the start of something special.

Throughout dinner, he was nothing but attentive, asking questions and genuinely listening to your answers. He shared stories from his childhood in Russia, his journey to the NHL, and the challenges he faced along the way. In turn, you found yourself opening up more than you expected, sharing your own dreams and fears.

So when the evening slowly drew to a close, Andrei naturally walked you back to your place. And as often happens in situations like this, there was a moment of hesitation at your door, both of you lingering, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. Your eyes were locked on his, a new form of intimacy connecting you both as you��d enjoyed the evening more than you’d expected, just the two of you and away from hockey.

“So did I,” Andrei replied, his eyes softening as he looked at you. He couldn’t help but feel the intensity of the pull he felt towards you, yet he also reminded himself to be patient and, as he’d promised, be on his best behaviour. So, he restrained himself, settling to only imagine what it’d feel like having your lips against his. Instead, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I meant what I said, you know. I like you and want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players—at least, I try not to be.”

You couldn’t suppress a timid smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’m starting to believe that.”

It was the truth. The evening with Andrei had been nothing short of amazing, and the more you got to know him, the more you started to trust his intentions. And just like that, as if drawn by a magnetic pull, you slowly and very gently leaned in towards him, closing the small gap between you as you let your lips delicately touch his.

It was brief, almost innocent, as you shared this sweet, intimate moment. And as you then slowly pulled back, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, mentally hoping that next time, he wouldn’t be on his best behaviour.

#500 followers festival #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov x reader #carolina hurricanes imagine #nhl hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction

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pretty-sparkle-bomb · 4 months ago

Note

heyy I saw u we’re accepting requests and ur blog looks so cute!!

was wondering if u could do a one-shot of either pro hero bkg or izuku saving u from a villain holding u hostage to get to get revenge on either of them?

tysm xxx

My blog... is cute? My blog... is cute! SOMEONE THINKS MY BLOG IS CUTE! RAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FINALLY

*Coughs* Thank youuu <3!

My my, I see we're playing the role of damsel in distress. This will be fun~

"Let me go!" you screamed, thrashing against the chair you were tied to.

"Shut up, you little-!" the female sneered, about to slash her knife across your face when a bulky guy stepped in. He whispered something in her ear, and her face twisted into a nasty grin.

"Wonderful!" she smiled, putting the knife back in the holder strapped to her thigh. "Your wonderful boyfriend is here." She cackled, walking up to the door. "Let's give him a little surprise, shall we?"

Your eyes widened, tears brimming. "Please... don't hurt him," you whispered, head hanging low.

"Oh, I won't hurt him, silly! Not physically at least! I want to see his reaction when the blood seeps from your veins and he’s forced to watch, knowing there’s nothing he can do to save you." She laughed, exiting the room.

The redhead grabbed your phone and sent Katsuki a picture of you, terrified and tied up with a red handprint on your face. Katsuki’s blood boiled when he saw it.

His hands trembled with rage, his mind racing. No time to waste. He launched himself into action, explosions propelling him through the air.

You sat tied to the chair, heart pounding as the female villain re-entered, dragging a chair to the middle of the room and casually sitting in it. She toyed with her knife, tracing patterns on the floor.

A loud explosion rocked the building. Smoke and debris filled the air as Katsuki landed with a thunderous crash. His carmine eyes blazed with fury, locking onto the female villain. "Get away from her!"

She cackled, rushing behind you, yanking your hair back and pressing the sharp blade to your neck. "One wrong move and she dies," she hissed, her eyes turning to slits.

Katsuki froze, explosions dying down. "What do you want?" he spat, nostrils flaring.

"A long, long time ago," she started, pressing the blade deeper, making you wince. Katsuki could see you were hurting, your eyes screwed shut, fingernails digging into your palms. His mind raced, searching for a solution.

"I was a happy teenage girl with a normal life, living with my boyfriend," she continued, eyes flashing black. "He was the most wonderful person out there. The only one who understood me... the only one who cared about me." She sighed.

"I remember you," Katsuki growled, his eyes zeroing in on the tattoo on her neck, the mark of the Vipers.

"So you remember how you hurt him? How you killed him?" she seethed, pressing the blade harder, drawing blood. Tears streamed down your face.

"He was selling kids, for fuck's sake!" Katsuki snarled, trying to buy time. Where the hell was Shitty Hair when you needed him?

"They would end up dying anyways! At least we put them into homes!" she roared back, black lightning surrounding her. It almost made him flinch, almost.

The female villain's grip tightened on your hair as she stared daggers at Katsuki. "He did what he had for us to survive," she spat, eyes filled with hatred.

"He was a scumbag," Katsuki retorted, his mind still working furiously for a way out of this. "And you're no better."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "You'll pay for what you did," she hissed, dragging the blade a bit deeper. You let out a whimper, and Katsuki's heart clenched.

"Don't you dare touch her," Katsuki growled, taking a cautious step forward. His hands sparked, small explosions crackling at his palms, ready to strike.

"Stay back!" she screeched, pressing the blade deeper until a thin line of blood trickled down your neck. "One more step and I'll slice her throat."

Katsuki stopped, fists clenching at his sides. "Alright, alright," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Just... tell me what you want. We can talk about this."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Talk? You think talking will bring him back? You think talking will make up for all the pain you caused?"

Katsuki's jaw tightened. "Nothing will bring him back. But killing her won't change anything either."

The woman scoffed. "Say goodbye, Dynamite."

It was then that Kirishima burst into the room, his Red Riot form activated. "Bakugo!"

The distraction was all Katsuki needed. He lunged forward, a powerful explosion propelling him across the room. The force knocked the knife from the villain's hand and sent her sprawling.

He held onto your sobbing form tightly. "You okay?" he asked, hands rubbing circles into your hips.

"I'm fine. Just hurts a bit." you whisper. He snarled, about to give the villain a piece of his mind.

Fortunately for her, Kirishima had already rendered her unconscious and slapped quirk-cancelling cuffs on her.

"I got her Bakubro. Paramedics are outside. Take care of your girl." he nodded to the blond and Katsuki nodded back to him in thanks.

"I'm so sorry Kats." you whispered into his chest as he planted a kiss ontop of your head. "Sorry? Whatchu gotta be sorry for?" he grumbled, tilting your head up to look at him.

You looked up at him and smiled, giving him a peck on the lips. "Not knowing what to do."

He rolled his eyes. "That's why ya got me, dollface." Looking down at you made him feel like the happiest man alive.

"So... how 'bout another kiss?"

"My neck is bleeding."

"FUCK, RIGHT!"

Hope you liked this one, anon!

#x reader #boku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #female yn #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #mha #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou fluff #mha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha

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turtle--soup · 6 months ago

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Okay.

I have not seen ROTTMNT yet, but I've picked up some stuff from just floating around the fandom. Something I've learned, which is discussed in this post here, is that Rise Leo is generally considered - and considers himself the 'Face Man' of the team. (GIFs below are swiped from the linked post by @risestarkiss - I couldn't find them in tumblr's gif search function...)

Anyway. This is interesting to me because I am, for my sins, also a fan of The A-Team.

(I promise this is going somewhere! If you want to find out where I'm going with this, I'll put the rest of the post under a cut because it got a little long...)

For those of you unfamiliar with The A-Team, it's a (very silly) 80s TV series about a group of Vietnam War veterans who are on the run from the government after being convicted of a crime they didn't commit. The four of them spend their lives in hiding, making a living by using their combat skills to help people in need.

Here they are:

Left: Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith, leader of the team, brains of the outfit and most likely to have become an evil mastermind in an alternate timeline.

Right: Sergeant B.A. Baracus. Nicknamed 'Bad Attitude' due to his lack of patience for bullshit, B.A. is the resident tough guy but also an absolute teddy bear of a man, and is always ready to help people, especially children and the elderly.

Left: Captain H.M. 'Howling Mad' Murdock is the team's pilot and can fly just about anything. As his nickname suggests, he's considered a bit eccentric and is a silly kind of guy. (He's also a permanent resident of a psychiatric hospital but let's not get into that right now.)

Right: Lieutenant Templeton Peck. His role in the team is to provide them with whatever they need, whether that be vehicles, weapons, tools or access to places. He usually achieves this using his charm and wit, gaining him the nickname 'Face Man.'

Okay, so bearing these descriptions in mind, look at Leo's dialogue in this GIF:

I'm assuming that Donnie is the brainy guy, Raph is the smashy guy, and Mikey is the 'eats peanut butter with his fingers guy'. And Leo is the Face Man. That's his role.

But these descriptions fit the members of The A-Team too. Hannibal is the brainy guy, B.A. is the smashy guy, Murdock is the guy who absolutely eats peanut butter with his fingers (while maintaining unbroken eye contact throughout). And then there's Face.

How is this in any way relevant?

Well.

It just so happens that someone else is a fan of The A-Team...

Of course the Mirage turtles watched The A-Team! It was a popular show in the mid-80s, and you have to admit - they do have a lot in common, being four guys fighting injustice from the shadows and all... The A-Team even have a friend on the outside who helps them out - Amy Allen.

She's a reporter. Like someone else we know...

But which of the Mirage turtles in the image above is suggesting they should watch The A-Team?

According to this bio card from 1990 that coincides with the 1987 series...

... it might be Leo!

Was this intentional on the part of the Rise writers? I don't know!

Is it relevant? Probably not!

Does this tentative link between these two silly 80s series make me ridiculously happy? Yes!

Was this entire post just leading up to this? Yeah... sorry...

I like to think that the link is intentional. I've heard that Rise makes reference to other iterations of TMNT, as they all do. I would just personally love it if someone on the team wanted to draw parallels between these two series on purpose!

Anyway.

I just noticed that and really needed to get it off my chest! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this longer-than-intended post right to the end! 💙💜❤🧡

#tmnt #rottmnt #the a-team #tmnt mirage #tmnt 1987 #leonardo tmnt #honestly both of these series have been hyperfixations of mine at one point so being able to link them like this just makes me happy haha #hopefully someone thinks this is at least a tiny bit interesting... 😅#hex.txt #hex talks turtles

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starlightazriel · 4 months ago

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necessities 2

series desc: modern day (fem)reader x classic prythian azriel au, series of short chapters, fluffy, smutty, cute, probably some angst and or drama cus it's me

warnings: 18+, again guys this is silly hehe, reader is a lil airheaded, prescription drugs mentioned, swearing, reader is an influencer HAHA, i'm high, az has a dirty mind freaky boii,

wc: 1.7k

other parts will be found on my masterlist under azriel

two

"You ready?" Azriel quirks a brow, looking down at you, you swallow hard, it didn't matter how big his arms were, basically the size of your fucking leg, how strong his body felt against yours. You were shaking with fear, shaking. The thought of flying through the air, not in first class with your fuzzy pink sleeping mask, a valium, and your security squishmallow- was not sitting right with you. Not at all.

"No," you squeak, your chest feeling tight. Heights- were one thing that you never did. Your friends hadn't even been able to pay you to get on Kingda Ka at Six Flags last year. "I don't even do rollercoasters- This-" you gulped, unable to even find the words.

"Roller what?" Azriel asks, his brows drawing together again, talking to you was definitely exhausting. He only seemed to understand about half of what you said. He would have to start writing these things down.

"Where I'm from people pay to get strapped into a death machine and basically dropped from the sky, I personally think it's like adrenaline junky behavior," you say, peering up at him, he raised his eyebrows as he looked back down at you, his eyes hazy with contemplation.

"Interesting," Azriel replies, this seemed to be the easiest thing to say, it was interesting after all, even if he didnt understand much of it. Your world sounded absolutely bizarre to him. It was hard to comprehend many of the things you said, but he thought he could listen for hours just to hear your ebullient voice, he supposed you were fairing rather well considering the fact that you had fell through some kind of blip in the magical web of infinite worlds— and may very well never see any of your friends and family ever again.

He had also noticed that your clothes were ridiculously useless and thin, he didn't understand what purpose they even served besides merely hiding the color of your nipples. He could see the curve of your body right through them, he was trying to be good, trying not to let his fingertips accidentally brush against the side of your breast while adjusting his hold on you. It's ill mannered to imagine how your cock would split a tiny little human woman in two the first day you meet her, he reminded himself. He knew he shouldn't stare either, so he tried to keep his eyes to anything but you, it proved to be rather challenging.

He thought you might be the most fascinating thing he'd encountered in all of his five hundred years of life.

"Well we do have to go at some point, what was that second name? Bubbles?" He smirked, he liked that. First, it was a word that he knew and understood, finally. Second, it suited you, despite having met you only hours ago... Undoubtedly a Bubbles.

"It's my at for all of my socials and it kind of just became my nickname," you respond and you can't help but smile back at that amused smirk he wore, it was definitely contagious, as small as it was.

"You may as well be speaking another language, but I don't mind, because you look positively scrumptious doing it," he paused before adjusting his stance, his grip tightening slightly on you, the heat from his fingertips against the thin fabric of your tank top and leggings was melting you from the inside out. He was carrying you bridal style, but it was almost more like a cradle considering how small you were compared to him. You were blushing at his comment, you couldn't help it, the sexual gravelly lull of his voice definitely had to be some kind of bat-man siren song.

Your heart beat quickened as he took a step forward, the realization that his tightening hands meant you were about to be transported through the clouds by a man with fucking wings. "Wait!" you yelp, peering up at him with a panicked look on your face. Azriel raised his eyebrows, freezing in place.

"Yes?" He asks, drawing out the word with a teasing inflection in his voice. His eyes were patient but he wore an amused smirk, his attention now solely fixated on your plump parted lips. I wonder how much of my cock I can fit in that pretty little mou—

"There's no pre-flight safety lecture?" You never thought you would miss the condescendence of flight attendants so much. You would have given anything for an espresso martini and a blanket and maybe one of those bags of miniature pretzels, your stomach growled at the thought.

"Hold on?" Azriel tries, that same amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. You let out a less than satisfied noise and he chuckles quietly. "I don't take many new passengers," he admits sheepishly. He didnt mind all the stalling so much, it meant he got to relish in your scent for a little longer, usually humans didnt smell this good.

"Wow you are really making me feel sooo much better, thank you for that," you utter sarcastically, your hand tightly gripping his chest, you could feel the steady beat of his heart under the leather of his, bondage suit? You didnt know. Azriel chuckles again and you fight the urge to shiver at the rumble that traveled through his chest with his laugh.

"The more we sit here and talk about it, the more afraid you'll be," and there is no warning, there is no hey im about to shoot hundreds of feet in the air. There is only wind, and your hair everywhere, and clinging onto Azriel for dear life— and shrieking like you had that time there was an unnaturally large spider that had moved into your walk in closet back home.

"Not fucking cool Azriel," you shout, your voice high over the whipping wind, your eyes are tightly squinted and youre almost glad you can't see his annoyingly amused smirk. "A one, two, three would be nice— and I'd like you to know right now that there isn't going to be a next time," your skin is covered in goosebumps and you were sure if it wasnt for the searing heat of his body you would have been shaking.

"I do love a challenge Bubbles," he dips his head down, and you can feel his nose brush against your scalp, your toes curl involuntarily at the sound of his voice. Raspy and seductive. You squeeze your eyes shut, hell would freeze over before you opened them.

"Never. The. Fuck. Again." You say, and it's a promise, you want to sock him over the head when he only laughs in response. "Im glad youre getting a real good laugh about this," you don't dare to open your eyes, even though that smile was the most dazzling you had ever seen. The only positive side to your current situation was how delicious he smelled.

"Youre fine."

"I think I might pass away."

You don't know how long it's been when you finally land back on the ground, and you hadn't opened your eyes once. No matter how many times Azriel had tried to get you to. "Open your eyes," he instructs, finally setting you down gently onto your feet.

Your eyes flutter open and you take in the sight of the room the two of you were now in. Your lips part slightly at the size of the bed, it was four poster super vintage looking, and the largest bed you had ever seen. There wasnt much beside the bed in the room, large windows, long curtains that hung almost from floor to ceiling and a large glass door that lead to the balcony. A single table on one side with an array of weapons, none of them guns you noticed. And a very tall wardrobe on the other side of the room. Despite the quality of the furniture it was horribly monochromatic.

"Im going to have to hide you here— For now," he looked down at you, waiting for you to say something, you didnt know what you were supposed to say to that. Hiding implied that whatever was outside was dangerous. "I know its not much, my living situation recently became a little more complicated— sometimes its nice to have a place to go that nobody knows about," he explains, his eyes still fixated on you. He didnt feel good about leaving you here all alone, but it was probably the safest place— and he didnt know how Rhys was going to react about a human girl from another world.

No one else had been to Azriels new apartment, he thought it rather ironic that a human girl was the first to see. With Cassian and Nesta fresh off of the bond- and Rhys and Feyre's hands more than full with Nyx... Azriel had just known it was time for a private place of his own. And it was proving to be quite useful now, perhaps a secret little copulation den for the erotic torture of a human girl— no not torture exactly, she would like it, she would be begging—

Your voice interrupted his insolent thoughts. "It's giving serial killer. Like a pop of color maybe? A Himalayan salt lamp? A few throw pillows definitely never hurt anyone," you say before turning around finally to meet his gaze, your heart almost stops, no pookie, youre not hallucinating, his eyes did just get three shades darker.

"Right, well I guess you'll have to help me " he responds before clearing his throat, and you could tell he hadnt really understood. His expression was completely indifferent, but his eyes, a shiver ran up your spine. "Make yourself at home, I'll be back and when I am I'll have food. There's a bathing room down the hall, and you can help yourself to whatever you can find to wear in there- though I'm sure it won't fit," he gestures to the wardrobe, "and I usually sleep nude so you may not find much at all," he adds, one more ghost of a smirk, before leaping off of the balcony and shooting into the sky.

You can't help but watch as he flies away, his enormous wings looking like some crazy CGI shit. You shuddered, remembering that moments ago you had been up there with him. When youre sure hes gone and you know youre alone, you cry. Ugly cry.

a/n: i would literally cut out my kidney with a bread knife and hand it over on a silver platter to be reader hahaha I think I got everyone on the tag list tell me if I missed ya im going to get drunk now

taglist<3: @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @smalljasper289 @cherryinsalemverse @cleverzonkwombatsludge @serxndipity-ipity-blog @blessthepizzaman

#acotar #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #acotar smut #azriel smut #acotar fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel fan fiction #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfic

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allfortheslay25 · 9 months ago

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I don’t think I have the energy to draw rn so here’s one of my wips☝️ (only one cuz I like surprises) (also don’t want to make promises I possibly can’t keep)

This is a wip for the actor au but the version with Milo :)

In the Milo actor AU, Milo is Neil’s little brother. Milo is also seven (so three years older than his character) because his character has a higher intelligence, is supposed to be tall for his age, and it makes action scenes better

Nathan is not their dad! He is an actor who looks a bit like Neil and he’s just a silly guy who loves working with everyone (but scares the shits out of them when the cameras are rolling)

This ‘interview’ happens as they are filming the game before Baltimore so Neil is still half in costume and Nathan is supposed to get ready for his character

Also in this au, Milo has been in films since he was a baby and specifically loves doing them with Neil. He gets along with Andrew too and they are way more playful, Andrew is like a second brother to Milo

#wip #all for the act #miloverse #aftg #art #fanart #oc #oc art #doodles #milo josten #neil josten #nathan wesninski #all for the game

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aerkame · 2 years ago

Note

Alright I read your request rules and I’m ready to request!

Wally Darling x Curious Reader

You know that little fic you made where you wrote the puppets coming into the real world? (I commented on it!)——I hope you wouldn’t mind me trying to branch off it! Imaging it happening to me, I would actually like to inspect Wally since he’s clearly not human. Of course, with consent. I would open his mouth- see what’s inside, touch his felt, his hair, all of it.

And I’d imagine he’d be curious about us too.

Sorry for this being a bit late, I wanted a short break from writing and drawing all day. Also I'm perfectly fine with that being branched off of! Most of my previous posts are kind of like foundations for future fics and requests to go off of.

Also for the sake of simplicity I will just call this an AU(Alternate Universe). The Alive AU. It's exactly what it sounds like, the puppets come to life but as their cartoon selves in the real world and are capable of going back to their own world at any time. (Wally needs to do that though or they're stuck, he knows what he's doing). I'm also doing this so that in the future when we do have answers to Welcome Home, it won't interfere with theories or what is considered "canon". This request is based on a previous post (linked below this), for context.

Just a Little Look

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Out of all the other 'puppets', Wally was the one you were most curious and cautious about. It wasn't that he ate differently, it wasn't because his eyes looked different from the rest, and it wasn't because he was always staring at you. No, it was the way he acted. He acted like he's done this before. The whole going into this world and not being a normal puppet bit. You decided that you might as well ask Wally if you could feel him or look inside his mouth...maybe not that first one though, that might come out as weird to him and the others. It's not like he had a reason to say no really, you were just curious.

The 'puppet' with an Elvis cut was sitting down on your couch one leg crossed over the other like the distinguished dude that he was, face buried in a newspaper from this morning. You don't remember teaching him how to read the newspaper, where did he even get that? "Hey Wally..." You shuffled your foot a bit, getting somewhat anxious. "Can I look in your mouth?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from reading the paper with an almost dreamy look to him. "Can I look in your mouth?" You repeated the question, this time he heard you as his head tilted to the side. "Now what would you want to look in my mouth for?" His voice was as calm as usual, though he did have a bit of a smirk today.

"I'm just curious is all, you're not like the others and I've never seen what you guys look like on the inside." You gestured to the inside of your mouth, sticking your tongue out. Wally slowly got up from the couch and leaned over you, smirk still lingering on his face. "Well, I don't see why not, but I'll only let you look inside me if you let me look inside you." You nodded, excited to finally get a look. "Alright, sounds fair." You responded as Wally folded up the newspaper and neatly placed it on the coffee table.

Bending down, Wally opened his mouth quite a bit to let you look, making a small "Ahhh~" like a child would when letting a doctor look at their throat. You peered over to see inside. It was what a normal puppet mouth would look like save for the small black void at the back of the 'throat'. You're not even going to question how Wally speaks or eats, nothing surprises you anymore at this point. Kind of weird to see what is basically a tiny void though.

He closed his mouth once you were done looking before leaning closer to softly grab your face in his hands. It wasn't what you'd thought it'd feel like. You were expecting something like felt, but that wasn't it. It was some other material you've never felt before, it was soft and smooth like silk, but not in a sense that it was fabric. "I believe it's my turn to see the inside of your mouth now." You nodded quietly and opened your mouth as wide as you could, showing off your canines and molars.

It was awkwardly quiet in the living room for a while and you slowly found yourself leaning further and further into the soft hands that held your head up earning a small chuckle from Wally. "Tired?" You nodded. It's been a rough week both from your job getting busy and you being busy at the house trying to keep your new guests out of trouble. "It's like I'm taking care of a bunch of kids.." You mumbled into his hands.

"How about you take a good nap then, you'll be up and full of that energy you need." There it was again. You could feel him staring at you with those eyes. You were too tired to say anything this time though and opted for just getting up and heading to your room. Leaving behind a still smirking Wally.

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I told you guys, I write medium to long posts even if they take a while.

Next up? Barnaby and Wally teach the dear reader how to slow dance. :)

#Alive AU #Welcome Home Alive #welcome home #wh #wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home wally darling x reader #welcome home wally darling #wally x reader #fanfiction #requests open #fanfic #welcome home arg #welcome home fanfic #welcome home AU #AU

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brain-rot-central · 2 months ago

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 9

A/N: *YELLS "GOOD LUCK, BABE!" FROM THE ROOFTOPS*

WE MADE IT TO THE GALA, HOLY SHIT

Thank you to every single person that has liked, commented, sent anons, or showed any kind of support in any form for this silly little story. These last two months have been some of the shittiest of my life and I'm so happy be here with ya'll. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 9.9k (I love you guys SO MUCH I'M SORRY) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, pregnancy, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD themes, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship, death mention, depictions of murder and gore

Summary: It's the night of Wyll's charity event. Will Tav receive the answers she seeks from the Duke, or will more present themselves?

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They descend the master staircase, Tav drawing in a shallow breath as she hits the final step. As they turn the corner, arm in arm, she realizes how unsettled she is. Astarion was so close to saying it. Admitting to what they both know to be true, only to tear himself away at the last moment.

Her throat feels tight as she tries to swallow. Should he have said it, there's no doubt in her mind as to how the night would end up. Possessed by the urge to say it back, over and over, spending half the evening wrapped in each other's arms, making up for lost time. She'd guide his hands to her stomach, foreheads pressed together, and speak softly against his lips of what lay within. Of what will be, soon enough.

None of that will happen, now.

The thick aroma of the hors d’oeuvres being served wafts through the air, pulling Tav from her thoughts. The subtle sweetness of wine is complementary, surely free-flowing like waterfalls into the mouths and bellies of those gathered within the grand hall. She can hear muffled chatter from within the ballroom, along with the occasional clinking of glasses. Drawing in a breath, Tav dares herself to stare ahead.

Astarion turns to her, and she catches him from the corner of her eye. But as Tav raises her head to meet him, he quickly adverts his gaze. He’s silent for some time beside her, save for a conveniently timed clearing of his throat. Finally, he asks, “Are you ready, my dear?” Although he continues facing forward, Tav catches stolen glances from his periphery.

She's still so very raw from their earlier bout, and the booming depth of Astarion's voice causes a shiver to run down her spine. Despite its seriousness, Tav can hear the concern laced within his tone. Her body jerks involuntarily as her nerves alight. “Yes,” Tav replies, forcing a smile to materialize on her face. She now dares herself to look upon him.

Astarion simply grunts in acknowledgement, refusing to meet her. He can't even look at me, now? she ponders to herself. A pit forms in her stomach, alongside a sharp cramp that leaves her wincing. She rests her free hand over her lower abdomen, closing her eyes as she draws another breath through her nose. Pursing her lips together, Tav breathes out. The tension pitted high within her chest unravels as the breath leaves her lungs.

But when she looks at Astarion again, she's awash with emotion once more. His jaw is taught with tension, threatening to snap. There’s a sheen over the reds of his irises, highlighted by the dull light of the candelabras lining the hallway. Tav knows this look. And as much as she'd like to blame the drink that lay heavy on his breath, she knows that isn't the only cause.

He looks far away.

Astarion only wears a distant expression when he's desperate to remove himself from the current. When his mind is elsewhere, shielding him. Protecting him until it’s safe to come back out. As if a switch has been flipped – the mask of the entertainer, the people pleaser, is falling into place. The actor is almost stage ready. To give the people what they came here to see.

The dissociation is taking root.

He's uncomfortable. Tav’s entire body shakes from the realization. What's worse is that he's forcing himself to do this. Putting himself on display for everyone, strutting around like some proud peacock for all to fawn over. Astarion once told her that a handsomely crafted face can open any number of doors. She wonders how many times he’s been forced into opening those doors. What prizes lay behind them.

Tav shutters again at the thought of all he's been made to endure. A deep ache settles within her chest, her gaze falling to the floor in front of her.

It's obvious now that Astarion was hoping for a better outcome to their earlier discussion. Perhaps a kiss or two, maybe even something more. Anything to help soothe the ache within him, knowing he was sending himself out to perform. Instead, he got the complete opposite – Tav backing him into a corner, pushing him to admit something he clearly isn't ready to share.

Doubt begins to rear its ugly head within Tav’s heart.

Maybe she should have gone easier on him. His history is complicated. Of that, she knows. There are things Astarion doesn't understand due to two centuries of indentured servitude, like emotion, and how to coexist alongside another. Perhaps she should have been more patient with him. Perhaps she shouldn't be so demanding of him. He’s trying, afterall. Isn’t he?

Her heart skips heavy in her chest – a defiant thud, then a pause before resuming its normal rhythm. Pressure mounts once more and she suddenly finds herself choking back tears as her vision clouds.

No, Tav reassures herself, screwing her eyes shut.

Astarion isn’t an innocent child needing protection behind her skirts. He’s taken lives – many, to be frank. He, himself, has died. He understands the delicate balance between the life before and thereafter, better than any mortal being could ever dream to. When Tav reopens her eyes, she lifts her head and looks straight in the direction of the ballroom. All sound drowns out from her ears. She clenches her jaw.

I deserve more. He should be more.

It's been a process, learning to give herself the grace to truly feel. Tavaria has taken the lives of so many people without second thought. Faces that are no more than blurs behind her mind’s eye, barely able to decipher one from the other. All she recalls is the incessant chanting within her mind. Scleteras’s shrill voice echoing, encouraging her to kill, kill, kill. The voices only grew louder when she found the others. Daydreams of what pretty corpses they'd make.

Especially Astarion.

She'd gotten close, one night. Did her best to warn him before the urge took her completely. All Tav remembers is writhing against her restraints as Astarion looked on. Concern clouded his visage, mixed with the smallest drop of fear. Visions danced behind her eyes, of how beautiful his flesh would look laid out within the palm of her hand as she fileted it clean off his bones. How delicious his blood would taste on her tongue. Would it run hot, she wondered? Smell of rot and decay? She'd bathe herself with his entrails, feeling impossibly close to him, but not before successfully copulating with him. A high offering to her Father, securing the next generation of cursed Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal must be furious, looking upon her now.

But that was all months ago, and she rejected her birthright. Refused to be her Father’s vessel of chaos and murder. The day she turned her back on him is the day Tavaria chose life. And to her surprise, the chanting stopped. The urge stopped. She could breathe for the first time in what was likely years.

Since then, Tav has tried her best to walk the path of redemption. She can never bring back those who have fallen victim to her sins. The young tielfing bard’s face haunts her daily, smashed beyond recognition. But she's vowed to do better with however much life she has left. To be kinder. Show the compassion she was never given to others.

She’s chosen to be a good person. That should be reason enough as to why she deserves to hear him say it. To hear from his own mouth that he loves her and not have it be a figment of her imagination.

And it's perfectly fine that she does. There's no reason to feel guilt for wanting what you deserve.

At this very moment, Tav stands next to a man that feels more like a stranger to her than ever before, all while their child grows within her. A man who wears the same face of the one she loves, yet acts so foreign to her.

She deserves to be loved in a way that is befitting of her, and she will not settle for anything less than what she deserves.

Without so much as another word, Astarion steps forward. Tav follows almost seamlessly, their arms still interlocked. They cross the threshold into the ballroom and are immediately greeted by copious pairs of prying eyes, all focused on them. Music swells from the band as they travel to the middle of the room, neither of them missing a step.

As Tav looks out into the crowd, she recognizes a few faces from her short tenure in the City Watch – noblemen and ladies all dressed in their evening best. Their silk dresses and velvet frock coats are dyed in various elaborate colors and patterns. Jewelry adorned with precious gems hangs plentiful from their ears and necks. She nods and smiles as she passes, catching more than a few people ducking their heads after making brief eye contact. Their lips move in silent chatter to one another, but Tav can imagine their conversations: one of Baldur Gate's most eligible bachelors arriving arm-in-arm with the city's hero. The same hero who left him at the moment of their triumph.

How terribly poetic.

The band suddenly cuts out as they reach the middle of the room. Astarion retrieves his arm from around hers rather swiftly, and Tav steps back. The vampire takes a quick breath, wiping his head up. Applause rings out as he then turns to address the crowd. Astarion bows repeatedly, each time in a new direction, the reception growing louder. Tav again surveys all in attendance and decides to clap in tandem, all the while retaining her best face.

The vampire lord then raises a hand – a gesture to signal the quieting of the crowd – and the applause slowly dies off. A smile is etched across his face, but it isn't his usual smile. Not the one he reserves for her. Tav shivers.

“Thank you all for such a warm introduction!” Astarion exclaims, boisterously. His open-mouthed smile stretches now across his face from ear to ear, the tips of his fangs gleaming in the light.

Do they know of his true nature? Tav wonders as his teeth catch her eye. It's a question that hasn't dawned on her before this moment. He’s not necessarily trying to hide it. Many in the city knew of Cazador, but only as an aristocrat, bred from a long line of wealth. If they do know the truth about Astarion, it doesn't seem to bother anyone much.

Tavaria again looks out among the crowd, studying them intently. Many of the ladies have fans covering their faces, though the ones who do not, Tav easily catches the barest glint of a blush sitting upon their cheeks as they watch Astarion swish about the floor. A single thread of what must be jealousy pulls tightly within her. It fades as quickly as it comes, dissolving into vapor as she releases the breath she’s holding.

Signs of Astarion's vampirism are so obvious to her, now that she's looking at him. Pointed fangs just peeking over his bottom lip as he smiles, ruby red eyes that glimmer in the light of the chandeliers, Cazador's bite scarred into the column of his throat. His complexion used to be ghastly, like that of one raised from the dead. But since the ritual, he's as pink as any mortal being. He blushes, even.

And, gods, is he handsome. More so than any other man in existence. The sharp lines of his face, the subtle bump along the bridge of his nose. Tavaria understands all too well why the women, and even some of the men in attendance, look upon Astarion with such hungered stares.

Astarion clasps his hands together. He turns again to the crowd and says, “I'm sure we all know why we're here tonight, yes?” He gives them a moment to murmur an audible response before continuing, “And, no, unfortunately it's not just for my handsome face.” The room erupts into laughter. The vampire then raises a sharp brow, mouth curling into a sly smirk.

A horrid realization comes over Tav: These people could easily be sacrificial lambs, ripe for Astarion's picking. And he knows it. Worse yet, loves it. Loves having fools wrapped around his finger.

This is Vampire Lord Astarion, the entertainer. The socialite. The deceitful. Pulling from his past life as an at-will aristocrat; as many times as his master made him perform. It's such a well-practiced act that Tav can hardly tell when her Astarion ceased and this version took over. The transition occurred seamlessly right before her eyes. And if she didn’t know him better, she’d be thoroughly convinced that this is what he truly consists of. Tav watches in awe as Astarion flits across the floor, continuing to address all before him. Not a drop of worry remains present on his face, his countenance bright and inviting.

It makes her gravely uneasy.

He lets the room swell for a moment, continuing his speech once it dies back again. “My dearest Lords and Ladies,” Astarion’s tone sends another shock wave down Tav’s spine. He speaks with the same sweetened vitriol as when they first met. Bile builds near the back of her throat, her mouth turning bitter.

“We come together tonight to celebrate one man who surely gets the job done,” the vampire continues. Astarion looks out into the crowd, lifting a hand to wave one finger. Tav follows his eyes. “One man, who puts honor and duty before all else.” Suddenly, he halts, having found his intended target, and he extends his hand. And as Tav traces his arm, she finds the man in question on the other end.

“Esteemed guests,” Astarion boasts, “it is with great honor that I introduce our man of the hour.” Astarion hesitates for a moment, the room eerily silent. He glances toward Tav; her breath hitches. She can see the contempt within his eyes, but he continues, loud and prideful. “Wyllyam Ravengard, your Grand Duke!”

Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd. Wyll, surrounded by the other members of the Watch, tilts his head politely in acknowledgement, giving several small bows. Servants then descend upon the guests, holding silver trays lined with glasses of sparkling liquid.

“And as such,” Astarion says, choosing a glass off the tray a servant presents to him, “may I propose a toast to our young Duke, who does oh so very much for his belovéd city.”

Tav retrieves a glass from a servant, giving the contents a quick whiff. Champagne, and a damned good one, too. Astarion then holds out his glass, those in attendance following suit. Silence befalls the ballroom – the only audible sound being the fizzling of champagne. All eyes are on Wyll, who stands with his own glass, ready to receive his due.

“To Wyll,” begins Astarion, “for I could have not asked for a better traveling companion during our plight against the Absolute.” His eyes are thin slits as he speaks, expression forcibly strained.

He's lying. And so brazenly.

Astarion despised Wyll during their journey. Teased him about being the golden boy, only agreeing to be a dog for Mizora due to a subconscious desire to bed the she-devil. Some, if not all in part, influenced by Tav and Wyll’s short-lived romance. Astarion’s quips escalated in intensity not soon after, and remained sour right up until the end of their adventure together.

It's unsettling to her just how easily Astarion can slip into the mask of a perfect gentleman. Play any hand to his advantage, win over even the most suspicious of individuals. Is that what he's been doing to her this entire time, she wonders? Playing a game? Is there even still a line between what's real and what's for show?

Who is this man that wears the liar’s grin so unashamedly? He wears her lover's face, but this is not him.

Unless… their dynamic has changed?

Tav finds that difficult to believe, but perhaps they've come to an understanding. Perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to judge their relationship. The men are partners now, after all. That demands some level of mutual respect.

…Right?

Raising the glass to his lips, Astarion drinks his champagne. The other occupants of the ballroom soon follow suit, as if following orders from a leader. Placing the glass to her lips, Tav tips it back just enough to make contact with her mouth before bringing it back down. She quickly scans the room – hardly anyone is looking at her. Likely no one has realized she didn't truly drink, and she sighs in relief.

Wyll then steps forward, glass still half full. He wears a white satin full suit with golden trim. His long locs are pulled back behind his shoulder in a low ponytail. A rapier sits upon his hip, swishing gently as he steps forward. “My sincerest gratitude, Lord Ancunín,” he says, taking his place by Astarion's side. The ballroom is silent again as the men stand eye-to-eye. Only the occasional sound of someone clearing their throat travels through the air.

“Truth be told, I had my doubts about Astarion when we first met.” Wyll then turns toward the crowd before continuing, “but now, through his gracious donations towards the restoration of the Lower City, I can tell his heart lies in the exact same place mine does.” He begins nodding his head, as if agreeing with himself. “The abundance of love he has for this city and her people rivals my own.”

The patrons begin clapping and Tav furrows her brow. Idiots, she sneers to herself. Astarion would sooner watch this city burn than save it, especially if it meant protecting himself. How can Wyll not see that? How can they not see it?

“And so I also propose a toast,” Wyll exclaims, holding his drink up in the air. “To Lord Astarion Ancunín, the rogue-turned-hero. An undeniable asset to this city, and someone I am grateful to call a true ‘friend.’” His face is tightly guarded, wearing a well-practiced expression. Diplomatic in nature.

The room tips their glasses once more to their lips, and Tav does the same. Again she only allows the liquid to grace her lips for a moment before bringing it back down. Her stomach lurches as she watches the two men then embrace one another.

The discontent on Astarion's face is clear to her: He wishes for nothing to do with Wyll and this entire affair. And then Wyll – precious, gracious Wyll who makes the best out of every situation – smiles brightly, genuinely welcoming of the vampire's embrace. If Wyll has any reservations surrounding their current situation, they're well hidden.

The men separate, eyes locked to one another, and Astarion raises a hand to Wyll’s shoulder. He gives it a pat, and then the two men turn toward the crowd. Applause rings out again and Astarion speaks, “I say it's about time we start this thing!”

Wyll nods, taking a quick sip from his glass. “Agreed, friend.” Their voices are loud and echo throughout the room. “Everyone!” Wyll states, “Please, enjoy the festivities! This is a night for all! Thank you!”

Astarion's hand then slips from Wyll's shoulder and he departs, but not before managing to squeeze out another smile. The band resumes playing, chatter resuming within the ballroom. Tav loses sight of the silver-haired vampire as he blends within the crowd. She bites at the inside of her cheek – Astarion is unhappy. But she can't worry entirely about him, at the moment.

Her eyes find Wyll as he crosses the room, back to the small gathering of people he was initially with: Marceline, a half-elven paladin of Lathander; Oliver, a human fighter like herself; and Lester, a high-elf who is a cross between a fighter and a mage. Together, they make up Wyll’s personal division of the City Watch.

Admittedly, Tav had found Lester’s skill quite peculiar. ‘I'm somewhat of a battle mage,’ she recalls him saying. Tav had initially laughed at the insinuation, though she soon found it to be true. One afternoon, Lester used his magic to hold his enemies in place, and then proceeded to bring his mace down hard over them. Needless to say, Tav found a new respect for the man, after that.

Tav places her still-full glass of champagne on a tray held by a servant, then smooths out her dress. Astarion had suggested speaking to Wyll, should she wish to know more about their arrangement. And as she makes her approach toward Wyll, Marceline is the first to notice.

“Tavaria!” the half-elf exclaims. She bolts over to Tav, raven hair lifting off her shoulders from the momentum. Marceline hugs her, warm and tight, nuzzling her face against her hair. Tav returns the hug, raising her arms to encircle the woman. As Marceline steps back, she says, “Gods, we were all so worried about you!”

Tav raises a brow, allowing Marceline to take her by the hand and lead her back toward the group. “What ever do you mean, Marceline?” she asks, curiously.

Marceline stops, as does Tav. As she looks at her, Tav can see the slight pull in her bottom lip. “...You didn't show up for work yesterday, Tavaria.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide with surprise. “I… I what?”

“We were going to send a patrol to your flat,” Marceline explains, resuming her initial course, “but Wyll refused to grant it.”

Tav feels herself being brought closer to Wyll; watches as his eyes land on her. Though, her mind is a million realms away. Has she really been so preoccupied that she forgot her duty?

…Has she forgotten herself?

“Ah, there she is!” Wyll states jovially, a smile stretched across his face. His demeanor is warm and welcoming. It hints nothing of him being cross with Tavaria, despite her most recent transgression.

“Your Grace,” Tavaria says with a bow. “I am so–”

“Oh, Tavaria, please,” Wyll interjects, huffing out a laugh. “We know one another far too well for formalities. Please, speak to me as you would a friend.” He brings the champagne glass to his lips. “That is what we are, yes?”

A calm falls over Tav. One would think she'd grown used to it by now, but Wyll's patience and understanding always surprises her. “Of course, Wyll,” she agrees, giving him a smile of her own. “But I am still so very sorry for abandoning my post yesterday.” She shakes her head. “I fear that I don't know what's come over me, as of late.” Not necessarily a lie.

“You ’n this fancy lord fella have history, don't ya?” asks Oliver, outwardly. He's a stoutly man, bald and fills out his dark blue suit with hardly an inch of give. His words are slurred, his cheeks red and flushed. The tone he uses is somewhat accusatory, though Tav knows him well enough to be certain he means no harm.

Despite herself, Tav cocks a questioning brow in his direction. “We do… but how do you know about that?”

“Aye, Tav,” Oliver answers with a haughty laugh, “there are sonnets written ‘bout the two of ya.” He points his glass in her direction. “Down in the brothels, the bards sing of a young woman fallin’ in love wit’ an evil prince.” Oliver nods his head. “Pre’ty sure that’s you ‘n lover boy, no?”

A scowl settles on Tav’s face. She can feel the anger rising within her. It's on the tip of her tongue to inform the man that Wyll was once the closest thing to an actual devil, though she manages to hold off. No reason to throw him under the table. “Oliver, they've sung for ages about that,” Tav bites back. “I doubt it's just Lord Ancunín and myself they refer to.”

Lester then snickers quietly, turning away as he brings a hand to his mouth. The blond is a man of few words, a stark contrast to Gale and other mages she's met. Yet when he does speak, his words carry heavy meaning. He and Tav share a sly grin. It's obvious to both that Oliver is full of drink and hardly worth the argument currently mounting.

“It's more than fine, Tav” says Wyll, finding an opportunity to break the tension. “I figured you needed a day off. You haven’t been yourself, as of late.” Wyll takes another sip from his glass. “But what I didn't expect,” he says, lowering his glass as he tips his face up toward Tav, “was to find you here.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Gooseflesh breaks out over her arms, quickly glazing around the room. This isn't a conversation she wants to have out in the open, especially with Astarion lurking about. Tav dips her head and asks quietly, “Wyll, may we speak privately?”

The group exchanges glances, their expressions flat. They then nod to one another, and soon Marceline, Oliver, and Lester depart toward the refreshment table at the far side of the room, each giving Tav an uptick of their head as they walk past.

“Why are you here, Tavaria?” Wyll asks sternly once the others are out of earshot. He turns his whole body toward her. “I can only assume this means you're both–”

“It's complicated,” Tav answers, quickly. Wyll’s face then falls, an exasperated sigh escaping him. She feels her stomach nearly drop through the floor. She should have expected slack from Wyll about this. Or, really… from anyone.

“I see,” he remarks, placing a hand on his hip. Wyll chokes back the rest of his champagne just as a servant passes by, and he places the glass upon their silver tray. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks Tav, nodding politely to the servant as they depart. “Should I remind you of what he's done?”

Tav meets the questioning gaze of the servant looking back, and they quickly duck their head. Astarion has eyes and ears throughout the entire manor – not a detail she's forgotten. Though, she screws her eyes shut and draws a deep breath in.

Wyll speaks of the ascension.

The moment Astarion, the rogue, fell and Astarion, the vampire lord, took his place. Tav still hears them, even now – the shrieking of over 7000 souls perishing from this realm, banished to the depths of the Hells.

She remembers the fire behind Astarion's ruby red eyes as he rose, as if born anew. The manic laughter that tumbled forward from his chest as he confronted Ulma, slitting her throat. The pulsing artery of her carotid bathing him in blood, flowing freely into his mouth.

She remembers the moan he let out as the woman's blood hit his tongue. The gurgling noises arising from her throat as she grew limp, falling into his arms. His body rocking in time with her twitching form as he finally sealed his lips over the wound, drawing more and more blood into his mouth.

And within moments, it was over. Ulma grew still, and Astarion dropped her to the floor in an unceremonious heap, completely lifeless. Astarion stood still for what felt like ages. The Gur who arrived with her soon fled when Astarion finally lifted his head, vowing to return with stronger numbers. And all the vampire lord did was laugh.

In the immediate aftermath, Tavaria and the others were horrified. The chance of Astarion turning on them next ran through each of their minds. Wyll vowed to stake him through the heart should he draw closer; Gale promised to cast spells to hold Astarion in place. Tav had never feared Astarion up until that point. Even with his fangs seated deep within her neck, she still trusted him to take just enough. Though, as he turned to face her, blood smeared across his face, dripping down his chin… A chill ran through her heart.

His smile is what did it. Wide, almost goofy. It was as if he expected her to be as proud as he was. Finally, after two centuries of horror, he was now the cat who got the clotted cream. And, by the gods, did it feel good.

“I remember well enough what he's done,” Tav remarks solemnly, opening her eyes. She shifts her gaze away from Wyll. “And all he continues to do.”

Wyll cocks his head upward, narrowing his eyes. “So you know?” he probes, cautiously.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tav confirms, moving her head in agreement. “In fact, that's the entire reason I stand before you now. Astarion suggested I speak with you about what happened.”

Wyll is stoic for a moment, unwavering. Tav questions for a moment if she somehow misread the situation, but Wyll bursts into a sudden fit of laughter, placing a hand on his chest. The duke then shakes his head. “At least he's still a character,” he says, continuing to laugh. His arms fall back down to his hips. “But petty, no less. The man doesn't even have the common decency to wear a suit.” He then gestures toward Tav, hand waving up and down. “Though, he made sure you look the part.”

Heat floods her face. “H-how do you know I didn't choose this myself?” Tav argues. How embarrassing, she thinks, for it be so obvious that Astarion clothed her. Like his personal doll.

Though, much to her relief, Wyll only chuckles. “Tavaria, you are capable of many things,” the Duke says, reassuringly. “But this?” He waves his hand up and down her form again. “I don't think you'd ever choose this for yourself.” And just as Tav's heart begins to sink, Wyll adds, “It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Wyllyam!” she scolds through gritted teeth. Tav then scans the room, silently praying no one is eavesdropping on their conversation. “Mind yourself, please!” She can feel how brightly her cheeks now burn, and before she turns back to Wyll, Tav catches Astarion's scowling at them from across the ballroom. “I-I’m your subordinate, Wyll,” Tav states within a hushed tone. A cold chill passes over her, and she finally meets the Duke's gaze once more.

Curse Astarion's attuned hearing. He's likely heard everything they've said.

“Of course, of course,” Wyll agrees. “My apologies; I may be a bit deeper in the drink than I realize.” He shakes his head. “Right. You're here to talk about my agreement with my lovely friend, Astarion.”

A jolt of pain shoots through her chest as she feels her cheeks flush. Their performance earlier was exactly that – an act. There's still no love lost between the two men. However, it sounds even more strained, now.

Tav gives Wyll a sullen glance. “I'm sorry, Wyll. When I found those men laying in the crypts below, I demanded answers from him.” She clasps her hands over her stomach, looking down. “But he refused to tell me everything.”

“Of course he did,” Wyll is quick to remark. He shifts his weight onto one hip. “Because your opinion of him is the only one he cares for, just as it's always been. Wouldn't want to sully that, now, would he?”

Tav raises her head to meet Wyll. How much of what Astarion told her is the truth? Perhaps she knows nothing at all. Would that be so out of the realm of possibility? “Wyll, what happened that night?” she asks, plainly. “Why was Astarion even with those men?”

Wyll sighs, casting his gaze to the floor before looking back up. He clicks his tongue, placing his arms over his chest. “When I became Grand Duke, I knew one of the first things I had to do was keep an eye on Astarion.” He wags a finger in the air. “The Szarr family has been around for centuries, and is considered one of the wealthiest in all of Baldur's Gate. For Astarion, in all of his unpredictability, to inherit such an estate, alongside boundless physical powers…” Wyll seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues, “...It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Tav nods in silent agreement. She knows he isn't wrong to assume as such. Only minutes after ascending did he test the boundaries of these new abilities, much to everyone else's horror. Mere hours after the ritual is when he demanded her mortal life be given to him. Wyll was absolutely correct to not trust Astarion. A fact that's difficult to argue against.

“So,” Wyll explains further, “I invited him to Wyrm’s Crossing one afternoon and proposed an agreement: Astarion aid me in cleaning up Cazador's morally questionable affairs, and I give Astarion his privacy. No meddling in his records, nor his personal business. And he agreed.” Wyll then smiles. “But only after I made good on my promise to position patrols outside of the palace, ready to move in should I give the word.”

Tav’s eyes widen in shock. “You would have laid siege upon him?” she asks, voice quivering.

“Without question,” Wyll answers, sternly. “Tav, I know of your history with him. I can only imagine how complicated it is now.” He leans in closer to Tav, nearly face to face. “But heed my words – the man is a devil masquerading as a man.” There's a sharp bite to his words that sends a shockwave shooting down her spine. Wyll shakes his head again. “He is not the Astarion we knew. Not even close.”

“...How can you be so sure?” Tav’s lips pull into a quirk. Astarion can't be all that horrid… Could he? Surely, she would know by now.

Wyll draws a deep breath in, releasing it with forced effort. “Cazador's depravity ran deeper than I thought. I knew the man would be involved in terrible business, but never did I think it would include the trafficking of humanoid creatures.” The Duke swallows, taking a moment of respite before adding, “I used this as leverage to broker a deal with Astarion. He'd continue business as usual, gathering sensitive information to help me build a case. And I stay out of his other affairs.”

“You used him?!” Tav exclaims, worriedly. “And with slavers, no less? Wyll, that's low! Even for you.”

“Is it crueler than Astarion forcibly taking half the city as his spawn?” responds Wyll, coldly. “I needed an in, Tav. Surely you can understand why.”

Just then, the leader of the band speaks, welcoming all to gather for their next song. Tav meets Wyll’s eyes, and he gestures toward the dance floor, holding out his hand for her. Reluctantly, Tav accepts, and they both head toward the floor.

They stand before one another, one set of hands interlocked adjacent to their waists. Tav's free hand rests atop Wyll’s shoulder, while he places his on her hip. The band then kicks in – a slow, melodic song – and the two begin to sway. Tav remembers the night they danced around the campfire together. A soft smile comes to her face, but it’s short lived.

“I'm the reason Astarion was present that evening,” Wyll continues. “But I never instructed him on how to act.” The two part as Wyll stretches out their conjoined hands, and Tav twirls under both of their arms. She returns to him, and the two spin as they glide across the floor, the hem of her skirts swaying as they go.

“He told me he had no choice but to kill them,” says Tav within a broken breath. “That they would have gotten him first.”

Wyll then chuckles, throwing his head back. “And I'm sure he's expecting me to tell you the same. But that would be too far from the truth.” Wyll then separates from her again, releasing their hands to lay his palm flat against hers. Tav then follows his lead, moving so their bodies are parallel to one another, and they walk in a circle together. “You're a smart woman, Tav. I know that as fact,” Wyll states, confidently. “Do you really think the vampire ascendant is so defenseless? That he’d find himself trapped?”

Wyll then drops his hand, holding up the opposite, and Tav does the same. They mirror their previous formation, circling now in the opposite direction. “He had every chance of escaping, had he any desire to do so,” Wyll continues, facing Tav.

Tav meets his eyes, her body almost on autopilot. A chill runs down her spine as her mind makes sense of Wyll's inference. “Wyll, are you implying–”

“That he murdered those men on purpose?” Wyll interrupts, almost emphatically. The band then slows, music winding down, and Wyll comes to stand before her. “Yes, Tavaria. That is exactly what I'm implying. Because that's exactly what happened.”

Applause rings out around them as the music cuts out, but Tav can hardly hear it over the sound of her heart hammering away in her ears. Her blood runs cold.

Wyll speaks sense; Astarion always had control of the situation. His life was never in danger. He killed those men for no reason other than he could.

A game. A way to test his new powers.

The smell of iron dancing beneath her nose pulls her violently from her thoughts. Saliva pools thickly in her mouth as she scans the room, desperately searching for the source. She gasps aloud when she finally finds it.

There, in the far corner of the ballroom, stands Astarion. His eyes are fixed on her as he raises a silver goblet to his mouth. They share a glance long enough for Tav to watch the goblet then fall away, a small bead of crimson liquid dripping down his stained lips. Astarion is quick to snatch it up with the side of a finger, bringing it to his mouth.

The smell is intoxicating, and Tav’s vision grows fuzzy. She's suddenly hungry, starved for something she knows not what. It's what happened to her at the butcher shop, but it’s worse. So much more intense now than it was then.

Astarion's tongue darts from his mouth to envelop the digit, swiping the liquid from his finger. His eyes have yet to leave hers, and Tav feels an enigmatic pull overtake her.

Is that… blood?

The urge to lick the essence from his lips swells within her. To bury her tongue as deeply as possible within his mouth, savoring every last drop of blood. To swap their tainted saliva back and forth, until the taste all but fades into nothing.

Astarion then smiles, as if privy to her thoughts. Her mouth falls open with sudden realization.

…Has she grown a hunger for blood?

“Tavaria!”

Her concentration is broken as Wyll’s voice bellows in her ears. She whips her head in his direction, staring wildly. “I'm sorry,” Tav says, rushed. She sucks in a sharp breath and screws her eyes tightly. “My mind was elsewhere.”

Wyll’s gaze shifts to the far corner of the ballroom, where Astarion stands. The two men exchange deep scowls. “I don't want to get between whatever business you have with him, Tavaria,” he says, shifting his eyes back to her. “But if I were you, I’d run.”

Tav huffs out a laugh. She then looks to Astarion and finds that despite the women who have now joined him, he's still focused entirely on them. “What do you mean?” Tav asks innocently, turning her head to Wyll. “I don't think Astarion would ever harm me.”

“You have no idea who Astarion is anymore. None of us do.” Wyll states with finality. “And I'm deeply concerned by what may become of you should you stay.” He lifts his hands then to Tav’s shoulders, and she shudders under his touch. “There will come a time when he grows bored of this game.” Wyll tightens his grip. “I don't think I have to tell you what happens next.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide.

It's… a game. Their entire dynamic is a game of cat and mouse – who can outsmart the other first. How could she have been so blind? There's no love in this. No, this is about possession. Control. Deep down, a part of her always knew that. But she didn't think it was evident to anyone else.

“Your neck, Tav – I see it.” Wyll's eyes draw tightly together, his voice dropping an octave as he tilts his head. “He's already marked you.”

Bile pools in the back of her throat again as a sudden wave of nausea rushes forward. A hand flies to her neck, covering the remnants of Astarion's bite.

Tav wants to vomit. She wants to run, scream, forget she ever let Astarion back into her life.

The realization dawns over her that Wyll is right: Astarion will inevitably force her hand, should she stay long enough. He will never let her live out a mortal life. Tav will become his puppet, his trophy. His most prized possession, completely dependent on him for sustenance. Astarion will keep her sealed tightly within this palace, never to see the light of day again. She will be expected to lay with him as he commands, satisfy him as he commands… To become completely subservient to all his desires.

She was right, and has been right this entire time. Astarion has only given her the illusion of choice, hoping that she gives into him willingly.

She feels hollow.

Tav stares blankly at Wyll, placing both of her hands over her lower belly. Her mouth struggles to form the words racing through her mind, unable to grasp them. She wants to tell Wyll everything. About her and Astarion, about the baby. He could hide her, far away from Astarion's reach. So that he could never find her or their child ever again. She knows he would.

But the aroma of a certain spiced cologne distracts her, and as Tav turns her head toward that particular corner of the ballroom again, she sees Astarion drawing closer.

Panic grips her throat, and almost instinctively she's ripping herself away from Wyll. “I–I need some air!” she shouts in his direction, briefly looking back. Wyll moves to speak, but Tav is beyond earshot.

The urge to run consumes her, but to where? She scans the room desperately, tunnel vision beginning to set in. Finally, she finds large window pane doors leading out into the garden.

Tav dares to look back and finds Astarion now chatting with Wyll. Their expressions are taut, strained – she can see Astarion's fangs under the curling of his upper lip. Her heart skips strongly within her chest, and she looks again to the French doors.

It may be futile, as Astarion can simply sniff her out should he choose, but anything is better than staying here. She may as well try. With that logic in mind, Tav makes a desperate dash towards the doors.

—----------------------------------------

Bursting out into the courtyard, Tav barrels down the stone steps. She runs into the hedges, stopping just short of a rose bush. The sound of tearing fabric rings in her ears, but she doesn't care. All that matters is keeping away from him right now.

Fearfully, she dares herself to look back to the top of the stairs. Astarion soon comes into view, surveying the garden. Though, he makes no effort to follow her. Instead, he turns, wine glass in hand, and heads back into the ballroom.

A choked sob then escapes Tav's throat. Her body is overcome by violent shaking as she drops to her knees, clutching herself. How could she have been so blind? Was she charmed? Has Astarion been whittling away at her subconscious this entire time?

Just as she feels her resolve begin to shatter entirely, Tav catches the silhouette of another standing where Astarion just was. Brown hair tied into a high bun atop the man's head, the rest flowing down his shoulders. Mauve and midnight blue evening dress, complete with a vest and jacket. He seems to be searching for something.

“Gale?” Tav questions tentatively, poking her head from beyond the bushes. “Is that really you?”

The wizard looks out into the garden, his face lighting up as he finds her. “Tav!” he exclaims, running down the steps to meet her. “I knew I saw you talking to Wyll earlier! Though, I must ask…” Gale then extends a hand to her. “...are you hiding?”

Tav pouts as she takes his hand, letting Gale pull her up. “It's a long story,” she deflects, patting herself down. There's a small tear in the dress just below her left breast, and she scowls. “I'm surprised to see you here. I wouldn't think of Astarion inviting you.”

“Well, fortunately for you, the guest list wasn't his to command.” The magician places his hands on his hips, staring intently at Tav. “But really, why are you out here? You all but ran from Wyll.” Gale then searches her up and down, bending forward and sideways. “Are you hurt? Did he say something unkind?”

Tav sighs and shakes her head. “No, no. It's nothing Wyll said.”

A blatant lie – it's everything Wyll said.

“I just needed some fresh air, that's all.” She tries her best to put on a smile, but she knows Gale doesn't buy it.

“Tav,” he states, sternly. “What's wrong? You look beautiful, yes, but I can also see that you're shaken.” He dips his head to stare up at her from under his brow. “I'm your friend, Tav. You can talk to me.”

She looks at him. Emotion swirls within her chest, and she begins to heave with heavy breath. Tears well up within her eyes, and it's not long before Tav rushes forward, throwing her arms tightly around Gale’s neck. She sobs, heavily, messily, into his shoulder.

It's cathartic – like a dam finally giving way after keeping a rushing river at bay for far longer than ever intended. She feels arms encircle her and realizes they're Gale's, prompting another rush of tears to flow down her cheeks. For the first time in months, she feels safe. She hadn’t realized she'd forgotten what this feels like, until now.

By the time Tav lifts her face, the shoulder of Gale's jacket is horribly stained. She must look like a child's painting right now, make-up askew. But Gale simply gives her a reassuring look, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a handkerchief. “Here,” he says while holding it out for her.

And for a moment, Tav wishes she could have fallen in love with him instead.

Tav accepts his offer, muttering her thanks as she lifts the kerchief to her eyes. “I'm sorry for not having answered your most recent letters.” She then blots the skin over her cheeks, scowling as her foundation stains the cloth. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Gale. So much has happened in such a short period of time, and I've no time to process it.”

“I'm here now,” Gale states triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips. “No better time to start than the present.”

She gives a soft laugh, sniffling before she says, “I suppose you're right.” She swipes the handkerchief under her nose. “Well, for one… I'm pregnant.”

Gale doesn't answer. Instead, he cocks his head slowly to the side, eyes growing wide with surprise. “...Whoa,” he musters. “Well… That's… certainly one way to start.” He then rights his posture, shifting his weight to one side. “I… wasn't aware you were with anyone.”

“That’s because I'm not.” Tav stares at the ground, sticking out a foot to run her shoe mindlessly over the small stones that make up the garden’s pathway. “At least not officially.”

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest. “I see. Is it someone that you know?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Tav answers quickly. “We both know him quite well.” She then pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, adding, “Or, we did.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand,” says Gale with a snicker. “I can see how tensions may run high in your line of work.” Tav quirks a brow but remains silent, curious as to where Gale is taking the conversation. “And how your superior may seem like the best person to relieve them with.”

And then her mouth hangs open for a moment, dumbfounded, though she quickly gathers her thoughts to argue. “Gale, I don't think you–”

“You know,” he continues, sticking up a hand to wave a finger, “when I was at the academy, I had a professor who–”

“Gale!” Tav shouts. Heat floods to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Gods, no! It's not Wyll!” Placing her face in her hands, Tav begins to pace back and forth. A groan escapes her as she drags both hands across her face, further smearing her make-up. “Why does everyone assume I'm still infatuated with Wyll?”

Gale shrugs his shoulders. “I don't think he's that hard on the eyes.”

“He isn't!” Tav shouts again. “But, sweet Hells, he's my boss!”

“Alright, alright,” Gale holds up his hands in defeat, then crosses them over his chest. “So, if not him, then who?”

Tav sucks in a breath through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth. Her heart pounds against her chest as Astarion's name dances across her mind. She wants to say his name, but her mouth won't cooperate. Instead, she slowly lifts her hair, turning her head to expose the healing bite mark on her neck to Gale's curious eyes.

“That… looks like a recent bite wound,” comments the wizard, pupils dilating.

“And you would be correct,” Tav confirms, flatly.

His squints, leaning closer to Tav, then stands upright. “Judging by the spacing of the marks…” Gale says, hesitantly, “...I would say that's the bite of a vampire.”

Tav nods, lips drawing into a thin line. “Right again.”

“Huh,” huffs Gale. “But, there's only one vampire we both know.”

Her heart is pounding again, so loud it's drowning out any sound in her ears. “Indeed,” Tav agrees, willing herself to continue despite her discomfort. “And we happen to be standing in his garden.”

She watches Gale's face as it contorts, the phases of acknowledgement written clearly for Tav to see. The magician's face ranges from confusion, to shock, to acceptance, back to shock again. “Oh, Nine Hells,” Gale mutters. “...How? When?!”

Tav throws up her arms, laughing to herself. “Not sure, Gale! Because if I did, I certainly wouldn't be in this mess!”

Shame settles in. Tav’s face burns again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Hearing these words said with her own voice somehow makes this real. Makes the empty hole within her chest ache, once occupied by Astarion. The desperate desire to be held by him, to disappear into the night and fall in love all over again.

“Gods, Tavaria… I don't even know what to say.” Gale lowers his arms to his sides, holding one hand to his hip. “How did he react when you told him?”

The air is knocked from her lungs, and Tav sucks in a desperate breath. “...I haven't,” she says, quietly.

“What?!” exclaims Gale. “Tav, you have to tell him!”

She glares at him, balling her hands into fists, shame quickly warping into anger. “Gale, if I tell him, you can kiss ever seeing me again goodbye.” She's shaking now, emotions boiling over.. “I will be his, forever, whether I want to be or not! I will no longer have a choice!”

“Oh, poppycock,” says Gale with a wave of his hand. “If there's one thing we both know about Astarion, it's that he'd never let any harm come to you. Especially by his doing.” Gale moves closer to Tav, voice dropping in decibel. His gaze remains glued to her. “Is this what you were discussing with Wyll? You know how he feels about Astarion, Tav,” says the wizard.

Tav swallows thickly. Her jaw is clenched tightly, teeth grinding against one another. “Gale, he's not the man either of us think he is,” she states, boldly. “Not anymore.”

Gale leans back with a laugh. “I somehow doubt that,” he argues, raising a hand, then both. “Sure, he's grown to be a bit of a recluse over these last few months.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Gale adds, “And the Gods only know how familiar I am with such a state. But it doesn't seem his heart has changed, when you're concerned.”

“What are you talking about?” Tav retorts in frustration. Does he mean to mock her? It's unlikely, but still infuriating how wrong he is at this moment. “Gale, he had fucking bodies in the crypts, what are you–”

“Did you ever think that perhaps Astarion sought you out again because he knew he was losing control?”

Tav’s eyes grow wide, shocked by the wizard’s declaration. “...What?” The whispered sound that escapes her throat is foreign to her. “I don't…” She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You're the only one he's ever felt safe with, Tavaria,” explains Gale. “Astarion never spoke to us the way he spoke to you. You two had a language all your own.”

…He’s right. Tav’s gaze wanders off toward the French doors of the ballroom. Astarion confided in her like no other. Spoke to her in a tone that was reserved strictly for her. His hardened edges gave way to a soft, pale underbelly after a time. And never to another.

The panic in his eyes as Cazador rendered him utterly helpless, entrapped within an enchantment. Desperate pleas to free him ripping through his throat. Astarion shook violently within her arms as she broke the spell, his body collapsing against hers. His nails nearly pierced the thick leather of her armor from how tightly he gripped her, and when it came time for them to separate, Astarion refused to let go.

‘Please,’ he cries softly, pupils blown wide. He's shaking something fierce, as if reliving the worst moment of his life on repeat. He clings to her forearm as she tries to stand. ‘Please, I can't, he's going to, to you, he's going to–’

‘Hush now, Astarion,’ Tav coos, trying to soothe him. She runs a hand gently through his hair and kisses his sweat-soaked brow. ‘We’re here. He can't harm you.’

Astarion turns to her. He lifts a trembling hand to her face, cupping her jaw. ‘...I don't care about what happens to me,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I don't want him to have you.’ His jaw cinches tight, spitting through gritted teeth, ‘He has no right.’

The magician sucks in a deep breath and brings a hand to his face, exhaling as he begins stroking his beard. “Look, if Astarion wanted to harm you, he would have done so already.” He then tosses his hand to the air, lips molding into a soft pout. “I think he's asking for help in the only way he knows how.”

Heat crawls across her skin, and suddenly the air is too hot. Tav draws in a deep breath, fanning herself with her hands. Her eyes sting from the threat of fresh tears and she once again begins to pace back and forth.

“I never wanted any of this,” she admits to Gale, looking up at him each time she passes. “Gods, sometimes I wish I chose my Father.” Tav chokes back a sob. “At least then I would never have to think or feel again.”

A moment passes before Gale says solemnly, “Pain, happiness, sorrow, bliss – emotions remind us that we're alive, Tavaria.” He shakes his head. “To deny them is to deny life itself.”

“I don't wish to argue that,” Tav replies. “I just mean–”

The words die in her throat as her eyes catch a glimpse of someone standing by the French doors.

At the top of the marble stairs is Astarion, glass of wine in hand. As he descends the steps, Tav swears there's an additional button undone on the crimson dress shirt he wears. The fabric ripples across the pale plane of his chest, moonlight glinting off the golden amulet hanging around his neck. He reaches the bottom step and takes a swig of wine before sauntering over.

“The Wizard of Waterdeep!” Astarion bellows, almost mockingly. “Fancy seeing you here.” As he comes to stand next to Gale, Tav can smell the alcohol on his breath and notes that his eyes are slightly glazed over. He fidgets to find a comfortable pose, inevitably settling on leaning to one side with his free hand on his hip.

He's… drunk. Reminiscent of the night he helped himself to a cave bear within the Underdark.

“Astarion,” Gale replies with a nod of his head. “Good to see you, too. Love what you've done with the place. It feels so much more–” Gale rolls his wrists, as if to stimulate a response, “–alive, than it did before.”

The vampire gives a soft grunt before saying, “Well, yes. That was the entire point, no?” His eyes then land on Tav, and she feels the small hairs on her arms and neck stand on end. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?” Astarion inquires with a grin.

The ruby red of his irises burn into her despite their sheen. “Not at all,” Tav manages to reply, turning her head to Gale. “Gale and I were just catching up. I've admittedly been a poor friend,m neglecting to answer his letters.” She makes sure to give a laugh after her sentence; Astarion is studying her.

The magician’s gaze flits momentarily between Astarion and Tav before settling on Tav. “Oh, no, of course you're not,” Gale says with a chuckle, “it's no issue, really. Just happy to know you're doing well.” Tav gives him a small nod of her head, thanking him for having taken her lead. Gale returns the gesture.

“Splendid,” Astarion states flatly, albeit sarcastically. “Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I borrowed this lovely lady?” He brings his glass again to his mouth, throwing the rest of the wine back. As the cup drops from his face, Astarion meets her eyes again, brow drawn tightly together. “I’ve been looking for her.”

Again Tav and Gale share a look, and Tav nods approvingly. “N-no, of course not,” Gale stammers. “I think we're sufficiently caught up.”

“Indeed we are,” Tav comments, moving closer to Astarion. “It was a pleasure to see you, Gale. I'll do my best to be better about answering your correspondence.” She then slips her arm around the vampire's, only to feel Astarion flinch against her. “Shall we?” she then asks Astarion, giving his forearm a pat. He's tense alongside her, though he returns her gaze.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Gale,” Astarion says to Gale, turning toward the palace. His voice edges on bitter, but there's still enough pleasantry about it to be considered cordial.

Tav waves to the wizard, then follows Astarion's lead back toward the ballroom. Her stomach is in a mess of nerves and her heart is practically in her throat. Drawing a deep breath in, she manages to blink away any hint of tears forming within her eyes. The signature scent of Astarion's cologne envelops her and she clings tighter to his arm as they ascend the stairs.

Before entering the ballroom, Astarion gives Gale one final glance as he ushers Tav beyond the French doors. He then follows swiftly behind her.

“Huh,” is all Gale can mutter to himself.

#sotlc #cw: gore #pregnancy mention #tw: gale #astarion fanfic #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion

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